“Where’s Cordy?” he said.
Hearing her son’s name brought her to her senses, but Macon had already filled the space between them. How could she fight what she felt right now? She couldn’t bear to admit it, but she’d probably lured Macon here by writing those letters. The seductive dress, upswept hair and new makeup were telling, too. A heartbeat passed, then his throaty words slurred against her hair. “Where?”
She could feel his lips brushing the strands. Her heart beat wildly. Get away, she ordered herself. Sidestep. Brush past. Push open screen door. Step outside and breathe deeply. Clear your head, Harper. It should have been so simple, but the eyes riveted to her lips were all amber fire.
“Where, Harper?”
She shouldn’t have said it, but she did. “Not here.”
Hot was the first thought that came a second later, when Macon’s mouth crushed down on hers. Burning hot. Moving with unrestrained trembling hunger, he parted her lips with the slow thrust of his tongue. Wrapping his arms tightly around her waist, he steadied her as he kicked the storm door, shutting out the summer sunlight. He threw the dead bolt, the loud click making her pulse soar, the masterful strokes of his tongue making her climb. Up through dark tunnels, she strained for the feeling, whimpering and aching as practiced, work-roughened hands deftly slid between their bodies, caressing her breasts and belly as they swiftly unbuttoned the front of her dress.
She reached down, her fisted hand opening on a hard-muscled thigh before sliding over to grasp him intimately. He was so aroused, so big, all throbbing ready heat pulsing through denim. Her dress was open, too—all the way now! Just as she squeezed him firmly, her fist closing around his length, he pushed the dress from her shoulders, making her head swim as he exposed her bra.
She couldn’t believe what this man did to her, no more than she could understand why she hadn’t felt this with Bruce. And then those thoughts were gone because Macon was admiring her with a hot gaze, looking down, his greedy eyes devouring her belly and simple white panties. He brushed his knuckles over the mound, lightly grasping her tangled hairs through the silk, then quickly, he unhooked the front clasp of the bra and pushed the cups back toward her shoulders. The way he looked at her bare, aroused breasts made her feel heartbreakingly beautiful. His whisper was hoarse, the words slurred. “I’ve missed this, Harper.”
Sucking a breath through gritted teeth, he used both hands, lifting and cupping her breasts from beneath, mercilessly kneading them, pushing them high and pressing them together, deepening the damp crevice between them as he locked his groaning, liquid mouth to one. Releasing a throaty growl that, alone, was enough to make her shatter, he ground himself against her, rolling his hips as she arched to meet him. She cried out, gasping as he bit, nibbled and soothed a painfully erect nipple with his mouth, leaving her so damp between the legs that she was shaking. Only after long, torturous moments did Macon lean back, tersely demanding, “Look at me, Harper.”
She did, and the past vanished. There was only their present connection—light and shadow playing on his face, the warmth of long-suppressed desire in his eyes and finally the blessed fusion of his searing mouth to the breast he’d already left glistening. Thrusting her fingers into his hair, she whimpered again, twisting for the rasp of his teeth. Chest heaving, she drew in the woodsy scent of him, everything inside her reaching higher, endlessly higher like a kite, as his urgent hand tugged down her panties.
“There, Harper,” he soothed, in a ragged whisper, his hand parting her knees, and then gentle thumbs pressing circles ever higher on her open thighs. When he reached the apex and stroked the pearl he’d laid bare, she was so lost she barely even heard the rake of his zipper, but she plummeted into a whirlpool of wet, blind darkness when his bulging thighs pressured hers again. She’d waited so long for this…for him. Dizzy, her knees weak, she clung to his shoulders. Lower down, she felt the hair that protected him, rough and tangled and wild, and then the raw living silk of his erection. She’d never known a man could get so hard. The dangerous thickness of the shape made her gasp, and he moaned his response, dragging his trembling lips back and forth across hers. “Harper…oh, Harper.”
Darkness was still pooling in her thoughtless mind when his first hard, swift thrust lifted her. Lights flickered and went out, but she was climbing, her head flung back, her hands curling over powerful muscles, her fingers digging into work-honed shoulders, tightening with each new furious onslaught of scalding kisses that prepared her for the fall. Against her cheek, his words were rough, torn sandpaper. “I didn’t…won’t…”
Her mind was spinning. Come inside me? An old promise. Oh, God, what am I doing?
But she wanted this, she had for years. Heaven help her, but after Bruce died it was sometimes Macon she’d imagine, his body loving hers until she didn’t feel so alone. Suddenly, she was tumbling downward, spinning, her body shaking, the pulling depth of her shuddering climax making her mind blank again as she convulsed.
And then, just like that, he was gone. A wrenching gasp was torn from him. Another as she felt the warm gush of his release as he withdrew. The loss was so abrupt, so jarring, that her heart seemed to go with him. Stunned, strangely bereft, she wondered how this could have happened.
Macon had come about those letters, and the next thing she knew…
She steadied herself, her hands flying to her bra and dress, gathering the sides. She pulled up her panties so fast they wedged in her behind, and by the time her shaking fingers were through buttoning, he was buckling his belt. Even worse, the damn man was grinning. “Are we still here, Harper?”
Didn’t he know she felt like her dress—like she’d come apart at the seams? That she was still throbbing, her heart still racing out of control? Didn’t he understand what he’d just done to her?
Judging by his grin, she guessed he did. “I don’t know how that happened,” she whispered.
His breathing heavy, he eyed her a long moment, and by degrees, his grin vanished and his jaw set. “I thought things might be different now.”
Different from what, Macon? Different from when I came to tell you I was pregnant—and found you in your truck with Lois Potts? Different from when you went to Houston without me? A lump formed in her throat. “Different?”
“I thought…maybe with Bruce gone, and Cordy almost grown. And given the fact that Cordy and I are on good terms…”
Everything inside her seized up. “Good terms?”
He stared at her. “He does work for me, you know.”
She didn’t. Her heart missed a beat. “At the ranch?”
Macon frowned, his hand resting on the belt he’d just buckled. “He didn’t tell you I hired him to work Saturdays?”
No! She thought he came home dirty on Saturdays because of summer football practice. Why had Cordy gone behind her back? He had a generous allowance, a car, and he’d promised to concentrate on his studies this summer. The shock, on top of what had just happened between her and Macon, was too much. Realizing she’d buttoned her dress crookedly, she tugged it down, trying to smooth it, but Macon had wrinkled it beyond repair.
He was already opening the storm door, glancing through the screen as if he wanted to be anywhere in the world but in a dark hallway with her. “I guess you figure I’ll destroy your son the way I would any woman I marry,” Macon said, not bothering to hide his temper. “But don’t worry, Harper, I’ll tell Cordy that the Rock ’n’ Roll won’t be needing him anymore.” Macon shrugged. “Guess you don’t know everything about your son.”
She wished something, anything, would stop the too-fast beating of her heart. “You don’t, either, Macon,” she whispered miserably.
Lifting his hat from the newel post, Macon put it on and adjusted the brim. “Good to see you, Harper.”
Given