Angel Falls (Angel Falls Series, #1), Babette Jongh [books for 6 year olds to read themselves .TXT] 📗

Ian grinned, but his eyes were heavy-lidded with a promise for later. “It seems to be ending well.”

I was almost getting used to his deep voice and devastating accent. Almost. “I have a feeling it’s about to get even better.”

“I think Halloween is officially over.” He leaned back to see the kitchen clock through the doorway. “It’s almost eight-thirty, and the last bunch was just after eight o’clock.” Sliding one hand under the hem of my sweatpants, he gripped my calf lightly and tickled the back of my knee with a finger. His other hand tunneled under the hem of my sweatshirt.

“You might be right.” God, I hoped so. I ran a hand down his hard-muscled forearm. My insides tingled with shooting-stars of anticipation. “Should we turn off the porch light to discourage any stragglers?”

“Then you could keep the rest of the chocolate to yourself.” His questing finger brushed the underside of one breast. “Might be an idea...”

I scooted toward him to allow a couple more inches reach. Part of me was astonished at my shameless behavior, but I couldn’t help it. This man aroused me by his presence alone, and when he touched me, I was powerless to resist. Whatever he wanted, I was all-in.

He flicked a finger across one peaked nipple. My eyes slid closed, my mouth dropped open, and with a sigh, I surrendered to the boneless heat his touch infused. He tweaked my nipple again, and leaned across my belly to give me a hot kiss on the mouth.

Then he stood, leaving a wash of cold air in his place. “Hold that thought...”

I kept my eyes closed against the lamplight, trying to retain the feeling of abandon.

Holding on to the liquid heat of him until he returned.

I kept track of him by sound as he turned off the porch light, locked the doors and closed the blinds. Then he turned off the lamp with a click, and I opened my eyes to darkness, with only the shine of his eyes to show me the way.

He led me into my bedroom then stood beside my neatly made bed, watching my face in the dim glow that slipped through the closed blinds from the streetlight. “Is this what you want, Casey?”

“Yes,” I whispered. My hands roamed the dips and curves of his muscular arms and shoulders. Boldly, I cupped the hard bulge that pressed against his jeans. “I want this.” I nipped at his mouth with my teeth. “I want you.”

I laid my cheek on his chest and slipped my hands into the waistband of his jeans—one in front, one in back. He was like a big, muscular, living, breathing teddy bear. He felt so good, and smelled even better. I felt the vibration of his voice through the hard wall of his chest, and realized he was saying something. “Huh?” I breathed.

He stilled my exploration by backing away from me, taking my hands in his and holding them between us, clasped as if in prayer. “Are you sure?”

No way, answered the tiny flicker of my rational mind I could still hear. What was I doing, starting something with Ian when a big part of me felt obligated to Melody’s family? I went up on tiptoe and kissed his sexy mouth. “I’m sure.”

He nipped at my lips. “This time, I came prepared.”

“I know. I’m still sure.” I slid my hands out of his, and turned away to peel back the quilt and the top sheet. The smell of fabric softener floated briefly in the air, reminding me of Maryann, when I showed her how to run a load of laundry.

Which reminded me of Amy, when she put her arms around my neck and begged me to come more often.

Which reminded me of Jake, when he added a whole stick of butter to the mashed potatoes when I wasn’t looking.

Which reminded me of Ben, when he brought steaks from the grill, holding the plate high and trailing his free hand along my waist.

Then Ian touched my shoulder, and thoughts of anyone else floated away like dandelion seeds on a gentle breeze. He turned me toward him. His wide palms skimmed along my ribs, under my sweatshirt. I raised my arms, and he pulled the shirt over my head and tossed it to the floor.

He cupped my breasts. His thumbs rasped against the distended nipples and shock waves of pleasure rocked through my chest and belly. “You’re beautiful,” he whispered. “So beautiful it makes me ache to look at you.”

I ran my hands under his sweatshirt, up the hard plane of his abdomen to his chest, learning the textures of his heated skin and crisp hair. He let go of me just long enough to take off his sweatshirt and unbutton the top button of his jeans.

I reached down to help.

Ooh, mama. He was wearing button-down jeans. My appreciation of his sex appeal soared another notch. I’d always thought button-down jeans were sexy—the one-by-one loosening of buttons prolonging the anticipation—and on this man, they were almost unbearably so. I popped the next button loose, then another and another. I felt him grin against my mouth, and a second later his jeans fell to the floor.

My sweatpants followed. I moved back to step out of them, and got a good look at the naked man standing before me. My hands dropped to my sides.

I was used to seeing men with perfect bodies. I had danced with plenty of them. But Ian was more than just a beautifully formed body. He exuded a raw masculine grace I was sure God intended to be the ideal for his sex. Everything about him turned me on, both the things I could see, and the intangible essence of him I could only feel by the answering response within my own soul.

“Casey?” His deep voice was tentative, questioning. I realized I’d been standing like a zombie, staring at him.

“You’re beautiful,” I whispered.

The sound of my voice released us both, and we