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Still soft and loose with sleep, she wanted that weight on her, wanted the pressure of those hard hands stirring the blood under her skin until warmth became heat. She wanted those lips, strong and sure, to seek and find all the ways to thicken her pulse and make her yearn.
Moment by moment, a touch, a taste woke her to a world of sensation. Rough stubble against her skin, firm muscles under the press of her fingers.
As those hard, calloused hands glided over her, they kindled little fires. Not to blaze, not now, not yet, but to spark and to spread as his mouth found hers.
The slow, lazy rhythm they made between them suited the quiet approach of dawn. No rush, no hurry, but time to savor, time to let arousal build like layers of thin, soft tissue.
He felt her give and give beneath him. Not a surrender, but more a meeting of minds and bodies he found impossibly sensual. In a welcoming, she gave because she wanted, and offered all he needed.
So what built between them in the quiet morning as dark lifted, as light quietly bloomed, spread into more than the physical.
As he slipped inside her, as they rose and fell together, he felt more than pleasure, more than the elemental need for release.
He felt his heart stumble. And joined with her, lost in her, didn’t try to catch it.
When she lay curled against him, her head on his shoulder, her hand over his heart, he wondered what the hell he could do about it.
He’d had a plan, a carefully made plan for the life he intended to make for himself. Build a business doing work that brought him pleasure and satisfaction. Bring an old neglected house back to life, his way. He’d estimated a couple of years to fully establish the business, about a year on the house. If either or both took longer, he’d still do the work and have the place he wanted.
She hadn’t been part of the plan.
So what the hell was he going to do now?
She shifted a little, let out one of those sexy purrs.
“What are you going to do now?”
For one shocked instant, he thought she’d crawled straight into his head.
“What? What?”
“What’s the rest of your Saturday look like?”
“Oh.” Jesus, whatever was going on inside him made him stupid. “We’ve got to install a new railing for a client, then take a look at another kitchen job. After that, we’re going to start on the office. Needs some built-ins, but otherwise it’s just paint, new lighting, cleaning up the existing trim.”
“Busy.” She sat up, stretched. “Me, too.” Tic got up, came wagging over to her side of the bed, and got some rubs. “I want to get a workout in, then it’s clean the house, do laundry before I can get into my office and do what I meant to do last night.”
“What was that?”
“Write up those interviews, think about them, pick through the case files again. Then think about that, which I’ll do on a hike. Maybe on Fox Tail.”
“Isn’t there still snow on the trails?”
“I have boots. Your dog wants to go out.”
“He’s Theo’s dog.”
“I believe he’s the Littlefields’ dog, of which you are one. You do that, I’ll get on my workout gear and make coffee.”
Since the dog continued to wag, but added some whines and a little dance, Nash got up to take care of it.
When he came back in and Tic rushed the bowls she’d already filled with food and fresh water, she stood pouring coffee.
And she wore a sleeveless black tank that showed hints of a red sports bra and tight, tiny black shorts.
“Well, okay, that might be even better than the cheerleader outfit.”
“Still no pom-poms,” she said, and handed him coffee. “Even a month ago, I could barely manage three burpees.”