Harlequin American Romance November 2014 Box Set: The SEAL's Holiday Babies\The Texan's Christmas\Cowboy for Hire\The Cowboy's Christmas Gift (47 page)

She couldn't put a stop to it, couldn't rescue herself at the last moment because she discovered that every moment was just too delicious for her to voluntarily end.

She reveled in the way his lips felt against her skin, creating an excruciatingly wondrous moist trail of kisses that covered her breasts, went down to her belly and even farther than that, creating a dizzying warmth at the very core of her.

A warmth that coupled with a fire, which reduced her to a mass of rejoicing whimpers as climaxes blossomed within her over and over again.

Encased in dusky desire, Connie uttered not a single murmur of protest as she heard rather than saw Finn sweep away the schedules she'd labored so hard over, sending them all tumbling to the floor as he cleared the drawing board for her.

For them.

Squeals of ecstasy escaped her as he pushed her down onto the cleared flat surface and proceeded to make love to every inch of her, using his hands, his lips, his very breath to claim each part of her as his very own.

And when restraint tore at the weakened ties that were meant to keep her in place, when she arched and bucked against his body, silently begging for the union it'd promised, he gave in and took her, capturing her mouth at the last second so that they were joined together at all possible points.

The eternal dance began, and it was one that, to her stunned delight, Connie quickly mastered, getting in sync with each of his movements so that only a moment into the dance, they began to move as one, increasing the tempo as one.

And reaching the highest peak of pleasure as one, as well.

She felt the rainbow reach out and claim her, filling her with such exquisite euphoria that she didn't want to ever let it go.

This was where true happiness had been hiding from her all along.

And he had brought it to her.

Chapter Fourteen

Sanity returned far too swiftly.

It wore spurs on its boots and tracked a layer of mud all over Finn's conscience. The weight of his conscience was almost too oppressive to bear.

Pivoting on his elbows, Finn did his best to create space between their bodies, then moved over to one side, separating from her completely. He didn't know whether to apologize to her for what had happened, or just allow the silence to grow until it filled the room and overtook them, leaving no opening for conversation.

Rather than turn from him the way he expected her to, Connie just watched him. If she'd been giddy and tipsy before, she appeared to be totally clear-eyed now.

Was she angry? Did she think he took advantage of the situation and of her?

Did she hate him for it?

The silence continued to grow, becoming unwieldy to the point that he felt he just couldn't tolerate it any longer. Silence had never bothered him before, but it did now.

“Say something,” Finn finally urged. But even as he was on the verge of begging her to speak, he braced himself for what he felt was inevitably coming: a barrage of words that would most likely compare him to the very lowest life form on the face of the earth.

What he found he wasn't prepared for was the actual word that did leave her lips.

“Wow.”

Finn blinked, utterly positive that he had misheard her. Almost hesitantly, he whispered in confusion, “Say again?”

“Wow,” she repeated, this time accompanying the word with a breathy sigh. “You know, I think the earth actually moved.” She turned into him to see his face more clearly. “You don't have earthquakes down in this part of Texas, do you?”

“No,” he replied uncertainly, studying her. Was she pulling his leg? Getting him to lower his guard before she hit him with a lethal punch?

“Didn't think so,” she said, the smile taking on a dreamy quality. “Then I guess
wow
stands.”

Her reaction just wasn't sinking in. He was still waiting for an explosion. “You're not angry?” Finn asked, still more than a little uncertain as he studied her demeanor.

“No, why would you think that I was angry?” She sat up for the first time. “Do I look angry?” Connie asked, glancing around to see if there was some sort of a reflecting surface available to her. She wanted to see herself so she could ascertain whether or not
she
thought she looked angry.

“No, you don't,” he told her, treading very lightly. “But I thought...well...I thought that you'd feel I took advantage of you, and also you're my boss.”

So that was it,
Connie thought. At that moment, Finn went up another notch in her estimation. He really
was
a good guy.

“I had one drink,” Connie admitted. “Not so much that I can't remember that I was the one who made the first moves—” she pointed out. “I kissed you first, not the other way around.”

“So you're not angry,” he concluded, wanting to be absolutely sure.

