Acting on Impulse

Music from the party still pounded a heavy, frantic beat, but Connor led them in a slow and sultry rhythm. His warm hands smoothed over her bare back, fingers dipping into the hollow at the base of her spine, and suddenly Sam appreciated just how much skin this dress revealed. Maybe she should let Blaina pick out her clothes more often.

“So, where are you from?” Sam asked, wanting to know more about the man whose hands and body and scent and smile were leading her down temptation’s path. “Are you one of those born-and-bred Hollywood types?”

“More like a farmer type. From Nebraska.”

Well that explained why he looked like a real man—a real, sexy, gorgeous one at that—and not one of those overly made-up male celebrities who used more makeup and hair product than she did.

Connor as a farmer. Dirty and sweating. Sun beating down on bronze skin. Muscles flexing as he dragged his shirt off because he’d been working hard and had overheated. Pouring water over his head, the liquid sluicing down chest, taut abs and lower still…

Hello, hot and bothered. That fantasy was going in the mental playback file.

“My upstanding Irish parents tried everything to keep me from leaving the nest. They used to have me fixin’ our old house just so I’d think they’d always need me. My brother and my dad took care of the fields and livestock and stuff. I swear, I rebuilt that house twice from the time I was eleven and starring in my first play. Used to practice my lines while I was repairing the roof with the chickens scratching around in the yard below acting as my audience.” He chuckled. “The chickens weren’t all that impressed, so it kept me humble.”

“Don’t sell yourself short. Chickens are a tough crowd. I bet you’re a great actor.”

“A better actor than a farmer or a roofer, I think,” he said, mirth making his chest rumble with suppressed laughter. “What about you? Are you a local?”

“Born and raised in the shadow of Disneyland.”

Connor grinned against her hair. She couldn’t see it, but she sensed it all the same. “Oh, tell me you worked there. Please?” he asked. Begged, more like it, and she imagined his bright eyes lit with humor.

“Would it break your heart if I told you I didn’t?”

“A little bit. But I’d get over it. Maybe. Eventually.”

“Well, I’m not a heartbreaker, but I am a tease. I did work for Mickey for a couple summers while going to college.”

“Tease me some more and tell me you wore one of those cute little plaid tour-guide outfits.”

Sam tipped her head back to look into his face. The crinkles at the corners of his eyes were in full bloom, and she itched to trace his grin with her fingers…and her lips…and her tongue.

“See, now you’re forcing me to break your heart. I worked in one of the kitchens.”

He sighed, loud and dramatically. “Oh, you ruined it for me. I had a great fantasy going. You in that little plaid outfit with the riding crop…”

“A riding crop?” Sam laughed. “Throwing a bit of farmer fantasy into the mix there?”

“You have no idea.” Those words came out a lot more serious than the previous lighthearted banter. Gravelly. Needy. So deep his voice vibrated her fingers where they lay against his chest.

That vibration ricocheted through her, raising her heart rate, making her knees weak. Glorious heat pooled low in her stomach, between her legs. It was a heady feeling, to desire and be desired in return.

He moved one of his hands to the base of her neck, fingertips circling through the short hairs there. He applied just enough pressure to keep her head tilted back.

She was breathing hard now, staring up at him as he stared down at her. Blaina had said tonight was about living a fantasy. Farmer fantasy, actor fantasy, whatever fantasy, her friend was right. Tonight was hers to live it.

“So, those fantasies…” she started.

“Hmm?” His eyes focused on her lips, and involuntarily, her tongue came out to wet them. His “hmm” shifted to a deeper, rumbled groan.

“I’m short on props. Think you can make do without the plaid outfit and riding crop?”

“I just need you.” The distance between their lips disappeared with each word, his mouth finding hers the period to the sentence. No, it was more like an exclamation point, because the desire flaring like fireworks beneath her skin couldn’t be illustrated with such a simple punctuation mark.

Sam wove her fingers into his thick, dark hair, holding him to her. She opened her mouth, inviting him inside, wanting the taste of him on her breath, filling her lungs. He accepted the invitation, deepening their kiss, flooding her senses.

His hands smoothed down the length of her spine, molding her to him. Hard against soft, his erection burrowed into her stomach, and she wished she could grow a foot, ease both their aches by notching him against her where they both wanted him to be.

One of his hands slipped under the elastic of her skirt and cupped her bare ass. Suddenly the whole reason behind wearing a thong made sense to her. Less clothing meant less of a barrier, meant more skin against skin, meant infinitely more pleasure. His fingers dug deep as he pulled her even closer, leaving impressions in her flesh, fingerprints in her memory that would never fade.

Taste, touch, smell, sound, sight, every bit of her was full of Connor. There wasn’t anything she wouldn’t do to hold on to this perfect moment with her perfect fantasy man.