She stepped back from his comforting hand and shook her head. “It happens. And I’ll make it go away. I just have to figure out how.”
Knowing snuggle time was over, he stuck his hands in his pockets to keep from instinctively reaching for her again. “Let me know if there’s anything I can do to help. I know people …” Not many, not since he’d been gone almost a decade. But he knew who to ask to find out information. Get the names of more influential people.
“I’ll let you know.” She put on a smile, a little strained at the corners, but a smile nonetheless. “Did you come for lunch?”
He opened the door for her, and waited for her to walk in front of him. “I owe Emma a meal.”
“We’ll make it a good one.”
Jo flipped the TV off, then turned and found Trace dead asleep beside her. He’d given her his baby-free night again, and instead of jumping on each other like wild monkeys, they’d lounged in bed and watched a movie. Lightly, she traced the planes of his face. He’d been so exhausted when he showed up on her doorstep. Not that he’d said a word. But when she suggested a movie, he’d jumped at the chance to slide horizontal and do nothing but veg.
He’d lasted ten minutes before she’d felt the deep, even breathing beneath her ear that signaled he was out cold. The man was working too hard. The ranch required so much of his time, energy, emotions. His connection to the place was intense. And though she didn’t have personal experience with family, she’d watched her mother struggle to be a single parent … in between husbands, anyway. Even with the support of his family, she knew Trace took the brunt of the parenting himself. Which he should.
Not for the first time, Jo wondered where Seth’s mother was. Single moms were a dime a dozen. But single fathers … a little more uncommon. Had the mother walked out on them? Had she broken Trace’s heart when she left? Or maybe she’d left … permanently. An accident, or illness. Jo’s heart clenched a little for Seth, thinking he might never know his mother.
Either way, she knew it added to Trace’s overall appeal that he met the challenge of single fatherhood head on, with gusto, and even pleasure. That was the kicker. Nobody could say he regretted his son, or didn’t enjoy being with him. Those two were peas in a pod. True love.
Love.
She rolled onto her back and stared at the ceiling. Love was such a complicated, messy thing. Attachments and relationships were bad enough, but love? No. Love meant permanency of a completely different kind. A kind she absolutely wasn’t going to be talked into.
Trace straightened beside her, shifted, and then rolled over until his arm wrapped around her middle in an unconscious gesture of possession. She loved when he did that. As if his body knew they shouldn’t be apart.
Okay, so it wasn’t in keeping with her no strings attached motto. But every girl has a fantasy. And hers just happened to be … this.
Dangerous waters, girl. Jo had to tread carefully, or else she’d drown in a pool she’d never even intended to swim in.
Trace woke up to Jo’s soft body curled up in the protective shell he’d unconsciously created in his sleep. He’d been so dead on his feet he hadn’t let her even think about sex. But after a quick catnap, he was feeling just a little more in the mood. One hand snuck in the tight wedge she’d created of her body and found her breast, thumbing the nipple.
She stretched and yawned, twisting in the hollow of his body to face him. His hand cupped the heavy weight of her breast, kneading the flesh filling his hand.
“Mmm.” She smiled with her eyes still closed. “Best way to wake up ever.”
He said nothing, but played her body with hands that knew every inch of her. But as his fingers walked their way down to her stomach, she switched it up and flipped on top of him.
“My turn. You were beat. Let me play.”
He might be a slow cowboy, but he wasn’t an idiot. He propped himself back against the headboard, arms behind his head, and watched as she explored his chest with her hands, her lips, teeth. Every nip brought a restrained shiver down his spine, until she reached his hips. The pressure there had him fighting a buck.
And then she took his balls in her hand, working them gently, using just enough pressure to have him groaning. And when she took the head of his erection in her mouth, tongue swirling over the sensitive skin, he had to bite back a whimper that would have made Milton proud.
“God, Jo … oh, man.” He couldn’t resist any longer. As her mouth slowly advanced down the length of him, his hands cupped the back of her head. He could have directed her, chosen his pace. She was responsive in bed, receptive to what he needed, but he let her choose.