Chapter Two

Amelia stared at the ceiling above her bed, clinging to the covers like a lonesome child. Her body shivered underneath the comforter, not from the cold as much as the fiery heat that churned inside her. She longed for a husband, for affection, for sex, and yet none of that was coming to her, and she was afraid the longer she stayed on the ranch, the more her dreams for romance would die. That is unless …

She heard a tapping at her window. Thinking it was just the wind, she was shocked when the sound became more forceful. And a glance in that direction, she made out Christian’s form on the other side of the glass. She swept from bed and pulled up the window.

“Good lord, what are you doing!” she scolded.

“Shush. I want you.” He practically fell inside as he climbed through.

“You could have come up the stairs, for crissakes.”

“But isn’t this much more romantic?” he said, his arms gliding around her waist as he moved her purposely toward the bed.

“Christian, no, please!”

“No? Why it’s been months, sweetheart. I’ve missed you.” His hands were all over her, in familiar places he knew how to enliven in seconds with the gentlest of touches. Amelia tried pulling away but his one palm found its home against her pubis, remaining there to feed her hungry body. His mouth moved down to hers, quieting her objections. And with their mouths pressing together, they opened. Their tongues met, and a moment later he had her nightgown on the floor.

“You are so gorgeous,” he purred, as she stood in front of him demurely embarrassed by his zealously attentive eyes. Pulling off his boots he tossed them aside, and undoing the buckle at his waist he pushed his pants to his feet. As he lay down on her bed, Christian pulled Amelia with him. At first on top, he then rolled her over, pinning her to the bed with his hands on hers beside her head.

“Christian, please.”

“You’re hot, Amelia. As hot as I am.”

“I am hot, but it can’t be for you.”

“You were before.”

“But that’s over.”

“Never, sweetheart. I love you.”

“No. You love what’s between my legs.”

“What’s wrong with that?”

He gave her no opportunity to answer, but covered her mouth again with his, and tortured her with a hundred tiny kisses. As his leather-covered groin wiggled against her naked one, his prick sprung free. And without a fight, she opened her thighs so he could dip himself inside her warmth. Making himself at home again, they moved about the bed, making love. Falling into a pattern of physical pleasure that had begun three years before, he was in