It was the smart question to ask. Any question that kept him from moving his fingers from her hair to her lips was a good question. But he didn't want to be smart.
He wanted to just be.
With Lindsey.
"If you kiss me and then leave again to go write another twangy song," she said, eyes closed, lips barely moving, "I swear to God, I will snap that guitar in half and feed it to you for breakfast."
"You use the prettiest words."
One lid lifted.
Will grinned at her.
Her lips twitched in the corners then parted. She was smiling at him, a full, open, honest grin that set his ticker beating harder.
"It is utterly unfair," she said, shooing Wrigley away and tossing aside her blanket, "that your country boy smile isn't illegal." She pulled her feet from beneath him, but then she swung a leg over him and straddled his lap, still smiling at him while she took his cheeks in her hands and pressed a soft, open-lipped kiss to his mouth.
Will's pulse kicked up the tempo. He gripped her hips and pushed against her, parted his lips to make way for her tongue. Music exploded inside him. Electric guitars, keyboard, fiddle, bongos. No words, just the white-hot melody of their bodies.
The intoxicating scent of her shampoo tickled his nose, but the intrigued woman scent was stronger-heady and spicy and everything.
He wanted her.
He wanted her fast and hard, then slow and leisurely, all night long. In his bed. Against the wall. In the shower. Everywhere.
Not to keep the music talking. But because he wanted her.
Right here.
Now.
He slid his hands under her sweater. She moaned into his mouth and arched into his touch, and what little blood Will had in his brain surged to his groin.
All thought disappeared, save one word-mine.
He stroked the curve of her spine, pushed her shirt up, feasting on her lips, tasting sunshine and peaches and heaven in her hot mouth. Her hands were on his ears and in his hair, and god, there was too much fabric between their bodies.
She wriggled against him, and he damn near exploded.
The hallelujah chorus had nothing on the tunes she was sparking all over his body.
She broke the kiss, arched back and tossed her sweater aside.
Will's mouth went dry, just as it had earlier.
One cup of her black bra was adorned with a winking, red devil-horned smiley face.
He traced the edge of the satin with fingers that weren't as steady as he would've liked, then dipped his fingers under her jeans. "Like that you match under here."
She ran her hands under his shirt, over his chest, her cool touch igniting shivers over his skin. "Is this a ploy to get another song out of me?" she asked.
"It's a ploy to get you out of your pants."
"And what, exactly, are you planning on doing once you get me out of my pants?"
Will felt his lips curving up again. "Darlin', you leave the details to me."
"I assume those details involve my satisfaction?" Her smoky voice drifted over his skin and seeped into his bones.
"Twice over," he said.
Her eyes were dark as night, her shoulders trembled, but she leaned in and pressed her lips to the corner of his mouth while her fingers traced his nipples. "Now?" she murmured.
"Now," he agreed.
She slid off his lap, quirked a take your clothes off eyebrow, then shimmied out of her jeans.
And Will had thought his mouth was dry a minute ago.
"Get moving, cowboy," she said, fisting her hands on the red ties at the sides of her hips. His gaze snagged on the smiley face tattoo on her left hip, then on the winking smiley at the triangle of black fabric between her legs.
He had to swallow twice to find words.
Fifteen years. He'd been all over the world, had his pick of women, played to bikini-clad crowds on beaches, and this woman-softer and curvier than she'd been at nineteen, less perfect, more perfect-this woman stole his breath, stole his words, stole his soul.
Every time.
She snapped a finger. "C'mon. Strip." But her lips were tilted up, and there was warmth, if not outright affection, glowing in her expression. "You need a hand?"
Lord almighty, she was fixin' to kill him.
He nodded.
She laughed. A beautiful, amused, sexy, I'd love to rid you of your pants laugh. "Been a while?" she murmured while her hands went to his belt and those glorious breasts hung right at eye level.
He nodded again.
"That won't get you a pass on good performance," she whispered. She nipped at his ear and unbuttoned his jeans, and she could've said near about anything she wanted, and he still would've caught her face in his hands and kissed those lips.
