His Virgin Wife: The Wedding in White / Caught in the Crossfire / The Virgin's Secret Marriage

“I told you before, he’s my friend.”

“What sort of friend?” he persisted. “Do you kiss him?”

She frowned worriedly. “Well, no…”

“Why not?”

She sighed angrily. “Because I don’t like kissing him. Mack…”

“You like kissing me,” he continued quietly.

“You’re making me nervous,” she blurted. “I don’t understand why you’re asking so many questions all of a sudden.”

He unfastened his seat belt and then hers before he pulled her across his body, her back to the steering wheel and her head resting on his left shoulder. He looked at her for a long moment before he spoke.

“I want to know if you have any long-range plans that involve your teaching colleague,” he said finally.

“Not the sort you mean,” she confessed.

His lean hand traced her shoulder and then slid down sensuously right onto her soft, firm breast. She gasped and caught his wrist, but he wouldn’t budge.

“You don’t have to pretend to be outraged,” he said gently. “I’ve touched you like this before.”

“You shouldn’t,” she whispered, flustered.

“Why not?” His hand spread in a slow, sensuous caress that made her nipples go immediately hard. “Your body likes it, even if your mind doesn’t.”

“My body is stupid,” she muttered.

“No, it isn’t. It has excellent taste in men,” he mused, tongue in cheek.

“Will you be reasonable? It’s broad daylight. What if someone drives down this way?” she asked, exasperated.

“We’ll tell them a bee got in your blouse and I stopped to take it out,” he murmured as his head lowered. “Now stop worrying about slim possibilities and kiss me.”

She tried to tell him that it wasn’t a good idea, but his mouth was already firmly on her soft lips before she could get a word out. He nibbled at her upper lip in a lazy, sensual rhythm that made it difficult for her to think. When his hand slid inside the blouse and under the strap of the flimsy lace bra, she stopped thinking altogether.

She heard the soft moan of the wind outside and the closer sound of her heartbeat in her ears. She curled a hand into Mack’s cotton shirt and lifted herself closer to him.

He bit her lower lip gently while his fingers felt for buttons and moved them out of buttonholes before he coaxed her soft hand inside his shirt and against warm, hard muscle and thick black hair.

It brought back memories of the rainy night he’d come to sit with her after Carl was killed. He’d held her close in his arms that night, too, and he’d pulled her hands inside his shirt, against his bare chest. She remembered his sudden, frightening loss of control…

Her hand stilled against him as she drew her mouth from under his and looked at him with traces of apprehension in her drowsy eyes.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

She swallowed. “I don’t want to…to make things difficult for you,” she said finally.

“They’re already difficult.” He shifted her in his arms so that her head lay in the crook of his arm, and his hand went under her blouse and around her to unfasten the hooks on her bra.

“We shouldn’t,” she tried to protest.

He lifted his head and looked around for a few seconds before his gaze came back to her. “There isn’t a car in sight,” he said. “And I’m not planning to ravish you within sight of a major highway.”

“I knew that.”

“Tell me you don’t want this and I’ll let you go,” he said bluntly, hesitating.

She wanted to. She really did. He looked impossibly arrogant with his shirt half unbuttoned and his mouth swollen from the long, hard contact with her lips. His hair was mussed by her fingers, and he looked somber and dangerous. She should tell him to let her go. But his fingers were tracing under her arm, and her traitorous body was writhing in an attempt to get his hand where she really wanted it. She could barely breathe as she twisted helplessly against him.

“That’s what I thought,” he said quietly, and he shifted her again, just enough to give him room to pull the blouse and bra up, baring her breasts to his intent scrutiny.

Natalie couldn’t get enough breath to make a token protest. She loved letting him look at her. She loved the slow, gentle tracing of his fingertips on her delicate skin. She loved the way he looked at her, as if she were a work of art. It wasn’t possible to be ashamed.

“Nothing to say?” he teased softly.

“Nothing at all,” she whispered, her breath jerking with the little bites of pleasure he gave her with his tender exploration of her breasts.

His thumb moved roughly over her nipple, and she bit her lower lip as pure delight arched her against him.

“I’ve never felt with anyone the things I feel with you,” he breathed as his head lowered. “Some nights, I think I’ll go stark raving mad from just the dreams.”

She barely heard him. His mouth suddenly covered her breast, and he suckled her, hard.

The cry she made was audible. She trembled as he fed on her soft, smooth skin. It was cool in the cab of the truck, but she was burning all over. Her arms looped around his neck, and she hid her hot face in his neck as the pressure of his mouth increased until it almost made her weep with pleasure.

She pulled at his head, trying to get his mouth even closer, but he pulled back, his eye stormy as it met hers.

“Don’t,” he said gently. “You’ll make me hurt you.”

“It won’t hurt me.” She shivered. Her eyes were as turbulent as the emotions that were overwhelming her. “Don’t stop,” she whispered unsteadily.

His fingers traced the curve of her breast, and he looked down to watch her body lift up against them.

“Your skin is like silk,” he said huskily. “I can’t get enough of it.” He bent again, his hard mouth smoothing over her in a caress that made her moan.

She arched up, totally without inhibitions, loving his warm lips on her body.

The sound of a car in the distance brought his head up reluctantly. He glanced at the highway, grimaced and helped her sit. “I thought we were alone on the planet,” he murmured with a forced laugh. “I suppose it was wishful thinking. Need any help?” he asked as she fumbled behind her for catches.

“I can do it.” She glanced at the car as it whizzed past. So much for isolation, she thought, and flushed when she realized how embarrassed she would have been if the car had pulled in behind them and stopped instead of going on its way.

He watched her loop her seat belt across her chest and fasten it. He did the same with his before he cranked the truck.

“A woman like you could make a man conceited,” he said with a tender smile.

“It isn’t my fault that I can’t resist you,” she pointed out. “And if you’d stop undressing me—”