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She moaned, tipping her head back to give him greater access.
He nipped the sensitive skin. Soaked in her breathy moan. Peeled her shirt over her head.
Her bra was plain, flesh-toned
Her body?Breathtaking.
He kissed each breast, inhaling a heady mix of desert flowers and hotel body wash.
She held his head to her chest, fingers delving in this hair.
“Bed.” Her voice was ragged with need.
It went straight to his groin.
Twining his fingers with hers, he led her to her bedroom.
They undressed in haste, too desperate to explore, to build passion that already raged like molten lava.
His fingers shook. This woman wanted him. Loved him.
He dipped between her thighs. Found her slick and ready. Her hips rocked to meet his touch, soft mewls falling from her lips.
“Caleb, I need you. Now.”
A few firm strokes and she shattered.
His own control broke. He positioned himself and thrust.
So tight. Hot.
Her inner walls milked him as her orgasm crested. He soon followed, the tingle spiraling from his toes upward to explode through him, hard and fast, as he poured himself into her, body, heart, and soul.
Gia owned it all.
“I love you,” he groaned, the words dragged from the deepest part of him.
Gia traced his damp skin as he caught his breath. Her voice was soft, eyes clear, the fear haunting them gone.
“I love you, Caleb—I didn’t think I deserved this kind of love.”
He hadn’t either. But now that he had it, he’d fight to keep it with his last breath.
“I’m going to prove you wrong.” He kissed her deeply, tasting her, anchoring himself in her. “Every day. Every night.”
And when he made love to her again, he drifted to sleep with her wrapped in his arms, his vow tattooed on his soul.
The next morning, Caleb met his grandfather at the tribal park beneath the Window Rock sandstone arch. The day was bright, the winter air cold but not bitter. He wore his leather jacket over a white Henley and black jeans.
Ben Blackwater stood near the Code Talker monument, dressed in a dark blue suit, traditional beaded necklace over his light blue dress shirt, turquoise and silver jewelry adorning his wrists and fingers. His gaze was fixed on the bronze statue of a kneeling World War II Navajo Marine.
Caleb’s throat tightened. His grandfather was a man of honor. A leader. He saw that now. And, at long last, he was proud to be his grandson.
He walked up the path. Nodded to the security detail.
“Grandfather.”
Ben turned. “Grandson.” He patted Caleb’s shoulder. “Walk with me.”