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Copyright © 2014 Kristin Daniels
A tingle fluttered through her stomach as she stepped inside Blackbear Ranch’s all-too-familiar kitchen and lost focus on what she was saying. The room was so huge and decked out so well that any professional chef would have appliance- and cabinetry-envy, but at the same time the space never felt overdone. It was a room that implied comfort and caring, a place where someone could be alone in the middle of the night with a glass of milk at the counter just as easily as they could sit around the huge table with twelve other people enjoying a Thanksgiving dinner with all the trimmings.
And oh, that table. Oh, the things they’d done on that table.
And the center island counter.
And the built-in cushioned bench beneath the bay window next to the door.
Heat rushed not only to her cheeks, but to her breasts and between her thighs as well. And when she glanced up at Wade’s face and found him staring around the room too, she nearly lost it. His dark eyes held a crazy combination of lust, need, and damn it all—sadness.
It was a combination she put there. A combination she had to atone for.
“Wade,” she started.
The slow slide of his gaze toward hers had to be one of the most sensual things she’d ever experienced. Her throat instantly turned to sandpaper and she was pretty sure her heart was going to leap straight out of her chest. All she could do was stare into his eyes as she wondered—or more like hoped—that maybe, just maybe, in the midst of all this craziness surrounding them, that he just might kiss her.
Her lungs seized as he held her gaze for what felt like forever. And then, oh God, he did it. He lowered his head so achingly slowly toward hers, brushing his tongue ever so gently across her lips before pressing his mouth fully against hers.
Fire engulfed her entire body as her brain completely checked out. She couldn’t think, and honestly she didn’t want to. She’d spent the last twelve hours in a living hell, and the last fifteen months missing this so much she wasn’t sure she’d ever be able to make up for lost time.
Good God, the man could kiss. He hypnotized her with nothing more than the heat from his touch. A touch that bulldozed straight from being gentle and soft to downright merciless and erotic, all without so much as a second to breathe in between.
He dipped his knees and wound his arms around her, pressing his body into hers so ferociously she thought she was going to lose her mind. She remembered a time before when he’d done this—exactly this. A time when he’d stolen her sanity with a kiss so desperate they hadn’t made it any further than that bench next to the doorway. He’d made love to her on those cushions, fast and hard and with unrelenting passion.
How in the world had she ever given this—him—up?
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