Page 125 of Rocky Mountain Devil

His blue gaze fixed on her face as if he were memorizing her.

“That feels so good,” Laurel whispered. He might have needed her, but she’d needed him just as much.

Rafe pressed his hands to her hips and lifted her easily. Small motions, as if he couldn’t bear for them to be apart. It was enough to tease her aching nerves, every one of them sending out urgent cries for more.

The springs on the old couch creaked as he increased tempo, bringing her down hard enough they bounced slightly. Again, and again, the rhythm like an old-time squeezebox, metallic rattles mixing with the sound of their uneven breaths.

Pleasure swirled around them, and it was more than physical. They were there for each other. In the touch of their fingers. The sound of a gasp. The taste of his lips on hers. Sensory overload. Filled to capacity.

They came together, the explosion in the middle of the room tightly contained as she wrapped herself around him. Rafe’s arms like bands of steel—as if he was never going to let go.

Never, and that was just fine by her.

Now she had to figure out how to help him get through the rest of the day—although she had a pretty good idea of one thing that would help.

With a little luck they wouldn’t get arrested.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Rafe straightened his clothes reluctantly as he waited for Laurel to finish fixing her hair. “Are you really going to make me do this?” he complained. “Because…week in bed. Just saying, that’s an option.”

“You’re not attending the funeral for his sake. Funerals are for the ones left behind.” Laurel pushed him out the front door. “Stop whining.”

“It’s not whining, it’s expressing a viable option. One that doesn’t require clothes.” Instant evil eye. “Wow, you’re good at that. Very scary.”

She broke into a smile and took his hand, but when he would have guided her to his truck, she pointed the other direction. “I need to return Trevor’s.”

“Would serve him right to have to catch a ride out here to pick it up. Don’t know what it is with him leaving the keys in the ignition all the time.”

But he wandered obediently to the other truck, pulling back sharply when instead of sliding to the middle, she set herself firmly behind the wheel.

“Sitko?”

She jerked her head to the other door. “I stole it, I’ll return it. Get in. We’ve got somewhere to go.”

He thought she was talking about the church, but she turned a half-dozen blocks early, on the road that led to Traders Pub. “You taking me to the bar?”

“You already had beer for breakfast, which, by the way, I’m only going to say this once—neveragain. Got it?”

He chuckled sheepishly. “I wasn’t planning on drinking it all.”

“No, of course not. You were practicing your juggling.” She drove past the bar.

“We’re going to be late,” he warned.

“We need to do this.”

“I thought you wanted me at the funeral.”

Laurel focused on the road. “I want you there for your mom and your brother, and that doesn’t have to be at the church. Although you should text Gabe that you’re okay so he doesn’t worry. I have an idea.”

She was up to something. “I don’t want to accuse you of anything, Sitko, but you’re wearing that same expression that used to get us in a lot of trouble in the old days.”

Her lips twisted into a wry smile. “Yes, but it’ll be worth it,” she promised.

“I trust you.”

And that was the truth right there. Whatever mischief she wanted to do, she had a reason and it was something she thought was right for him, for them, so he was willing to go along with it.