She wasn't shy about kissing. Not hesitant, not coy. He fumbled for the condom in his pocket, then lifted his hips so she could shove his pants down-all the while kissing her, with her kissing him right back. Cool air touched his legs, then, with his pants stuck around his ankles, she climbed on, kissing and stroking and rubbing him.
They'd been fast and hard and uncoordinated at nineteen.
Now, he wanted to thrust into her, but he wanted to kiss her forever. See where else her hands would go, feel the weight of her breasts in his palms, enjoy the heavy throb of anticipation in his groin. He pulled her closer, their tongues tangling, and he unhooked her bra with one hand. She moaned into his mouth and kissed him deeper.
He would've let her do anything right then.
Because he'd never kissed another woman who put so much enthusiasm into being with him.
Not Billy. Will.
She rocked against his erection, and a flood of sensations crashed over his skin. "Lindsey," he gasped.
She untied the strings on her panties.
"Sweet Christ Almighty," Will whispered.
She took the condom from him, and with nimble fingers, opened it and rolled it down him.
Her hands, her fingers, her touch, her kiss, her body-she was everything.
He near about lost himself when she slid over him, taking him inside her, tight and hot and perfect around him.
She felt so right. Natural. Like she was born to ride him. Like it hadn't been fifteen years. Like she'd never left him.
"Lindsey … "
"Will," she whispered, bucking over him, eyes dark and intense on him. Her breathing was ragged, cheeks flushed and bright, lips swollen.
Beautiful.
His. His like no one else would ever be. Like no one else ever could be.
She flung her head back, riding him harder. "Lindsey," he said again.
She closed her eyes.
Closed them against him, closed him out. A moment later, she arched her back and cried out, and his body reacted instinctively, joining her physically even though his heart was having performance anxiety.
She was his, but she wasn't.
I don't do love, she'd said.
But with her, he didn't know any other way. Even when he wanted to protect himself, he knew.
She was the only one who made him hear music. The only one who made him feel home. The only one who wanted nothing more than for him to be plain, simple Will Truitt.
He'd had four hours of his three weeks, and already, he knew three weeks wouldn't be enough.
Not by a long shot.
Her limbs seemed to melt, and he used his last ounce of energy to roll them so she was beneath him on the couch.
Because she was his.
Question was, this time, how long could he keep her?
LINDSEY DIDN'T retreat to her bedroom. No, a retreat would've been cowardly. Instead, she lay with Will, enjoying his weight and their soft smart-ass getting-to-know-you-again volleys until she lost feeling in her legs. When she shifted, he gave her his best adorable, irresistible country boy grin, then shoved off her. "Now can I go write a song?"
"Another one? Your stamina is amazing."
He snagged her hand and dropped a kiss to her knuckles while his gaze took a slow meander over her naked body. "Ain't seen nothin' yet, lawyer lady." He nodded toward the sunroom, a subtle invitation to join him.
He'd played for her fifteen years ago too, when he was a simple janitor who liked to goof off with a guitar. And she'd liked listening to him.
Too much, in fact. She could claim she hated country music all she wanted, but Will-his guitar, his voice, his songs-he was the music in her life.
"Try to keep it down," she said. "I have to be in top baby-eating form this week."
The warm specks flickered out of his eyes. He tugged his pants on, then snagged his shirt off the ground. "Extra twang, coming up." Despite the subtle shift in his expression, he sounded cheerful and unaffected by her rejection, perfectly happy to have been sexed up then turned down for anything more intimate.
Exactly how she liked her relationships.
But a relationship with Will was more complicated.
He turned away, giving her a beautiful view of the curve of his back, the muscles in his arms and the smiley face tattoo on his left shoulder blade.
He'd kept it.
All these years, he'd kept his matching mark.
He pulled his white T-shirt on, and her heart gave a pained thump.
She smelled a thunderstorm brewing and felt light as a happy spring morning.
In fifteen years, no man had made her feel like Will did. Appreciated. Accepted. Adored.