Slow Dance at Rose Bend

Goddammit, did they fit. A shiver worked through him, and he didn’t try to prevent it. Or hide it. He wanted, needed her to know how she affected him. How her strength humbled him. How her spirit and courage awed him.
Inhaling her scent of lavender, vanilla and the perspiration from their ride, he buried his face in the crook of her neck. And because he couldn’t help himself, he pressed his mouth to the base of her throat, feeling the rapid throb of her pulse against his lips. Rejoicing in it.
“Ask me again,” he demanded, lifting his head and staring down into her almond-brown gaze. “Ask me, Cherrie.”
She didn’t pretend to misunderstand him. But caution, and yes, the whisper of fear he’d glanced earlier in the day, passed through her eyes.
“Maddox,” she said, regret thick in her voice. “You were right to turn me down. Us, this... It isn’t a good idea.”
“I didn’t turn you down,” he argued. “And you think it’s not a good idea—which I disagree with—but it’s inevitable.”
She released his shirt, her hands falling to his waist. Not pushing him away, but not holding him close, either. “I...” She briefly closed her eyes, the long fan of her lashes hiding her eyes from him before she lifted them, and the resolve there set his heart pounding. “I’m not the woman you want, the woman you need. Starting something when I’m only going to leave... It’s not fair. To either one of us. We shouldn’t start what we can’t finish.”
“Then give us right now.” He tunneled his fingers through her hair and drove back a groan at finally, finally having her curls in his hand. Twisting them around his fist. Savoring the coarse silk crush of them between his fingers. “The thought of going through the rest of this life without knowing what it is to kiss you, to taste you, to be buried inside you... It fucking scares me. Right now, baby.” He tugged her head back, and her soft gasp ghosted across his mouth. “So, Cherrie, ask me.”
Indecision shadowed her gaze. But so did the desire making a mockery of his control. After a moment, she sighed. And whispered, “We’re going to have sex, aren’t we?”
“Fuck. Yes.”
Then he crushed his mouth to hers.

CHAPTER FOUR
MISTAKE. THIS WAS such a huge mistake.
And Cherrie didn’t give a damn.
Not with Maddox’s mouth molded to hers. Not with his tongue thrusting, tangling and, God yes, tasting. Not with his hungry moans pouring into her as he devoured her.
Not with his hard, thick and—she whimpered—big cock nudging her belly.
Yes, she might regret this decision to curl her fingers around his biceps, rise on her toes and open wider for him, but at this moment? Nothing else mattered.
One hand in her hair and the other clamped around her hip, he guided her backward, and she trusted him to keep her safe. Closing her eyes, she lost herself in the erotic mesh of their mouths. Every lick and suck catapulted the craving that had been taunting her since she’d first laid eyes on him the previous evening into the stratosphere. She wanted to soar there. Wanted him to send her there.
Sliding her palms up his arms, she wound hers around his neck and jumped, wrapping her legs around his lean waist. And placing her sex in direct alignment with his erection. She whimpered, a bolt of pure lust pile-driving through her and propelling the breath out of her lungs.
Wrenching her mouth away, she dropped her head back and muttered, “Oh God. You feel...”
She didn’t have a chance to complete the sentiment, because he yanked her head back up, took her lips again. He didn’t let up. Not even when her back met the ground and his big body settled between her legs, covering her. Ravenous. It was the only word to describe how he consumed her. No part of her mouth went undiscovered, untouched. And she surrendered to the hunger, let him have free rein because in his taking, he gave. Lord, did Maddox give.
He held nothing back from her. Not his eager moans, the intensity of his need for her, his hoarse words of praise in between the small, tender bites. Just a kiss and she’d never felt so...desired. So vital.
He peppered hot, damp kisses over her lips, cheeks, jaw and chin, then dragged his mouth down her neck, grazing his teeth along her skin. Pausing to gently bite the tendon that ran along the column. She clutched his shoulders, arching her neck and back, silently pleading for more of that tender caress that skated the thin edge of pain.
His big palms stroked the sides of her breasts, her torso, until he fisted the edge of her tank top. “Okay?” he asked, his narrowed gaze on hers. Studying her. Probably for any signs of indecision.
He wouldn’t find any.
She was in. So far in she couldn’t see her way out. That both exhilarated and terrified her.
“Okay,” she said, leveling off the blanket so he could yank the top over her head. She returned the favor by balling his T-shirt in her fingers and tugging the cotton up. Reaching behind his head, he finished the deed by whipping it off. Leaving that wide, muscled chest—spattered with auburn hair—bared to her eyes. “More than okay.” She trailed her fingers over his defined pectorals, glancing across the small, flat nipples.
His growl vibrated in the air, and she smiled. Repeated the teasing caress.
“That’s not nice, baby,” he warned.
“Return the favor.” She stretched her arms above her head, offering her silk-covered breasts to him.
Before she completed the sentence, he captured the beaded tip between his teeth and drew on it. She cried out, the crackling pleasure pulling her higher, tauter.
“Not enough,” he muttered against her, and in moments, her bra disappeared from between them and his tongue and teeth ravished her bare flesh. His hand cupped and squeezed the other heavy breast, readying it for the same sensuous torture its twin received.
“Maddox,” she whined, twisting, shaking beneath him,