Page 65 of Rocky Mountain Devil

Rafe handed over a fresh sandwich. “Right. Feed your stomach. I don’t want you to pass out later.”

Laurel gave him an amused glance. “Why? Are you making me help with chores?”

“I’m working you over,” he announced happily. “It’s one of the last fine fall days, and I don’t think you’ve had a chance to fool around outdoors yet. Have you?”

She didn’t answer. Just stared at him with her sandwich halfway to her mouth.

“I didn’t think so.” He nudged her sandwich with his. “Get munching. You’ll need your strength.”

After everything that had gone on that day, and all the wild swings of emotion she’d experienced, right there and then with his eyes on her…

Intense.

Forget the physical reactions likefight or flight, guilt or frustration—lust had them beat by a country mile.

Laurel remembered her momentary discussion that morning with God while seated on the piano bench. Maybe she was supposed to feel a whole lot guiltier for being physically intimate with Rafe, but it was too right to be wrong. As if out of all the people in the world she could’ve gotten involved with, He’d known Rafe Coleman was the one for her.

She’d told the truth. While she and Jeff had gotten along, and there’d been an attraction there, it wasn’t the fire and deep-core-melting, body-shaking need she experienced having Rafe around.

He made a picnic on the grass seem like the most erotic of experiences.

She was too hungry to play around before satisfying her stomach. Only with each bite he seemed to focus on a different part of her body, his gaze trickling over her. Intense enough she swore she felt it. A stroke across her cheek. Another trickling over her collarbone. Lower. Each moment more intimate.

She rushed to get down her sandwich, picking up a bottle of water and drinking it thirstily, all the time ultra-aware of his gaze on her.

Rafe ate rapidly as well, somehow consuming twice as much as she did during the same amount of time while never missing a beat.

“You had enough?” His voice a deep, needy rumble.

“It’s a little cold to strip,” she warned.

He dropped the few remaining sandwiches back into the basket, pretty much tossing the rest after them. “Trust me. I can get you hot enough not to worry.”

Of that she had no doubt. “So, how’s this going to work?”

He shifted into the middle of the blanket, patting his lap. “Have a seat.”

She crawled over eagerly, letting him help her settle, one knee on either side of his legs as he draped her arms over his shoulders. When he placed a hand on her back and tugged, their bodies came into contact, and she lazily drifted her fingers over shoulder muscles, enjoying the soft touch of his flannel shirt.

They touched innocently for a long while. Slow, with curiosity. As if they’d never met each other before and it was the first time to explore one another.

In some ways, it was true. Every day changed their relationship enough for Laurel to have to think hard about the man she was involved with.

He wasn’t the boy she’d laughed and played games with. He was more than the innocent, childish trouble they’d embarked on back in the day. The fact he’d grown up was carved into his muscles—in the strong line of his biceps, the firm curves of his chest, and the rigid edges of his six-pack as she stroked a hand over his abdomen. The hours of labour he’d put in on the Coleman ranch had been written onto his body.

His physical body had matured into the man he’d always had the potential to become. But his words earlier had said it wasn’t only his body that had changed.

She’d faced dealing with Ben for a moment, and failed miserably. For Rafe to have come through the past years without choosing the bitter path said a lot about the strength of his convictions.

Even the way he touched her now was perfect. She’d shared things that could have upset him, but instead of taking revenge, he was being nothing but gentle. Stroking her, caressing her—pretty much petting her as if she was precious, and he wanted nothing more than to care for her.

The secrets she held buried inside moved closer to escaping. Could she trust him withallher fears and doubts? With everything she’d faced alone over the past three years?

Soon, but not this moment.

Not when he was touching her as if he craved her.

So when he stopped stroking and took a firm grip on her hips, she went willingly. Kneeling upright as he nudged her breasts through her borrowed shirt.