A Creed in Stone Creek - Linda Lael Miller [69]
But she also knew—had known from the moment they met, actually—that making love with him, for better or worse, for heaven or for heartbreak, was as inevitable as the turning of the seasons.
Melissa had only been inside her brother’s fancy bus a few times—Brad had expressly forbidden any of his three younger sisters to consort with his band—but she knew where the main bedroom was. And knew they were headed straight for it.
Steven laid her down on the bed gently, his eyes at once troubled and hungry. “Are you sure about this?” he asked.
Melissa nodded, swallowed. “I’m sure,” she said.
Like hell.
He sat down on the edge of the bed, pulled off his boots, tossed them aside. Otherwise, Steven was fully dressed, just as she was.
Turning his head to look down at her, he smiled very slightly. “You knew this would happen,” he said. The statement might have been a mere guess, it might have been an accusation.
It might have been both.
“So did you,” Melissa replied, scooting over, so he could stretch out beside her, which he did.
“Some things,” he agreed, in that same gruff voice, “are written in the stars.”
She smiled up at him. “You’re a poet on top of all your other charms.”
He laughed. “Woman,” he said, easing the skirt of her sundress up over her knees and then higher still, to the middle of her thighs, “poetry is the least of my charms.”
She felt so crazy-happy, and the emotion was all the sweeter because she knew it wouldn’t last. The real Melissa was hardheaded and practical, and wherever she’d gone, she’d definitely be back. With a vengeance. “And you’re arrogant, too.”
But his face had changed. He sat up, frowning, touching her with just the tips of his fingers.
Melissa remembered the cuts and bruises she’d sustained that morning, though she couldn’t actually feel a single one of them. No, all she felt was Steven’s caress, and the desire for more contact and then still more.
“This happened today?” he asked. “When you were almost hit by a car?”
Melissa bit her lower lip. “Yes,” she said. “But—”
He met her gaze, his expression grave. “You’re hurt,” he said. And just like that, he was up and off the bed, moving away from her. He disappeared into the bathroom and returned almost immediately with a drugstore first-aid kit.
Still adjusting to the shift in mood, Melissa nearly laughed, out of pure nervousness, and started to shinny upright.
Steven stopped her, though, with just a look.
“You keep a first-aid kit handy?” she asked.
Stupid question, since he obviously did. But there it was.
“I have a five-year-old son,” he reminded her.
He set the white plastic box aside, on the table next to the bed, and that was when she noticed that he’d just happened to bring a small, easily recognizable packet along, too.
A condom. Anticipation returned, washing over Melissa in one great tsunami-like wave.
“Let’s get you out of that dress,” he said next.
And he simply whisked the whole thing right off over her head, without any sort of wasted motion.
Melissa had been undressed by a few men before, of course, but never in such a deft and matter-of-fact way. The yearning, strong before, pressed on her like a weight now, making it hard for her to breathe.
“That was—direct,” she gasped, as a flush moved from her hairline to her toes. Goose bumps rose in its wake.
“I’m nothing if not direct,” Steven said. Then he began applying some kind of medicine to her injuries, lightly and with skill.
“I’ve already used ointment,” she struggled to say. Her body wanted to rise to him, to the touch of his hands, her back wanted to arch and her legs to part.
“Well, now you’re getting more,” Steven answered.
Oh, God, Melissa thought desperately, as his fingertips moved like a whispering breeze over the tingling flesh of her thighs and her knees, then her arms and shoulders.
He gave another of those raspy chuckles she was beginning to recognize as a hallmark of his personality. “Oh, lady, as roughed up as you are,