Hard and Fast(36)

"Oops, sorry," she said, squeezing water out of her ponytail and giving him a sheepish look.

"Not a problem unless you did it on purpose. Then I might have to punish you."

"I didn't." Which he knew, but it amused him to see her vehemently  shaking her head. "I'm just a klutz." Ty hopped back on his tube and  said, "Let's try this again. Come closer so I can lift you up by your  arms."

Imogen treaded water in front of him, but didn't comply. "I'm not sure I should get closer. Are you going to punish me?"

The way she said that-her eager, throaty voice immediately shifting the  exchange from playful to sensual-had Ty grinding his teeth to keep from  groaning out loud. "Do you need to be punished? Have you been bad? Did  you knock me into the water on purpose?" She shook her head quickly, but  she didn't answer. Her mouth was open, eyes wide, her finger trailing  across her bottom lip in a way that told Ty she wasn't kidding when  she'd said she'd rather be in the tent. She was regretting that they'd  been interrupted on the trail and was looking for him to finish the job.

Damn, she turned him on, made him hot and hard and demanding.

"I'll be the judge of that," he said. "Now get over here and lift up your arms before I have to come and get you."

There was no further protest. She swam over to him and lifted her arms  up in the air, her chest rising and falling rapidly, nipples tight beads  in her bikini top, goose bumps on her chest and arms, whether from cold  or arousal, Ty wasn't sure. She blinked up at him, wanting him, lusting  after him, wanting his body in hers the same way he wanted to take her  with his cock, to pound into her again and again.

Ty reached out and lifted Imogen, pulling her up onto the tube with him,  maintaining his balance with difficulty, but managing to get her  settled on top of him. It was unfortunate that his ass was actually in  the water and he couldn't really feel her pressing against his erection,  but it would do for now.

"We're going to fall," she whispered, looking down into his eyes, her  fingernails digging into his flesh as she gripped his arms, her mouth a  hairbreadth from his.

"So?" he asked. "We've already fallen. And this is worth the risk of a second dunking."

"Oh, yeah?"

"Yeah." And Ty kissed her, closing his eyes as the cool, sweet taste of her lips washed over him.

He could kiss her forever, he decided, just pressing his lips against  hers over and over, letting their mouths mingle together. She did things  to him that no woman ever had, she made him feel hot and possessive and  tender and elated. He'd never thought of himself as a romantic guy, but  with Imogen he wanted to be. He wanted the words to describe to her how  good he felt when she was with him.

It was a place of perfect contentment for him, lolling around on the  water with Imogen in his arms, no worries about the Chase for the Cup,  nothing but gratitude for his life, what he had, and where he was.

"Mmmm," she said when they broke apart. She relaxed on him, her head on his chest as they bobbed in the water.

Ty thought about finding a way to give Imogen oral sex, but decided he'd  either drown in the process or knock them both into the water. So  instead, he moved his hand between her legs and stroked along the





front of her bikini bottoms.

"Stop that," she murmured.

"Why?" Ty used the pad of his thumb to circle around her clitoris.

"Because you're turning me on."

"And that's a bad thing?"

"It is when you can't do anything about it."

"Who says I can't do anything about it?" Ty maneuvered his fingers inside the damp bottoms and slid along her warm flesh.

"Ahhhh," was her response, which he took as a positive sign to continue.

Finding a slow, easy rhythm, he went in and out of her, feeling her body respond with a rush of moisture.

It was a little bit of an awkward position for him, but he didn't care  when he heard her breathing quicken and felt her hips tense.

"Oh," she said, her breath tickling his cheek. "Oh, that is rather nice."

"Yeah?" Ty played with her clitoris before slipping back inside her.  Hooking his finger, he stroked deeply along the inner wall and was  rewarded by her whole body jerking slightly.                       
       
           



       

"Oh!" she said again, only this time it was shock, excitement, serious  hot and juicy pleasure. "Nice doesn't . . ." She sucked in a breath when  he repeated the action. "Cover it. Oh, God, oh God . . ." It looked  like he'd found her G-spot again, a happy, hot discovery. Ty throbbed  with desire as he stroked again and had the acute pleasure of feeling  and seeing her come, her cries loud and frantic, her inner muscles  convulsing around his finger. He held on until she had stilled, panting  in his ear. Then he slowly slid out of her and trailed his hand up her  side.

"You okay?"

She nodded, blinking at him. "That was . . ." Her raspy voice trailed off.

"Nice?" he suggested with a grin.

"Yeah."

"Good." Ty moved his legs and separated from her. "Because we're going  back to the site now. We have a date with a sleeping bag."

"Nice," she said, sprawled across the inner tube like a lazy cat in the sun.

Ty laughed and rolled off into the water, welcoming the cold submersion.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN





IMOGEN rather expected Ty to get her back to their campsite and fling  her down onto the sleeping bag posthaste. Which she would not have  objected to in the least.

But he was courteous enough to suggest she change out of her wet bathing  suit and have some lunch. Ty also pointed out the bathroom facilities  to her, such as they were.

After a precarious few minutes in the outhouse, she emerged to find Ty  had spread out a lunch of sandwiches, fruit, and crackers on the picnic  table.

"Wow, aren't you domestic?" Imogen took a seat on the bench and grabbed a grape.

"Note there's no red dye. I don't want you having an allergic reaction  on our trip. That would seriously interfere with my plans." Ty raised  his eyebrows up and down. "And my mother taught me to take care of  myself. She always said she was raising future husbands, not boys."  Touched he had remembered an allergy she had only mentioned once when  he'd been eating candy at Tamara's house, Imogen said, "Thank you, that  was sweet. And I should thank your mother as well." Immediately she  realized how that could be misconstrued and she tried to explain. "I  mean, I should thank her for ensuring you were capable of preparing  decent meals, as I've now been the recipient of them twice. I wasn't at  all making any reference to your potential as a husband." Imogen bit her  grape





and told herself to shut up.

Ty looked more amused than put out. "I kind of figured that out, but  thanks for clarifying. And you already made it clear what you think of  my potential as a husband when you asked Nikki why in hell she'd ever  want to marry me."

She knew he was teasing her, but she still couldn't help defending  herself. "I explained that to you. The girl was using absolutely the  wrong set of criteria to choose a spouse and, frankly, to reach the  conclusion that marriage was even what she wanted at this juncture in  her life."

"I agree. But what is the right set of criteria, Emma Jean?" Ty bit into  a turkey sandwich as he sat on the bench across from her. "How do you  know when the time is right?"

"Prevailing opinion would have it you just know."

"I thought I knew and I was wrong." He shrugged. "Does it matter in the  long run? No, I guess it doesn't. No harm came out of it. And it's funny  now that I can look back and see it was more of a puppy love on my part  than a true and deep love."

"What is the difference and how do you know?" That bothered Imogen, the  great unknown, the wondering if there would ever be a life partner for  her. She could live happily alone, she knew that, but everyone craved on  some fundamental level that kind of passion and devotion. The safety  that came from knowing you were truly and completely loved. But how  would she know when she did have it, if she did?

"Beats the hell out of me. I don't think I've ever actually been in love  the way I imagine you need to be to sustain a thirty-year marriage."

He set his sandwich down on the uncovered picnic table, which  momentarily distracted her. Wasn't that table dirty? But it didn't seem  to bother him, so Imogen forced herself to refocus. His wheat bread  wasn't the issue here; they were talking about love.

"I've never felt that either," she told him.

They stared at each for a heartbeat, something in his brown eyes darkening and starting to smolder.

There was something between them, something new and wondrous and passionate, and Imogen wondered how far it could go.