One Autumn Night

Chapter Eight

Riding the erratic pulse within her, she pulled Declan toward her bedroom, closed the door, and hushed her cautioning mind by lifting off his shirt, trailing her fingertips up and over his chest with the movement.

Every fiber of her being reacted to him, to his body being so close. And with ripening demand, she met his mouth, his breath, and took.

Shoving and tossing away pesky articles of clothing, arriving at the vibrant, naked center, they tangled and turned, maneuvering toward the bed.

Potent, that's what he was. Her mind spun and her body followed when he laid her on the heather gray down comforter then dipped down, trailing hot kisses along her legs, up her stomach, over her breasts, along the thin line where her necklace lay, then finally, finally back on her lips.

She cast aside judgment, doubt, fear, and let out a low moan as he slid into her.

He hadn't gone there for this, he told himself. At least not entirely. His body just fit in hers, he decided. Feeling her tight little body move with his, he fought through the torment, the pleasure, the tangle of yearning for more and more, faster and faster. They fit together in ways that made him want to stay in her forever.

With the beat of the rain outside, the low groans and uninhibited gasps inside, together they rode. And with a wild grip of feeling and desire, past and present, they rode harder, faster, together, pacing one another.

They'd always had that, that rhythm that was all theirs.

Her body bucked, dragging him closer, reaching for him, and when he felt her tighten and surrender, he knew. He'd always known and God, how he'd missed the pleasure of that.

Abigail. Only Abigail, he thought as he dove one last time and emptied into her.

Breath ragged and hearts beating wildly amid the pounding of rain on the roof, Abigail and Declan's bodies lay still in a heated heap.

"For the record," she started, swallowing as her mouth had gone dry from all the panting. "I didn't come upstairs hoping you'd follow behind and this would happen."

He adjusted so her head had better support on his arm. "And for the record, I didn't hire you for the party tonight so that this would happen."

"Liar."

He laughed. "Maybe a little."

She patted a hand on his hard, chiseled chest, and unhooked her limbs from the hold. "I've got to get back downstairs. If we're late for this dinner..."

"We won't be." He followed her cue and rose to dress.

She'd heard him say "we" but decided it was best to ignore it for now. "Thank you for your help today."

"Hey, anytime you need an orgasm, you let me know."

Her laugh was rich and hearty as her head leaned back, eyes closed. "For that too."

Back downstairs, Abigail, clad in a short-sleeved olive green shirt, strolled through the kitchen. Her muscles had gone lax and gooey and God, had she been overdue for that. "Let's take five and go over this menu. Everyone at a good stopping place?"

The icy stare she received from Ben as he approached the other side of the stainless steel table was something to be dealt with later, she noted. Maybe sooner than later. He prided himself on being something of a brotherly shield for her and she was glad for that. But the mindless sex with Declan—phew, yes, she thought—was none of her brother's business so she'd deal with the icy looks later.