She stepped just out of his reach.

Her slender fingers went to the front of her shirt, and one slow, agonizing button at a time, the silk parted. When all the tiny pearl buttons were undone, she pulled it from her skirt and let it hang loose and open, revealing the creamy skin of her slender torso, a flat stomach, and an elegant, lacy bra.

It looked expensive. And sexy. And made him want to growl.

So he did, and a naughty smile spread over her pink lips.

She worked the buttons on the cuffs of her sleeve. "I have a lot of nice lingerie. It makes me feel pretty and feminine. It's my one vice." One cuff opened and she went to work on the other one. "Except for fashionable clothes. And shoes." She slid one foot forward and toed the floor with the tip of those fuck-me shoes. His prick turned to granite. "Okay, and ice cream too."

He crossed his arms and clamped his hands under his biceps to keep from tossing her over a shoulder like a caveman and hauling her upstairs. This was just too damn good to interrupt.

The second cuff fell open, and she swished her shoulders. The silk floated to the floor and pooled at her feet. "I've had to keep the lingerie to myself," she said in a sex-kitten voice. "Until now, the only men who have seen it are Ben and Jerry." Her hand went to the back of the twisty strings of amber and gold around her neck right where he wanted to sink his teeth.

"Leave 'em," Mitchell growled. His gaze dropped to her shoes. "And the shoes too."

"You don't like the lingerie?" She ran a fingertip along the top of one bra cup, then the other. The lace barely covered her nipples.

He swallowed. "I love the lingerie. I have to say, it's my favorite of all your vices. Nice as it is, though, it's going to get in the way of my mission in another minute or so."

"Really?" She unbuttoned the waistband of her skirt and slid the zipper down. She pivoted so that her backside was to him. "We'll see about that." She reached around to her back and unhooked the bra, letting it slid down her arms. With a fingertip, she held it to the side, and peeked over one shoulder with a wicked smile.

She let it go the way of her shirt, but she still didn't turn around so he could enjoy the view.

He frowned because, why would she be embarrassed now? He'd seen every inch of her up close. Over and over again.

She skimmed her thumbs inside the waistband of her skirt and let it glide over her hips to the floor. And, sweet Jesus, if he thought she was being shy, he'd been staggeringly wrong.

Thank God, because his closet sex-kitten wife was wearing a thong. A black lace one. At least the tiny piece of it he could see looked like lace.

He reached her in one stride and wrapped her in his arms so his front spooned against her back. With one hand, he angled her head to the side so her neck was exposed. The other hand found her breast, the nipple already tight and throbbing.

"On second thought, I don't think the lingerie will be a problem," he growled against her ear.

She arched back against him. "I didn't think so." She raised an arm over her shoulder to sink all five long, luxurious fingers into his hair and pulled his mouth to hers. Her kiss was urgent and scalding hot, scorching a trail of need through every nerve ending. She tasted sweet and spicy at the same time like the exotic foods he'd sampled overseas.

Her body was soft against his hardness.

She tried to turn in his arms to face him, but he stopped her. With his fingers working a nipple, he sank the other hand to her sleek abdomen and then took small steps forward to the wall. She followed his lead, and he threaded his fingers on top of hers and guided their joined hands flat against the wall. He braced their weight that way and slid his other hand under the tiny triangle of lace between her thighs.

Their lips and tongues still working that desperate kiss for all it was worth, she drew in a feathery breath when his fingers found her clit. He circled her sweet spot until it throbbed, then he pushed two fingers into her hot, wet center.

She cried out.

"Yes, baby." His whisper against her ear made her shiver.

"You're overdressed," she panted out.

That he was. He pulled off his shirt and kicked off his boots and pants with lightning fast movements. Completely naked, he stepped into her and covered her hand against the wall with his again. He moved the tiny black string to one side and bent his knees to enter her from behind. She was wet and ready and tilted one knee out to take all of him in.

The air around them became as thick and tense as his erection as he rolled his hips against her firm bottom and came up so deep that he filled her completely. Her head fell back against his shoulder, and he placed his mouth against her ear.

