a-soft-place-to-fall - Rakhibul hasan (story books to read .TXT) 📗

marbles- in-a-bowl sound of her engine that matched his own – funny how quickly a sound could become part of your personal landscape.

"No turning back now, Max," he said, scratching the dog behind the left ear. "It's up to her now."

He and Max were sitting on the back step of Ellie Bancroft's old cottage, watching a trio of seagulls scavenging for a last tasty morsel before the sun went down. The idea that had seemed inspired this afternoon when he was fueled on donuts and coffee and the way her hair looked in the sunshine seemed dubious now at best. He had planned to tell her when he brought her house keys to the flower shop but when he saw the other two women there he decided against it. Public humiliation had never been his thing.

So he just did it.

He'd never been one for grand gestures. He thought before he acted, considered every option and their consequences. You had to when you were nineteen years old and responsible for five younger brothers and sisters. This was the first time he had ever acted out of romantic impulse and it felt great.

Terrifying as hell, but great.

The engine noise cut out. He heard a car door slam shut. The squeak of a front door opening then closing. Silence. At least she hadn't screamed. That was a good sign. He drummed his fingers on the top step. He tapped his foot.

He looked down at Max. Max looked up at him.

"You're right," Sam said. "I should go over there and explain."

He put the dog inside the house and made it halfway down the driveway when he saw Annie Galloway walking up the road toward him. She was still wearing the sleek black pants and red sweater he'd seen her in that afternoon. The pants clung to her womanly hips like a hug while the sweater glided over her breasts, just snug enough to tantalize. She was backlit by the setting sun; its red glow made her wild mane of curls shimmer like living fire. She looked a little tired, a lot curious, real and earthy and beautiful enough to bring him to his knees.

In other words, nothing had changed. She stopped a few feet away from him. Their eyes met.

"You shouldn't have, Sam." "I wanted to."

"You could have asked."

"Then it wouldn't have been a surprise." "You know I can't accept it."

"Why not?"

"I barely know you."

"It's just furniture, not a truckload of Victoria's Secret." "Strangers usually don't buy each other living room furniture." "I didn't buy it."

"Okay, then they usually don't steal living room furniture for each other either." "I have a houseful of the stuff. It's either give Max more to wreck or find a safe

haven."

"You can't just give away Warren's furniture." "He said you could help yourself."

She jammed her hands in the pockets of her sleek black pants. Her belly was slightly rounded, womanly and inviting. His entire body remembered how she had felt naked in his arms.

"I don't know what to say, Sam."

"I'm so happy . . . wow, what a great idea . . . how about a wide screen tv while you're at it . . . did you get those massive muscles moving furniture . . . any one of those would be okay."

Again that laugh, that wonderful laugh. Did she have any idea what that laugh did to him?

"Would you settle for a thank you?" "No," he said. "Not good enough."

A gust of wind blew a lock of hair across her right cheek. She didn't seem to notice it. "What would be good enough?"

He looked at her mouth and grinned.

Honeyed warmth spread outward from the center of her chest. "I'm not going to ask you," he said.

She nodded.

"I'm just going to do it."

"Good idea," she whispered.

They were in each other's arms before they drew their next breaths. "Annie . . . " Did he say her name or was it already a part of his soul?

"Shhh . . . " No words. No sound. All she wanted was the feel of his lips burning hers, the cool sweet taste of his mouth, the smell of his skin. She was on fire from within. She couldn't think. She didn't want to think. If she thought about what she was doing she would turn and run and that was the last thing she wanted to do.

She melted against him, molding her body to his in a way that brought him halfway to the brink in a heartbeat. Her hunger matched his. She was a thousand dreams in the middle of a cold dark night brought to warm and vibrant life in his arms. Her fingers touched his throat, his jaw, his ears, the bridge of his nose, his temples. They tangled in his hair then slid over his back and shoulders as if she were trying to memorize his body with fingertips and palms.

He cupped her buttocks and drew her closer to him and she gasped into his mouth when he moved against her. If they didn't stop now, they would be making love right there in his driveway.

Still kissing, still touching, they stumbled up the driveway and into his house where they fell together onto the big soft sofa near the fireplace. She sank deep into the cushions and he covered her with his body. He tugged at the zipper on her sweater and pulled it down. Her bra was made of soft beige cotton. Her hard nipples were clearly visible through the worn fabric. Black lace couldn't have had a more powerful effect on him.

She fumbled with the buttons on his shirt. Her fingers felt clumsy and awkward in her eagerness to bare his skin to her lips. A button popped off and danced crazily across the braided rug then rolled to a stop.

"I'll fix it," she said as she pressed her mouth to his chest. "I'm great with a needle and thread."

