The Lake

“Hurry,” she said tersely. She felt impatient, but managed to smile and shudder with cold at the same time.

“Can’t wait, huh?”

He held out his arms. She climbed out of the tub, hesitated a moment, then snuggled into them. Clinging together, they shivered a little in the night air.

Murmuring into her smooth wet hair, he said, “Forget the shots, baby. They can wait. Let’s go get us a drink.”

Pressing into his body, she felt his erection growing, pushing, probing her pubic hair. She leaned up toward him, her open mouth closing on his.

Slipping her hand inside his wet shorts, she found his shaft and curled her fingers around it. Sliding her hand up and down, she felt him growing stronger all the time. Her mood changed. The yearning ache returned.

Taking his hard-on with both hands, she pulled it to her, jabbing it against her opening.

Gasping with longing, she tightened her legs around him, her rim throbbing painfully.

“I want you in me, Mace. In me, now. For godsake, Mace…”

“No,” he said, holding her hair, pulling her head back and up to meet his face. “No, my angel. Down here first.”

Drawing back, she let go of his erection.

Her heart sank.

Smiling, he lowered his gaze, looking at his shaft, pushing her down till she was on her knees before him. “Some head first, honey,” he said huskily. “Just to get things moving.”

Disappointment sliced through her like a knife.

She wanted him.

In her.

Not this way.

She wanted him to ram deep—like he’d done last night.

She grabbed at him, disappointed, impatient. Holding his shaft with both hands. Feeling it jerk in her grasp.

God, she was desperate.

She needed him.

But if this is what it takes, she thought, then so be it…

She took him in her mouth, sucking, swirling her tongue around his bulk, feeling the ridges, the tight silky skin.

Then gagging as he thrust himself deeper and deeper into her, holding her head hard against him.

She broke away, choking, gasping, looking up at him, her eyes bright, wide with shock.

“Mace,” she whispered thickly. “That was too much. I nearly choked on you, there.”

“You loved it, Leigh. You know you loved it.”

“No, Mace. It was too much. Just hold me, will you…” She broke off, her lips trembling, hot tears falling down her cheeks. His bittersweet taste strong in her mouth.

She’d ached for him, wanted him inside her. She’d do almost anything, but, Christ, that…that hadn’t been the most sensitive way of making love tonight.

She choked back a sob. How could he treat her like this? After all she’d been through today…

Shivering, she struggled to her feet, brought up her arms, wrapped them tight around her body. She swayed slightly, still hugging herself.

God. The disappointment. The tension.

It was all too much.

She felt cold. Utterly exhausted.

A smile played around Mace’s lips. Raising his brows, he held out his arms. “Come to Mace, then. There, there…don’t take it so hard. But don’t tell me you aren’t into a little violence now and then? Thought you were a gal who’d appreciate some rough and tumble—but seems I was wrong. Sorry about that, Leigh.”

His eyes glinted in the darkness and the smile, vaguely mocking a moment ago, suddenly softened to one of concern.

Her arms fell to her sides. She relaxed, moved in against him, feeling his warmth, his strong, hard body…

“Come now, honey,” he murmured. “How about opening that bottle of champagne I brought us? A coupla drinks and we’ll start over. Huh?”

“Sure.” She smiled up at him. They walked through the patio door and entered the dark living room. Maybe she had been a fool, she told herself. Making a stupid fuss over nothing.

Just that I’m feeling vulnerable tonight, is all.

“I’ll go get us some towels,” she said quietly.

Moving away from him, she turned on the coffee-table lamp and went to the bathroom.

Legs astride, hands on hips, Mace watched her go. Her buttocks swaying, her long shapely legs moving leisurely, one before the other, she looked like a catwalk mannequin.

Hell, he thought, she’d give most movie stars a run for their money.

She had glamor. Something he liked in a woman.

She returned to the living room, wearing a soft bulky robe, the sash tied tight around her waist. Mace thought how young and vulnerable she looked.

Too young to have an eighteen-year-old daughter…

She carried a couple of towels under her arm. Tossing one over, she said, “Here, don’t want you catching your death. Take off those wet things, too. I’ll dry them for you.”

He caught the towel. He wrapped it around his waist.

Leigh began rubbing her hair with the second towel.

“Very sexy,” he murmured, watching her through half-closed eyes as he made for the bathroom.

She quit rubbing and shook her head. Her golden hair fluffed out like a halo. Her legs were shaky. She was still feeling a little awkward about her earlier outburst.

Time to relax, she told herself.