“Right now I'm still too tingly to be angry,” Connie freely admitted—another first for her, she thought. She'd made love before, but each time all her feelings, all her reactions, were neatly compartmentalized. This deliriously happy feeling was definitely something new—and it thrilled her. Probably more than it should, she realized. But she just couldn't get herself to put a lid on it. So, just for tonight, she allowed herself to enjoy it.

Connie glanced down on the floor at the flurry of papers scattered there. “I will, however, be upset in the morning when I try to put all those schedules into some kind of order again.”

That
had
been his fault. He'd swept her schedules to the floor. “I can help with that,” Finn quickly volunteered.

“How?” Connie asked with a laugh. “By sweeping them out of the trailer?” she asked, amusement playing on her lips.

“By organizing them for you on my own time,” he told her, sitting up beside her and looking at the mess below their feet. He was acutely aware of her sitting like that beside him. “But right now, if you're sure you're not angry...”

She turned her face to his and softly whispered, “Yes?”

He'd just had her and here he was wanting her again. Wanting her so badly, he felt himself literally
aching
for her. “I'd like to make love to you properly.”

She pretended to look at him with wide-eyed confusion. “Oh, then what we just did, that was improper?”

He was fairly certain there were several states where what they'd just done would have been banned. “Highly.”

“I see,” she murmured thoughtfully. “And now you'd like to show me how it should have actually been done, is that it?”

His smile reached out to all parts of him, shining in his eyes as well as on his lips and in his demeanor. “Yes, I would.”

Connie slid off the drawing board, her bare feet touching the scattered papers on the floor. She nodded her head slowly, as if she was thinking it over. “Never let it be said that I refused to leave myself open to a learning experience.”

Finn followed suit, standing up beside her. It was all she needed. Connie wound her arms around his neck, vividly aware of the fact that they were both still very nude.

She smiled up into his eyes. “You do realize that I'm still just a little dazed.”

His arms went around her, bringing her even closer to him than a sigh. “I'm counting on it.” When he saw her raise an eyebrow at his statement, Finn was quick to explain, “You're a lot less inhibited—and a great deal more trusting.”

She saw no reason to argue that. He was right. “I'll have to work on that. Tomorrow,” she decided. “I'll work on it tomorrow.”

Because tonight, she knew she would be otherwise occupied.

And thrilled because of it.

* * *

F
INN
APPROACHED
HER
carefully a little after eight the next morning, not quite sure what to expect or how to behave. He'd slipped out quietly from her trailer an hour before dawn. He'd wanted to give Connie her privacy, and he wasn't sure just how she would deal with the sight of him in her bed now that they had to go back to work.

If there was shame and discomfort on her part, since he was the cause of it, he wanted to spare her the sight of him for as long as possible.

At the same time, he knew he didn't have the luxury of simply going into hiding. He was her foreman, her second in command and as such, he had to be there, available for her
to
command.

Approaching her trailer, he knocked lightly, gave himself to the count of three, braced his shoulders and then walked in, every part of him prepared for some form of rejection, denouncement or whatever it was that would make Connie feel vindicated.

Finn was far too much of a realist to believe that fairy tales went on forever. He was just hoping that she didn't ultimately hate him for last night because for him, last night would live on in the annals of his mind for a very, very long time.

When she heard the door opening, Connie glanced over her shoulder. “Morning. I was beginning to think you were going to sleep in today.”

Connie waved her hand, indicating the tall, covered white container on the side of her drawing board. An opened, partially empty container was standing right next to it.

“Got you some black coffee at Miss Joan's,” she went on, turning back to her work. “The woman is selling India ink as coffee, but she swears that it gets your motor running, so drink up. We've got a really full day ahead of us if we've got a prayer of keeping this puppy on schedule.”

Though he'd always thought of himself as being able to roll with punches, Finn was having trouble processing what was going on. Not because he was hungover, but because Connie seemed so different, so much—
looser
for lack of a better word—than she had been before. And definitely more upbeat and cheerful. She still looked like the same woman, the same beautiful blue eyes, the same killer figure, but it was as if she was a newer, more improved version of heresf. If she'd been a software program, he would have thought of her as Connie 2.0. He stared at the covered, oversize paper container she'd pointed to on the drawing board. “You got me coffee?” That alone was enough to throw him for a loop.

