My Man Pendleton(63)
Author: Elizabeth Bevarly

“I like this music better,” he said, his words a quiet murmur against her skin. “It suits my mood.” She was about to suggest another musical alternative—like maybe something along the lines of Barney Sings the Best of Stephen Sondheim, anything to crush the romantic mood—but Pendleton moved a hand from her back to her rib cage, strumming his fingers slowly and methodically along each one. He didn’t stop until he cradled the lower curve of her breast in the ample L-shape of his thumb and forefinger. Then, in one swift, easy motion, he covered her breast completely and palmed the ripening peak.

And then all Kit could do was echo, “Oh, Pendleton.”

It was all the encouragement he needed, evidently. With that single, softly uttered sentiment, he took full control of the situation. He skimmed his lips along the line of her jaw, brushing them once, twice, three times across her open mouth. Kit told herself to do something, quickly, before the two of them ended up in a position her hastily fleeing reason assured her would be a very big mistake…just before it closed the door behind itself and locked it tight.

So she did something. She slid her hands up over his chest, curled her fingers over his shoulders, cupped one hand at his nape, and pulled his head down to hers for a more thorough kiss. He was an eager student, falling right into the rhythm she set with the first brush of her mouth over his.

Score one for the heart, she thought. Boy, it looked like reason was going to take a real beating tonight.

“Then again,” Pendleton murmured as he ended the kiss and brushed his lips up over her cheek, “maybe it wouldn’t be such a bad idea to go upstairs to the bedroom, after all.”

Oh, yeah, Kit thought. At this point, reason was pretty much a goner.

In spite of her conviction, she managed to attempt one final stab at rationality. “I’m not sure this is a good idea,” she said. Then she completely negated the objection by trailing the tip of her tongue along the line of his rough jaw, savoring the fine, salty flavor of him.

“Oh, I think it’s an excellent idea,” he countered, turning his head to catch her tongue in his mouth again. Somehow, Kit found the strength to pull away one final time. She gazed up into his eyes, wishing, wanting, wavering. “But I’m not sure I—”

“I’m sure,” he interrupted her. “Just trust me, okay?”

Trust him? she echoed to herself. No, she couldn’t do that. What she could do, though, was allow herself the temporary and unwise luxury of pretending to. She’d always been good at pretending where her emotions were concerned. Right after dancing, that was the thing she did best.

Silently, slowly, she nodded her assent. But she almost changed her mind when she saw the feral smile that spread over Pendleton’s features.

“I’m not using any birth control,” she told him. She honestly didn’t know if the remark was meant as a last-ditch effort to stop what was happening, or as a prelude to something else entirely. She couldn’t think about that right now.

“I’ve got it covered,” he assured her.

Involuntarily, she dropped her gaze downward, to a part of him that even now, she felt ripening against her.

“Well not at this exact moment,” he said with a soft chuckle. “But I’ll have it covered when the time comes.”

He lowered his mouth to hers again. Then Kit forgot about everything in the world except Pendleton, and how he made her feel. She was totally unprepared when he bent and hooked one arm behind her knees, then hauled her up into his arms and against his chest. Instinctively, she wrapped her arms around his neck, a chuckle of sheer pleasure bubbling up from inside her.

“You’re not really going to carry me up the stairs, are you?” she asked.

He smiled. “Oh, yeah.”

“Just like Rhett?”

He cocked his head to the side. “What, you don’t think I could pull it off?”

She eyed him playfully. “Well, fiddle-dee-dee, Pendleton. Rhett only had Scarlett to deal with. You, on the other hand…”

“I have the notorious Katherine Atherton McClellan,” he finished for her. “Clearly, I’m the lucky one.”

She chose not to respond to that. It would only mess with the fantasy. Instead, she tipped her forehead to rest it against his and closed her eyes. She didn’t open them again until he crested the top step, and then only because she couldn’t tolerate any longer not being able to look at him. So she looked her fill, noted the seductive curve of his smile, the unruly lock of hair that fell rebelliously over his brow, and the dark spark of passion that glittered in his eyes.

My man Pendleton, she thought. At least for tonight.

His gaze never left hers as he carried her effortlessly over the bedroom threshold, where the faint light of a bedside lamp gilded and gentled his features even more. He didn’t stop moving until he stood beside the bed, and when Kit glanced down at it, she uttered a soft, derisive sound. She really should have made it the day before, she thought as she took in the pile of rumpled bedclothes. Ah, well. Just saved them that much trouble now, didn’t it?

Silently, Pendleton released her legs so they swung parallel to his own, but he didn’t let go of her completely. Her toes only skimmed the floor as he wound his arms tightly around her waist, pulled her to him again, and touched his lips to hers.

There was a lot to be said for being tall enough to see almost eye to eye with a man, Kit thought just before letting hers flutter closed. Funny how she’d never noticed that before. Pendleton slanted his mouth more fully over hers, and she ceased to think at all.

With agonizing, exhilarating slowness, he lowered her to the floor, pressing her against him from head to toe, so that she felt him everywhere—against her legs, her belly, her br**sts, her mouth. She reached behind him to bunch his sweatshirt in both fists at the same time he lifted his hand to the top button of her shirt. They each chuckled at their single-mindedness, but neither halted the actions.

Pendleton did pause to let Kit pull his sweatshirt over his head, but the garment remained caught around his forearms until he’d freed the last of her buttons. Only then did he step away long enough to toss his shirt to the floor.

Kit could only stare at him, at the rich scattering of dark hair that decorated his entire torso, narrowing as it arrowed down to the waistband of his blue jeans, but never diminishing. Muscles roped and banded his shoulders and arms, bunching poetically as he settled his hands on his h*ps to observe her in return.