He ripped off his shirt and threw it across the room.

She laughed softly, her breath hot and moist against his skin. She smelled like flowers dipped in honey. He wanted to drench himself in her.

There was nothing yielding about him, nothing soft or comforting. He was all hard muscle and sharp angles, her opposite in every way. They both knew her welcoming softness made him possible, made everything possible.

She hungered for his hands on her bare skin and cried out when he undid the clasp on her bra and cupped her breasts in his palms. It had been so long, more years than she wanted to think about, and she had been so deeply, achingly lonely for someone who saw her through the prism of desire. She loved the way he touched her. He didn't ask. He didn't hesitate. His hands claimed her body with a lover's sure and gentle touch. Each place he touched – her breasts, her ribcage, the base of her throat -- burned beneath his fingertips, his palms, his tongue.

It was all so sweetly familiar, so terrifyingly strange. Only one other man had ever touched her this way. Her body knew only one man's rhythm, one other lover's dance. She felt clumsy at times, amazingly sensual at others. Each kiss, each touch, led her down a different pathway until she was wonderfully lost. He kissed his way along her collarbone, lingering at the hollow at the base of her throat, then found her mouth. Oh God, his mouth . . . so sweet, so hot, so demanding. The explosion of sensations made her

dizzy and she allowed herself to sink even more deeply into the cushions, shielded from reality by the delicious weight of his body poised over hers.

His kisses stole her breath. She wanted to lose herself in them, lose the Annie Galloway everyone thought they knew and find out who she wanted to be.

Holding her was like holding quicksilver. Even with her body melting against his, Sam had the sense that the real Annie Galloway had somehow slipped his grasp. She was warm and willing in his arms. Her kisses scorched him from the inside out but he wasn't sure she was really there.

He wanted to kiss her until her brain clicked off and there was nothing left but desire. He wanted to bury himself in her, anchor her in the here and now until there was no room for anything but each other.

She moved her hand down his chest, over his flat belly, then stopped. Her open palm hovered over his obvious erection.

The only sound in the room was the wild pounding of their hearts, the quick pace of their breathing . . . and Max's shotgun sneezes.

Annie's eyes flew open and so did Sam's.

He cupped her face and was about to kiss her again when Max sneezed three more times, ran one lap around the living room, then threw himself down on Sam's discarded shirt and went happily to sleep.

Max snored.

Later on Annie would say that Sam was the first one to laugh but he knew better. Her creamy shoulders began to shake, her lower lip quivered, and then before he had the chance to process what was happening, her full rich laugh filled the room. His own laughter wasn't far behind.

They laughed so hard that Max woke up, shot them an indignant look, then stalked from the room. That, of course, only made them laugh harder. They clung to each other, gasping for air, as their laughter ricocheted off the walls. Half-naked, wrapped in each other's arms, they laughed until their sides ached and their throats hurt and tears ran down Annie's cheeks.

After a bit, their laughter stilled but the sense of connectedness between them grew deeper and more intense.

"This is crazy," she whispered, her mouth soft against his bare chest. "You talk too much," he said then kissed her quiet.

She liked that he didn't ask, didn't tiptoe around her, didn't treat her like St. Annie the Virgin Widow. He treated her like a flesh-and-blood woman and her response was as natural as breathing. Her lips parted at his gentle pressure and she sighed deeply as his tongue slid across the swell of her lower lip before claiming her mouth. It was all so strangely familiar, the sensual duel where both won the battle. She drank him in as if she had been parched for the taste of him, as if her soul required his essence. He would run if he knew how long it had been for her, years and years since she had been kissed this way, as if he wanted to steal her breath and make it his own.

The rough hair on his chest scraped pleasurably against the delicate skin of her breasts, causing ripples of sweet sensation to shoot straight to her core. She stiffened as he eased the flat of his hand beneath the waistband of her pants and rested his palm against the softness of her belly.

"I should do sit-ups," she said, as a wave of self-consciousness overcame her. "I bought one of those tapes and –"

He leaned over and kissed her belly, dipped his hot tongue into the well of her navel, then laughed low at her sound of surprised pleasure.

Oh God. His fingers moved down and down until they tangled in the thick curls between her legs. He caressed her gently, easily, pressing lightly here and then there, until she was almost mindless with pleasure. How easy it was to let go, to give into the moment, to open her thighs for his touch. She'd dreamed this last night as she slept in the circle of his arms, dreamed of the moment when her bones melted and everything else fell away. She was hungry for him, starved for the feel of his body. For once in her life, desire was more powerful than her sense of caution, and she reached for the button on the waistband of his jeans.

Moments later they were