Hatfield and McCoy by Heather Graham Page B

closed her eyes and leaned against him, secure in his hold. McCoy took the stairs two at a time.
    There were five doors on the second floor, all standing ajar.
    Perhaps he did have a touch of some form of power within his own doubting heart, for he chose the second door, the one that led to her bedroom. It was a beautiful room, with age-old mahogany furniture and a bed with a tall canopy and a plush, deep red, patterned comforter that matched the valances above the lighter drapes. Julie was glad she had made her bed that morning.
    And then she knew it would not have mattered in the least because McCoy managed to one-handedly strip off the comforter and top sheet before placing her within that cocoon of covers. He came with her, not just a graceful lover, but an urgent one, his lips finding hers again before her head touched the pillow. Graceful, able, nearly frantic. His kiss broke as he found her shoes and dropped them heedlessly to the floor, his eyes on hers. Julie simply watched him for a moment, then she roused herself, shimmying from the remnants of her top garments and reaching out for him. Her fingers seemed so small and delicate against his chest as she worked at the two buttons on the turquoise knit shirt. Perhaps she didn’t move them quickly enough. A strangled sound seemed to escape him, and he wrenched the shirt over his shoulders. For a moment they paused on their knees, watching one another, and then he pulled her into his arms, and the feel of her naked breasts against his hair-roughened chest was exquisite.
    His hands covered her as he pressed her to the bed again, then he found the zipper at the rear of her skirt, and the rasp as it went down seemed to fill Julie with an ever greater longing. He slipped the skirt from her hips and she was left in a wisp of white lace bikini underwear, and for the first time, something gave him pause.
    He stared at her as seconds ticked by. Then he touched her lip, and delicately drew a line from her mouth along her throat, between her breasts, down past her naval and straight to the throbbing center of all her heat and desire. She moistened her lips, amazed that such a delicate touch could create such a sensation. She could lie there no longer, her body on fire. She started to rise, but he pressed her back, his lips covering hers, then tracing that same pattern he had already drawn down the length of her body with his finger.
    Julie twisted violently as the sweet sensation tore wildly through her. A flick of his finger had broken the thin band on the panties, and the wisp of lace was tossed away with no apology. And once again, she found the heat and desire within her rising to an unbearable point, half agony and half ecstasy, the longing and the pleasure so acute.
    Then he was with her. His own clothing was shed and strewn, and the magnificent warmth of his body covered all of her. She entwined her arms around his neck and touched his lower lip gently with the tip of her finger. She stroked his shoulders, her fingers trailing down his back. He groaned, and she brought her delicate, sweeping touch around, teasing his midriff, his hip. Lower. Closing her fingers around him …
    Some harsh sound emitted from him and it was over, this brief, sweet time of play and exploration.
    It could be no other way.
    Julie wrapped her arms and legs around him, welcoming him as he thrust into her, gasping, shivering, trembling, as she accepted the whole of him. He paused. He moved so slowly. Drawing out the touch, the wonder …
    The longing.
    She cried out, rising against him, but then he moved slowly no longer. A whirlwind swept around them. Magical, wonderful. She was aware of the cool feel of the air around them, because her flesh was on fire. She was soaring upward, but she keenly felt the softness of the comforter brushing against her flesh. She rose to some distant plain with him …
    But she was so aware of his body. His thighs, so rough against her own, muscled, huge,