She nodded again. “Just in case you were having trouble getting in gear this morning.”

“You have any of this?” he asked.

“I don't drink India ink,” she informed him matter-of-factly. “I did get myself a cup of regular coffee, though. Just enough coffee to give the creamer something to work with and lighten,” she told Finn. Now that he looked into her container, he could see that the contents appeared to be exceedingly light, close to the color of milk itself. “Now drink up, Finn,” she was saying, “we're wasting daylight.”

That was an exaggeration. “It isn't even eight yet,” he pointed out.

But Connie absently nodded, as if he'd just agreed with her. “Like I said, we're wasting daylight.”

Shaking his head even as humor crept in and curved the corners of his mouth, Finn took the lid off his container and took a very long, savory drag of his very black coffee.

As hoped for, the caffeine hit him with the kick of a disgruntled mule.

* * *

F
ROM
THAT
DAY
FORWARD
, work continued at an almost effortless pace. There were a few hitches, and one on-site near accident with a girder, but overall, they kept on track, and the hotel took on its desired shape.

As it transformed from a hole in the ground to an edifice of impressive lines and structure, the citizens of Forever began to redesign their paths so that it took them by the excavation site. They came to note the progress or simply to watch some of their own operate the sophisticated machinery with precision.

They came to watch girders, posts, bolts and nails become something greater than the sum of their initial parts.

And a number of them, mostly the younger females, came to observe bare-chested men sweat and strain as they diligently created something they would all be proud of.

As Connie oversaw each and everyone's progress as they approached the end goal, occasionally issuing orders, or changing directives, her project, the bet she had with her father, turned into something far more meaningful to her. It no longer represented just winning an impulsive bet.

She was no longer the girl who was trying everything she could to get just a drop of her father's praise. There was far more going on here now.

The hotel became not only
her
project, but the crew working on its completion also became
her
men. And, she was delighted to discover, she was proud of them—proud of each and every one of them because of what they contributed to the whole.

And she fervently hoped that they returned the feeling, at least to some degree.

Somewhere along the line, shortly after Brett's engagement party—and her awakening as a woman—Connie began to document the crew's progress with the hotel. She would aim her smartphone at anything she felt should be preserved. This was her very first solo project and as such, like a first-born, each tiny milestone deserved to be forever frozen in time.

What she felt were the best shots she passed on, not to her father, but to Emerson, trusting him to choose which photo her father should see and which he might have found some minor, underlying fault with. It was a given fact that Calvin Carmichael was not known for his tact or restraint, especially where the company logo was involved. Emerson knew her father the way no other living soul did, and she trusted him to make the proper judgment calls on her behalf.

She could also trust him to be on her side. True to his nature, Emerson would send back an encouraging text that praised not just her efforts, but also her progress and the way the hotel was obviously shaping up. He was her own personal cheering section, and Connie loved him for it the way she knew she could never hope to love her father. On the home front, her life was also progressing equally well.

What could have become a very awkward situation between her and Finn—with neither of them knowing how to behave or react to one another—became, in fact, a very comfortable existence that they found themselves falling into without any actual discussion on their parts. Certainly no attempts to lay down any groundwork for themselves.

Connie was a woman who had, from a very young age, lived by her schedules. She always had to have her days mapped out from moment one to way beyond the final time frame. It made her feel as if she had control. And yet this sort of spontaneous forward movement worked for her. Not knowing worked for her. As did the delicious warmth of anticipation. And holding her breath when Finn walked up behind her, waiting for the first moment that his hand would brush against her shoulder, or touch her face.

Or the first moment that he would make her insane with desire.

They made love every night, the perfect ending to a perfect day. She had never been happier—as long as she didn't allow herself to dwell even fleetingly on the specter looming in the background: the completion of her project.

For now, she just took heart in the fact that the project was progressing well ahead of schedule and she, well, she was progressing in directions she had never dreamed she would.

As the days and weeks went by, Connie began to think of Forever as her special magical place, except that she knew Forever was real, too.

Still, because it had become so very special, she fervently hoped that Forever—and Finn—wouldn't disappear.

“What's that you're humming?” Finn asked her as they stood off to the side one day, observing the day's progress.

“I didn't realize I was humming,” she confessed. “Just some nameless tune to keep my spirits up.”