"You're so damn beautiful it hurts."

A shudder racked through her so fierce, so fast, so full of fire, that he had to grit his teeth to stop an orgasm from overtaking him. He found the pulsing nub between her thighs again and stroked it with his thumb in the same rhythm he stroked the most intimate part of her with the tip of his shaft.

One of her hands slid down to cover his, and she followed his movements. "Oh God, Mitchell."

The desperation in her voice drove him on, and his thrusts went deeper and faster until her body started to tighten around him. Just a slight tremor at first, then it grew and expanded until she exploded into an earthquake of quivering flesh that sent an orgasm thundering through him too.

When the last waves of it receded, she turned into his arms. This time he let her, and she went in for a soft, sweet sigh of a kiss. He wrapped his arms around her so tight that he could feel her heartbeat against his chest.

He never wanted it to end. Never wanted to let her go. Never wanted to leave her.

Never was a long time. But they had now, and maybe now could grow into forever.

His palms skimmed down her slender back and over the soft flesh of her ass. She squeaked when he lifted her, and her legs instinctively closed around his waist, her heels digging into his backside.

"Christ, Sparky, I already want you again." She did a nice grind against his groin, and he moaned. Loud.

"I didn't quite get that," Minx purred from Lorenda's phone. "Could you repeat?"

Oh yeah, he planned to repeat, but not with a cell phone monitoring him. "Grab your phone."

She did. "Now open the drawer." She did that too, and he let go of one of her cheeks long enough to snatch the phone and toss it in. He slammed the drawer and gripped her ass again. Her flesh felt so good filling his palm.

"I'm getting you another phone the next time I drive into a bigger town where they actually sell quality devices." He walked to the sofa. "With a service that doesn't spy on our love life like the NSA."

"I signed a contract for two years." She clamped her arms around his neck.

"I'll pay for both." If she kept him around that long. Right now, though, he didn't want to talk about the phone. "What are we celebrating?" He nodded to the champagne and candles.

She smiled and gave him a soft, contented kiss. "Besides the cataclysmic orgasm you just gave me?"

He laughed.

"I sold a big property today, and I plan to donate some of it to the music program."

He drew back, his brows pulling together. "I thought all the students dropped out?"

"Um . . . a few reenrolled." When she chewed her lip, and her eyes flitted away, Mitchell knew something was up, and he wasn't going to like it. His gaze raked her face. "What aren't you telling me?" Because this might be a problem, unless she planned on finding a new place to rehearse.

She gave him a knowing, naughty smile. "We can talk about it later. For now, we're celebrating."

He laid her back on the plush sofa. She stretched out. Both hands behind her head, strands of gold and amber glinting against the afternoon light that filtered through the blinds, small triangle of lace covering the sweetest piece of real estate on earth, and her long legs crossed at the ankles still sporting those fantastic heels.

Whatever she had to tell him could wait.

He found his jeans and slid them on. He zipped his pants but left the button undone, then walked to the coffee table. The tip of the match hissed when he struck it against the pack, and each candle flickered to life. He picked up the chilled bottle and peeled off the foil covering.

Lorenda propped on one elbow to watch, completely unashamed at the way she admired every inch of him from head to bare feet. Her wandering gaze made him go hard again.

Her eyes filled with raw emotion. The same raw emotion he'd been feeling deep in his soul. He'd thought it was gone forever after spending so many years in a foreign desert so far away from home. But Lorenda had somehow been able to tap into it, and he'd felt more human these past few weeks than he'd felt since he was an eighteen-year-old kid getting his head shaved on the first day of boot camp.

Forget the champagne. He just wanted her.

He slammed the bottle to the table and had her under him quicker than he could blink.

"There's something I want you to think about," she whispered against his mouth.

"Oh, I'm thinking about plenty right now." His mouth smothered hers again, and he went in for a deep, sensual kiss.

She started to protest, but he pressed his hips into hers.

"Oh!" She arched into him, her legs wrapping around his waist.

He groaned and then pulled a taut nipple between his teeth, sucking it into a hard peak.

