All of Jonathan’s sons—Jack, Nick and Gabe—were passionately involved with their children. Nick wasn’t biologically connected to Lester, the troubled boy he and Dominique had adopted after Lester had spent last summer at the ranch. But Nick was a committed parent.
Naomi searched for the right thing to say. “I’m sure you caught him by surprise. It’s hard to make snap decisions.”
His dark eyes were bleak. “No, it’s not. You and I make them all the time. It’s what you do when you’re actually living life, instead of hanging on the fringes of it.” Anger and disappointment rolled off him in waves.
“Don’t give up.”
“I won’t. But the only way I’ll get his call is if I’m up here.”
“Then we’ll stay up here.”
He held her gaze. “Thank you. I…” He looked away and swallowed.
That’s when she knew that he needed something more than fried chicken right now. Moving purposefully, she cleared all the food aside. He watched her without moving.
Then she sat on the tablecloth, right in front of him. Cupping his face in both hands, she kissed him as thoroughly as she knew how, putting all her caring, her longing and her passion into that kiss. At first he simply let her kiss him without responding.
That was a new experience for her, and one she didn’t care for in the least. Luke had always been eager for her kisses. Once their lips met, he’d usually been the one who had pushed the kiss to the next level.
Not now, and for a brief moment her courage failed her. But she’d told him not to give up, and so she couldn’t, either. She kissed his forehead, his eyes, his cheeks and once again his mouth.
With that the floodgates opened. With a groan, he pulled her into his lap. After that she didn’t have to worry about how to kiss him. He took care of all the mouth-to-mouth contact, and the mouth-to-body contact, and every form of contact that followed.
Soon she lay sprawled naked on the tablecloth, and he’d covered every inch of her with his mouth and tongue. If she had been an ice-cream cone, she’d be long gone by now.
Standing, he gazed down at her as he took off his clothes with deliberate intent. “I’m going to have you six ways to Sunday,” he said. “And then we’ll start over and go through the whole damn week again.”
“Okay.” She watched him pull off his boots with angry motions and shuck his jeans and briefs. But after he’d located the condom in his pocket and put it on, she sat up and reached for his hand. “Lie down here. Lie down and let me love you for a change.”
The fierceness left his expression as if a cloud had scudded away from the sun. Without a word, he knelt down and stretched out on the tablecloth. Her heart constricted with the surrender implicit in his reaction. This was what he wanted, what he needed—not to take her six ways to Sunday, but to be loved and cherished by someone who asked nothing in return.
What an easy assignment that was. Straddling him, she began with his beautiful face. She followed the curve of his cheekbones with her tongue and placed butterfly kisses on his eyelids. His mouth became a playground for her lips, his determined jaw a place to nibble and tease until she felt him slowly relax.
With a deep sigh he let his arms fall to his sides, and she traced each vein, each corded muscle in those arms with her fingertips. As his mighty chest rose and fell with his labored breaths, she toyed with his nipples and stroked the silky black hair covering that massive display of strength and power.
She followed the trail of dark hair to his navel, and as she dipped her tongue into the shallow depression, he quivered. She stroked his cock and wished that nothing prevented her from feeling the velvet-on-steel wonder of it. But she could also fondle what lay beneath and watch as those heavy sacs drew up in tight readiness.
“Take me,” he murmured. “Please take me.”
She wondered if he’d ever begged a woman in his life. Maybe not. But she wouldn’t make him do it more than once. Rising above him, she guided his taut cock into position and began a slow slide downward.
His breathing quickened as she descended, and when she’d taken all of him, he began to tremble. “Go slow,” he said. “I don’t want to come yet.”
Leaning forward, she feathered a kiss over his lips and felt him sigh. Then she lifted her head to look into his eyes. “Tell me,” she said softly. “Tell me what you need.”
Passion burned in his gaze. His hands found her hips, bracketing them. “Easy strokes.” His voice was strained. “Go easy. Let me…I want to wait.”
She lifted up only a little and made her way gradually back down.
“Good.” He held her gaze. “Again.”
She repeated the motion.
He groaned. “So good. Again.”
Once more she rose up and came slowly down.
He sucked in a breath. “Good Lord, I want you, Naomi. I want to come. But I don’t want to end this.”
She smiled. “We can do it again sometime.”
A fire ignited in his eyes. He swallowed. “Then ride me, lady.” His words echoed their first time together. His fingers gripped her hips. “Ride me hard.”
That was all she’d been waiting for. Yes, he needed the sweet loving, but more than that, he needed heat that would burn away grief, incinerate sadness. She brought the heat, pumping up and down with a frenzy that made her breasts dance and her bottom slap against his thighs.
His first cry was low and intense, his second louder and when he came, his shout of triumph sent the songbirds fluttering and squawking from the branches of the tree. He laughed at that, a breathless, happy sound that resonated in her heart.
She laughed with him, collapsing against his chest and panting from the effort she’d made.
He wrapped her tight in his arms. “Thank you, thank you, thank you. I know you didn’t come.”
“It doesn’t matter.”
“It does. I’ll make it up to you.” He rocked her in his arms. “I will make it up to you a dozen times over. But that…Naomi…that was exactly what I needed.”
“I know.”
“How did you know?”
“That’s my secret.” And it would remain her secret. If he ever guessed she was falling in love with him, he’d leave.
LUKE WASN’T SURE what he’d done to deserve someone like Naomi, but she was a lifesaver. As the sun went down, she insisted they should haul the sleeping bags up to the platform for the night. Even when he protested that his father was probably in bed by now and wouldn’t call, she refused to consider going back down to the campsite, where the phone reception was bad.
“Just don’t let me fall off in the middle of the night,” she said, laughing.
The thought made his heart stutter and he stopped unrolling the sleeping bags. “Do you think you might? Are you a sleepwalker?”
“No. At least I don’t think so.”
“Let’s forget this.” He started bundling up his sleeping bag. “If there’s the slightest chance that you’ll wake up at night and start wandering around this platform half-asleep, it’s not worth the risk.”
“I won’t. And we’re