His fingers found the sash of the robe and gently pulled it free. He cupped her face and kissed her like he’d thought of doing a million times since the day in the parking lot. He pulled her close, lifted her into his arms, and set her on the countertop. She held his face, her kisses soft yet demanding more, driving his hunger. His fingers fumbled with unfastening the buttons of the flannel shirt she wore. She braced herself on her hands and allowed him to peel away the fabric. “You’re beautiful,” he whispered, drawing his hand over her silky flesh. He cupped her soft breast, and she fit his palm with sweet perfection. After another fiery kiss, he trailed his lips over her skin, taking in her musky scent. Encouraged by her hand holding his head in place, he helped himself, closing his mouth over her rigid tip, teasing until she forced his head up to look at her. “Wyatt.” She breathed his name. He wanted nothing more than to scoop her up and carry her to bed, but he knew that was impossible under the circumstances.
