Montana Dreaming: Their Unexpected Family / Cabin Fever / Million-Dollar Makeover

“Go ahead and invite my folks to dinner,” he said. “That is, if you want to.”

“And you’ll come, too?” Hope glistened in a bright-eyed smile that dimpled her cheeks.

“Yes,” he said. “I’ll come, too, just as long as it’s on my last night in town.”

She didn’t respond to the stipulation he considered a hell of a compromise. Still, he stepped over the threshold and closed the door behind him.

Once inside, the warm, fresh aroma of chilies and spice waylaid him, and his stomach growled in response.

Had she expected him? Had she made enough for two? Would she ask him to stay?

His stomach growled again, this time too loud for her to have missed.

“Dinner will be ready in a minute or two. Will you join me?”

Maybe she was just trying to be polite, but right now, he didn’t care. The meal smelled incredibly good, and he was too hungry to be sensitive. “Yeah, I would like to eat with you. Thanks.”

He watched in silence as she set the table. Then, taking a seat across from her, he relished one of the best chicken dishes he’d ever had. The sauce was on the mild side, but it was tasty just the same.

Throughout dinner, they seemed to tap dance around the sticky subject of his parents and the rift they’d had, which was a big relief. Mark preferred to glance up from his plate and see her smile, rather than frown.

After they ate, she stood and began to clear the table.

He reached for her arm and stopped her. “Let me help.”

“All right.”

They carried plates, silverware and glasses to the kitchen, and when they got to the sink, they reached for the faucet at the same time, fingers brushing, gazes locking, hearts pounding. Awareness flaring.

Time seemed to stand still, and a megadose of adrenaline blasted his libido, sending it into overdrive.

Mark didn’t know why he did it. Didn’t know why he couldn’t keep his hands to himself. But he wanted to kiss her in the worst way.

And in the best way.

He cupped her jaw, his thumbs caressing the silky skin of her cheeks. Her lips parted, but she didn’t speak. Didn’t step away.

So he drew her mouth to his.

Chapter Eleven

Juliet knew better than to kiss Mark again, but her knees turned to mush when he cupped her jaw with gentle hands and placed his lips on hers.

And even though she knew it was foolish to encourage a relationship destined to end before it started, she couldn’t fight the attraction or the desire.

The light bristle of his beard scratched against her skin in a pleasurable way. And she threaded her fingers through his hair, still damp from the shower, and drew his face closer still.

His hands stroked her back, her hips, and his tongue swept the inside of her mouth.

The musky scent of his mountain-crisp cologne drove her wild. She couldn’t seem to get enough of him, of his taste, of his caress.

A whimper escaped from somewhere deep in her heart, which only seemed to enflame him, to urge him on. And his growing desire only heightened hers.

Their tongues mated in a desperate hunger, giving and taking. And when he moaned and drew her hips flush against him, she reveled in her power to excite him, pressing into his erection, wanting him. Wanting this.

An ache grew low in her belly, reminding her how long it had been since she’d had sex. And how recently she’d delivered her daughter.

Making love was out of the question, at least for another week or so. But that didn’t mean she couldn’t enjoy the taste of him and the overwhelming passion that blazed between them.

As he intensified the kiss and the gentle assault on her senses, she realized something special had happened. Something powerful.

If there were ever any question whether she’d fallen in love with Mark before, she knew the answer now. She loved his rebel grin, his wounded heart, his awkward but sweet efforts to look out for her and the baby.

And she certainly loved the effect he had on her body.

God help her, she was falling—heart first and eyes closed—for a man who would soon leave town, who would ride off into the sunset without her.

She ought to push him away, to put a stop to the passion that continued to build, but she wanted Mark and whatever he had to offer. And she meant to make the most of a kiss that rivaled anything she’d ever known.

No, she wouldn’t put an end to the heated embrace until he did. And she certainly didn’t sense any reluctance on his part.

Mark didn’t know what had caught hold of him, but he didn’t want it to end. Not the kiss, not the fire that raged in his blood.

Passion flared between them, promising a breathtaking sexual experience that would take them to places few people had reached. And that’s just where he wanted this heated exploration to progress—to bed, where he could make love with her all night long, where he could bury himself in her softness and hear her cry out in a fulfilling climax.

The baby cried out from the bedroom, reminding Mark that they weren’t alone, that things were far more complex than he’d let himself believe.

He couldn’t allow their desire to run its course, so he pulled back, wanting to do the right thing, yet filled with regret. “I…uh…guess we shouldn’t be kissing like that.”

“I suppose not.” A flush on her neck validated his suspicion—that she’d been just as carried away as he’d been.

He tried to clear the awkwardness from his throat. “Aren’t you still…healing and stuff?”

“I feel back to normal, but Dr. Hart suggested I wait three weeks for…you know, sex. But I told her I’d be waiting a whole lot longer, since I haven’t been…hadn’t been…seeing anyone like that.”

Until now.

Mark ran a hand along his jaw, felt the bristles he should have shaved, had he known they were going to kiss. A bucket of cold reality splashed over his head, and he wasn’t sure what to say. He damned well couldn’t start making promises about the future.

His game plan certainly hadn’t changed.

And it wouldn’t.

But that didn’t mean they couldn’t have a brief sexual relationship, assuming she was agreeable.

If she hadn’t been told to wait another week for sex, would they have made love tonight? Would he have eventually realized he didn’t have any condoms on him?

He might have one or two in his shaving kit, which was back at the inn, but a hike across the street would have diffused the moment.