She fisted the back of his hair and pulled his mouth to hers. "I want you to stay here. With me," she whispered against his lips.

Scalding desire rushed through him.

"Baby, I'm not going anywhere. Except down." He feathered openmouthed kisses all the way down her center to that erotic triangle of lace.

The champagne stayed on the table, unopened and forgotten, but he made sure they celebrated in a whole different way.

Chapter Twenty-Two.

Monday afternoon the seats Lorenda had set up in the gym were filled with students who had rejoined the music program. She and the kids had a lot of work to do to get back on track and prepare for the concert, which was less than two weeks away. Unfortunately, the bleachers were filled with angry parents who kept spearing Mitchell with dirty looks and then turning them on Lorenda.

This wasn't exactly what she'd pictured when she'd asked Bart to put his support behind the program and encourage the parents to let their kids come back.

Dylan passed out sheet music to the kids, and Lorenda adjusted her music stand.

As whispers buzzed through the crowd, Mitchell lounged in the back corner of the gym, arms and ankles crossed, trying to look inconspicuous. Inconspicuous was impossible for a well-built, good-looking bad boy like him. He'd added a pair of aviators to his standard-issue black T-shirt, faded Levi's, and combat boots. She suspected the aviators served as a shield against the hard scrutiny of the townsfolk. With his arms crossed, his thorny tattoo was taut over a large flexed bicep.

And the jeans? They hinted at his powerful thighs. Thighs she'd spent most of the weekend wrapped around.

She'd asked him to stay with her. He'd said he wasn't going anywhere. With the house to themselves until Sunday evening, they'd demonstrated in every way possible how they felt and what they meant to each other.

But his insistence that Bart was behind the mugging and the fires and Mitchell's refusal to let her out of his sight was too much. After getting no attention at all in her first marriage, Mitchell's concern was touching. It was also bordering on obsession and was crossing a line to domineering.

The angry buzz of whispers escalated a little more with each passing minute.

"Lorenda," Dylan said so only she could hear. "Maybe we should get started."

"Just a second." She picked up her phone and sent Mitchell a text.

Can you wait in the parking lot? I'll be fine.

His phone must've dinged, because he retrieved it from his back pocket and his head tilted down like he was looking at the screen. He typed something back and then shoved his phone into his pocket.

Her phone vibrated.

No.

She glared at him.

His jaw hardened in response.

"What's he doing here?" One of the parents pointed to Mitchell.

That's all it took for an avalanche of complaints to come barreling at her from every direction. Lorenda held up her hands and tried to quiet them.

Wasn't happening.

She tried again, only to have the crowd's angry chatter turn to a low roar. Her gaze roamed the crowd as it spiraled further out of control.

A loud whistle ripped through the gym. Every mouth closed, and every head turned to Mitchell. He'd moved to stand behind her, and his fingers were still between his lips. "My wife has something to say."

"I . . . um . . ." She smiled at him, then turned to the crowd. "I invited the parents to observe because I thought it would settle your doubts. So please, give me a chance to work with your kids this week. I think you'll be pleased."

"We don't want him around our kids." A mother stared at Mitchell.

The timing couldn't have been worse, because Bart walked in before Lorenda could defend herself or her husband.

He stopped. Took in the audience. "Folks, give us a minute." He walked to Lorenda. "I need a word with you alone."

Mitchell eased another step closer. "Not alone."

Lorenda glanced over her shoulder, irritated at Mitchell for butting in. "What could possibly happen?"

He didn't back down. "Not alone, Sparky."

Bart's gaze bore into Mitchell. Finally Bart said, "This is why no one wants their kids in the program, Lorenda. I've tried to help you. They're here now because I called them like you asked, but there's nothing more I can do." He kept his voice low enough so only they could hear.

"You asked him to help you?" Mitchell said.

Her eyes slid shut.

"I'm the only one trying to make her life easier here, Lawson." Satisfaction glittered in Bart's eyes. "You've been making it harder since the minute you stepped back into Red River. You don't deserve her."

Mitchell's fists clenched, and he took a step toward Bart, whose eyes flew wide with fear.