He kissed her, gently, savoring her essence, forcing himself to keep it short. It was a struggle. If he let his hormones have their way, he’d be scooping her into his arms and tossing her on the bed all over again. But he pulled back.

“Is this why you came here?” Her cheeks were flushed, her lips parted and soft, but her eyes were slightly wary.

He felt like a heel. “No pressure,” he quickly told her.

“Is it because I’m leaving?”

“Yes,” he answered honestly. Then he realized how that sounded. “No. That’s not it.” He cursed himself for stumbling. “Well, it’s partly…”

What was the matter with him? “I like that you don’t know me, don’t know my family.” He wrapped his hand around the back of a kitchen chair, giving it a squeeze. “It’s been a rough day.”

She moved forward. “I understand.”

She didn’t, but it didn’t matter. What mattered was that the wariness was out of her eyes. What mattered was that she was touching him, drawing forward, stretching up to kiss his lips.

There was something unfair about the situation, something unbalanced, unequal, but he couldn’t put his finger on it. A split second later, he didn’t even want to try.

His arms went firmly around her. He wanted to pull her inside him, keep her there, cradle her while the world moved on without them.

Her arms snaked around his neck. She tipped her head, and he deepened the kiss. Her tongue was sweet nectar, the inside of her mouth hot and decadent. She smelled like wildflowers and tasted like honey.

His hands slipped down, cupping the softness of her bottom, kneading and pressing her against his driving arousal.

She moaned his name, and he felt her breasts burning into his chest, like a brand that would mark him forever.

He lifted her, shoving the chair out of the way, perching her on the table, tugging the curtain shut behind her, before his hands went to the buttons on her shirt.

She reciprocated, her breath coming fast, head down to concentrate as she worked on his long row of buttons.

He freed her shirt, slipping it off her shoulders, kissing the velvet softness, letting his tongue explore the taste and texture of her skin. He snapped open her bra, and it fell to the floor, revealing firm, pert breasts, capped with pink nipples.

She pushed his shirt down his arms, and they were skin to skin. She was impossibly soft, impossibly warm, silken and sweet and everything a man could possibly dream.

Their lips came together, open, full on. He led her through a tumultuous kiss that left them both panting and needy for more. He kissed her again while he slid his palm up her rib cage to cover her breast, testing the hardened nipple, drawing a gasp from the back of her throat.

He caressed her body, leisurely, thoroughly; while her own hands splayed on his back, her lips found his flat nipples, and her silken hair teased his skin with an erotic brush. He scooted her forward, forcing her thighs farther apart. His fingers went to her blue jeans, releasing the button, sliding down the zipper. His knuckles grazed her silken panties, and his mind fixated on the treasures beneath.

A gust of wind cooled his back. The crisp scent of the river and the sweet aroma of the fields swirled through the room. The moon rode high above the mountains, while layers of stars twinkled across the endless sky. Horses whinnied in the distance, while leaves rustled in the oak and aspen trees.

There was perfection in the world tonight. He was home and she was in his arms, and nothing else mattered for the moment. Tomorrow would have to take care of itself.

He tugged off her jeans, then slipped off her panties, drawing her exquisite, naked body against him for a long lingering kiss.

He finally drew back, gazing down at her ivory skin, unblemished against the scarred wood of the kitchen table.

“You are stunning,” he whispered with reverence.

“You’re overdressed,” she said back, her hand going to his waistband.

He closed his eyes, tipped his head back and let his body drink in the erotic sensations as she slowly dragged down his zipper, her smooth warm hands removing his pants, releasing his body, highjacking every molecule of his senses.

“You’re stunning, too,” she whispered, body wriggling, hand moving, sliding, squeezing.

He sucked in a tight breath, holding on to his control as he feathered his hand along her thighs. He stared into her bottomless eyes. She stared back as his fingertips climbed higher, and her hands roamed further, each of them daring the other to crack.

Her beautiful mouth parted. Her eyes glazed. Her hand convulsed, and he pulled her to him, slipping slowly, surely, solidly inside.

She gripped his shoulders and leaned in for his kiss. He melded his mouth to hers, slipped his hands beneath her and settled the angle, settled the rhythm, let the roar in his ears and the pounding in his brain obliterate everything but the incredible sensation of Melissa.

