Free Any Thursday (Donovans of the Delta) by Peggy Webb Page A

imagined the way he would be moving quietly so he wouldn’t wake the rest of the household. Her heart hammered as she listened for that one squeaky board at the top of the stairs that would betray him.
    When she heard it, her resolve firmed. She’d give him five minutes, then she’d make her move.
     o0o
    Jim was standing at the window, looking out, when she opened the door that connected his bedroom to the bath they shared. He turned at the sound of her entrance.
    She stood just inside the door in a patch of moonlight. With her swirling red dress and her tumbled dark hair she looked like fire and smoke, he thought. He didn’t smile, didn’t speak, merely stood watching her. Hot, dangerous, wild, exciting—all the things she was washed over him.
    “I knew you’d come.” He watched the effect of his statement on her. She remained in the doorway, composed and serene.
    “You give yourself too much credit.”
    Her tart reply made him smile. Sweet would never be the word to describe Hannah. “You’re not here because of my irresistible charm?”
    “I’m not even here because of your refreshing arrogance.”
    The offhand compliment pleased him. “Do you find me refreshing, Hannah?”
    “Invigorating probably would be a better word. Being with you is like taking a cold dip in Glacier Bay.”
    “Come closer, Hannah. I have a way to heat the waters.”
    She seemed to float toward him, borne along on the billowing red cloud of a dress and a wave of heady fragrance. Passion ripped through him with a suddenness that made him almost dizzy. He’d never known a woman’s walk could do that to a man.
    She stopped inches away from him. With her index finger she reached out and skimmed his cheek. He didn’t move. He barely breathed as her finger moved slowly downward, across his throat and into the mat of chest hair exposed by his makeshift toga.
    “That’s what I’m counting on, West Coast Warrior.”
    The blues music of her voice hummed through him, tensing his already tight muscles. He hadn’t meant to be bewitched by her.
    He caught the hand that played along his chest. Lifting it, palm up, to his lips, he sucked, trying to ease his hot aching by drinking in the coolness of her. He heard her catch her breath.
    “Do you like that, Hannah?”
    “Skilled lips always excite me.”
    “Do you want more?”
    “Yes.”
    He gathered her into his embrace and took her lips. She was willing and pliant, fiery and passionate. She was all the things he’d ever wanted in a woman except one: She was not and never would be a woman he could take care of. Hannah Donovan was the most strongly independent woman he’d ever met. And the most exciting.
    Heat seemed to steam up from them as they kissed. The term “burning passion” took on new meaning for him. He was on fire with need, sizzling, scorching with desire. He wanted to rip her dress away. And yet . . .
    His thoughts spun away. Sweet . Her lips were so sweet.
    “Hannah. My Hannah.” He was scarcely aware that he’d spoken, was scarcely aware that he was moving his hands over her body as if she were something precious.
    “Hmmm . . .” she whispered, “you are . . . delicious. I can’t . . . get enough.”
    Nor can I , he thought. Nor will I ever . With sudden clarity he realized that nothing would ever be casual between them. What had started as a challenge had turned into something else entirely, something he didn’t want to name, something he didn’t want to think about. More to the point, he realized he couldn’t have casual sex with Hannah.
    Recklessly he took one last deep drink from her lips, then he broke the kiss and gazed down at her. With her wide indigo eyes and her tumbled jet hair, she was desirable almost beyond imagining. He nearly changed his mind.
    “Jim?”
    “Did I succeed in making things hot for you?”
    His words hit Hannah like a dash of ice water. She raked her hands through her hair and tried to decide what had happened. One minute she’d