Montana Dreaming: Their Unexpected Family / Cabin Fever / Million-Dollar Makeover

His past? His guilt? His pessimism?

“What do you mean? I know how to have fun.” At least, he used to. It had been a while—about as long as it had been since he’d had a wild passionate, no-strings-attached night.

“Close your eyes,” she said.

“Why?”

“Just do it.”

For some dumb reason, he did. “Okay, now what?”

“Think about The Hitching Post. About a building that’s been around for ages. Can’t you almost hear the plunking sound of a piano? The voices of people who once lived and played here?”

He squinted, opening one eye and then the other. “I’m not sure we ought to be listening to those voices. This floor was a brothel, remember?” He chuckled. “Did you still want me to imagine the tales these walls could tell?”

Her face flushed, although the Pollyanna glimmer remained in those mahogany eyes. And she shrugged. “It might be interesting.”

“Interesting?”

“I thought most women in the olden days didn’t particularly like sex.”

“I’m sure plenty of them did.” He grinned. “What makes you think they didn’t?”

“Well, once when I was in the fourth grade, I overheard my abuelita and an older neighbor lady talking about sex.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“My grandmother said she wouldn’t walk across the room for it.”

“That’s too bad. It sounds as though your grandfather didn’t know how to pleasure her.”

Juliet didn’t respond. But then, what was there to say?

Mark wondered whether Kramer had been good to her, whether he’d given her the kind of first-time experience she should have had. “Tell me, Juliet. Would you walk across the room for it?”

“Probably. If there wasn’t anything good on television.” Her eyes glimmered, and he couldn’t tell if she was serious or pulling his leg.

“Then Kramer wasn’t any better at pleasing a lady than your grandfather was,” Mark said, taking a guess.

Her eyes widened, as if he’d hit the G-spot and set off her first orgasm.

Sexual awareness filled the room, settling over him. Over her, too, he suspected.

Her lips parted in an enticing way, almost as if inviting him to close in on her, to give her the kind of kiss that made blood pound, race, demand.

What was happening to him?

He ought to pull away. Let it go. Laugh it off, like a guy with any sense would.

But Mark had never been very heroic.

And when Juliet ran the tip of her tongue along her lips, he was lost.

Chapter Five

The kiss started innocently, sweetly. A tender promise of sugar and spice.

But before Mark could decide whether to pull back or press on, Juliet placed an angel-soft hand on his cheek and leaned forward—into the kiss.

Her lips, parted, and he savored the taste of her, a unique, tantalizing flavor that went beyond a hint of lemon and meringue. He cupped her jaw with one hand, fingers delving toward the back of her neck, the strands of her hair brushing his knuckles in a silky cascade.

As the kiss intensified, ever so slowly, his tongue explored the wet velvety softness of her mouth, tentatively seeking and savoring until he craved more of whatever captivated his senses.

Desire smoldered under the surface, warming his blood in a steady rush, urging him to give it free rein, to let it build and surge.

But something ensnared him, held him in a mesmerizing spell that slowed their motions, while intensifying sensual awareness.

Whatever it was seemed to have caught her, too, he realized, as she whimpered softly and her fingers threaded through his hair.

So much for Mother Nature disconnecting sexual urges in women who were in her condition.

Oh, for cripes sake.

Her condition.

She was pregnant. And he was supposed to be taking care of her, making sure she took it easy—not doing something reckless that could jeopardize her health.

He broke the kiss, his hand dropping to his side, useless and empty. “I’m sorry, Juliet. That was crazy. Stupid. And so damn out of line.”

“That’s okay. I lost my head, too.”

That was obvious, as well as unexpected—just as his impulsive response had been. He wasn’t sure what had come over them, but his libido had been primed and ready to rock.

A mischievous sparkle lit her eyes, as a slow smile curled her lips. “And just for the record, that kiss was definitely something I’d walk across the room for.”

He didn’t know if he should feel flattered or guilt-ridden. In self-defense, he thought about changing the subject, but his male pride wouldn’t let him ignore what she’d said. “So you liked my kiss, huh?”

The twinkle in her eyes intensified, highlighting the flush of her cheeks. “Yes, I did like it.”

A goofy urge to pound on his chest Tarzan style swept over him. He tried to laugh it off with what sounded to him like a dorky chuckle. “That’s probably because the television is off and there aren’t any TV specials to distract you.”

“Maybe,” she said, her eyes glazed with…

With what?

Passion? Embarrassment? Annoyance at him for making light of the inappropriate but sensual kiss they’d just shared?

He wasn’t sure. But if things were different, if she were someone else, someone not so young—so virginal in spite of her condition—he would have kissed her again, just to see where it led.