He wanted it to go on forever. He was determined to make it last. She finally cried out, body pulsating before going limp. But he kept on kissing her, muttering words of need and affection.

And then she was with him. All over again, building toward a second crescendo. And he held back until the very last second before allowing himself to tumble over the cliff with her, his body drenched with sweat, his mind filled with amazement.

He carried her spent body to the bed, climbing in beside her, settling the quilt around them as he drew her into the cradle of his arms.

“You okay?” he whispered as his head found the indent on her pillow.

She drew two deep breaths while he kissed her hairline, then her temple, then her ear. He burrowed into the crook of her neck, inhaling deeply. How could a woman possibly smell so good?

“Define okay,” she whispered back.

“Still breathing?”

She nodded.

“Nothing strained or broken?”

“Nothing.”

“Want to do it again?”

An hour later Melissa could barely lift a finger. But she could see why Jared was the fantasy of half the women in Chicago. Word had obviously gotten around.

She was lying on her back, eyes closed. The covers were a tangle at their feet, and a cool breeze relieved her heated skin. Jared was beside her, propped up on one elbow, his fingertips feathering a small zigzag pattern over her stomach. She was amazed he could move anything.

“You still breathing?” he rumbled.

“Barely.”

He chuckled at that.

“I don’t think I’ve ever been this exhausted,” she said.

“Never?” There was a hint of pride in his voice.

“Well, maybe once,” she couldn’t help teasing. “The day my brothers decided to build a tree fort. I was eight and insisted on helping. They nearly killed me.”

“You’re saying I’m a close second to your brothers?” The pride was gone.

She opened her eyes and managed a grin.

“Still feisty,” he said.

“Even when I’m beat.”

“Tell me about these burly construction-worker brothers of yours.”

“What do you want to know?”

“If they’ll have my name on a hit list when I get back to Chicago.”

“If I was eighteen you might be in trouble.”

“If you were eighteen, I wouldn’t be in this bed.”

She chuckled. “But they’ve mellowed over the years. Caleb wouldn’t hurt a fly. Eddy’s head over heels for a kindergarten teacher right now. He doesn’t even call anymore. Adam, Ben and Dan are married with little kids and more important things to worry about than their sister’s virtue.”

“It’s strange to hear all that,” said Jared. “I keep picturing you as an orphan. How does such a big family let you wander off on the bus system without money? It doesn’t make sense.”

“It’s my pride. I don’t talk to them about money.”

“Still, if it was Stephanie-”

“What about you?” Naked in Jared’s arms, Melissa really wasn’t in the mood to have to lie to him. “Extended family? Niece and nephew prospects?”

“No niece and nephew prospects. Stephanie’s too young, and Royce…well, you haven’t had a lot of time to spend with Royce. It’s hard to picture him with a wife and a white picket fence.”

“And you? Do you really want four kids?”

“I like kids,” said Jared. “But I wonder…”

“It’s not like you can’t afford them,” she put in. And he’d certainly have his pick of women. She could give him a list right now if he was interested.

His hand stilled on her stomach. “Money isn’t everything.”

“Said like a man who has plenty.”

“There’s love, affection, fidelity.”

“Fidelity?” she questioned.

He didn’t respond.

“Aren’t you getting a little ahead of yourself?” she asked. He might want to marry the lucky woman before he planned the divorce.

Jared shifted. “It’s not a given.”

She tipped her head so that she was looking at his face. “Maybe. But you don’t go into something planning for failure, either.”

He was gazing through the open window at the near-full moon. “You can love each other, or appear to love each other, and your marriage can still crumble.”

“You’re a cynic.”

“I’m a realist.”

A sudden unease came over her. “Jared? Have you been divorced?”

He shook his head. “No.”

But she could tell there was more. She waited as long minutes ticked by.

“What’s wrong?” she finally asked.

Tension radiated in waves from his body. “Jared?”

“My mother was unfaithful.”

The admission hit Melissa with the subtlety of a brick wall. She was too shocked to speak.

“The old cabin,” Jared rasped. “That bedroom.” His hand raked through his messy hair. “Until I saw it, I’d hoped Gramps’s memory had somehow…”

Melissa’s stomach clenched around nothing. “Oh, Jared.”

He met her gaze, his irises dark with the depth of his pain. “My whole life, I thought their deaths were an accident.”