I wanted him. I wanted to take him in my arms. I wanted to wrap myself around him. I stepped in front of him, put my hands around his face, and pulled him into my kiss. He yielded without delay.

"What the hell are you two—"

We spun to see Nana at the door to the house.

She took in our positions, his shirtlessness, my wet shirt, and the broken rake and shovel in the middle of the wet garage floor. "Oh," she said, the hint of a smile leaking onto her face. "I don't think I want to know." She shut the door.

Her amusement rained down on me like an instant cold shower. For me, the moment was gone. When I turned back to Johnny, however, he was peeking down the V-neck of my shirt. Though caught, he grinned broadly. "You missed some seeds."

"I know." I backed up and started digging out what was left of the pumpkin mess in my cleavage.

"I take it you dislike gooey stuff on your chest, huh?"

I choked out a laugh, doubting that even a muzzle could keep this flirt-addict's dirty mind from being heard. "It was drying and getting all flakey and icky in there. But now that you've used the hose, it's more like snot." I pulled the last wad of it out.

"I will remove that particular fantasy from my list, then."

I threw the pumpkin goo at him.

I couldn't sleep.

After showering and dinner, my eyes didn't want to stay open and, though it was early, my bed was the right place to be. Then, with the clock glaring twelve-twelve, sleep deserted me. I woke with sore muscles. Getting comfortable wasn't likely.

Rising, I moved stiffly to the stairs and was halfway down before I realized the TV was on in the living room. Johnny was sitting on the couch in the jeans, tank, and denim shirt he'd changed into after his shower. In the glow from the screen, I could tell he was focused on me. I became aware all I was wearing was a creamy yellow babydoll sleep shirt and matching night-shorts.

"What are you doing up?" I asked.

"Watching Emeril Lagasse."

I glanced at the screen. "Cooking shows this late?"

"Couldn't sleep. Why are you up?"

"Sore. The ibuprofen is in the bathroom down here." I entered the little half-bath under the stairs. Taking two of the pain relievers with a handful of water from the faucet, I returned to the doorway. "Good night," I said. "Hope you get some sleep."

"Red?"

"Yeah?"

"I'll give you a back rub, if that'll help. I mean, the way you were swinging that rake around and throwing punches, it has to be your shoulders that are sore, right?"

"Right." I knew what he hoped this would lead to. Did I want to be led?

"C'mon," he said nonchalantly. He patted the couch beside him.

I gathered my hair to one side and sat before him on the floor instead. I watched the chef present the feast of harvest-time foods while Johnny's warm hands began kneading my shoulders.

"Your skin is so soft… my hands are rough."

"I like it." My muscles were responding, relaxing quickly under his diligent and firm touch.

He worked up the back of my neck, then down to the muscles below my collarbone. He paused with his thumbs stroking little circles onto my skin while his fingers lay innocent and still just where my breasts began to round. As he worked his way across my shoulders, he pushed the spaghetti straps so they fell to the side.

"Some massage oil that warms with friction would make this even better," he whispered.

I could feel his breath on my skin. "Yeah. It probably would."

"I might have some in my room. Let's go up there."

I started laughing.

He stopped rubbing. "What?"

Over my shoulder I said, "You have to admit that wasn't exactly subtle or slick."

He crossed his arms in mock indignation. "That oil is very slick."

I laughed again.

The TV went dark and mute.

"Tell me, Red," Johnny slipped his warm hands onto my shoulders again. "How would you have me win you over?" He kissed my ear then whispered, "Would you have me continue the suggestive wordplay for an hour to win your mind?" He licked my earlobe. "Would you have me overpower you and take you?" His hands squeezed tighter on my shoulders, an indication of the strength he could use to do just that. But I didn't fear him; my muscles reacted by melting under the pressure. He nuzzled lower and put his lips to my neck while his hands slid lightly to my breasts. Sensations flowed over my skin, igniting every nerve. "Would you let me have control? Would you dare that?"

Sitting completely still, I was very aware of my heartbeat quickening.

"I want you, Red," he whispered. He scented me, knew I was responding. His touch grew lighter still, then his hands left my shoulders and he sat back, not touching me at all. I looked up at him over my shoulder and saw that his dark eyes brimmed with desire.

His hands rested on either side of him, palms up and open. "Would you prefer to be in control?" His voice was so soft, so soothing, yet it readily stoked the heat of my desire. "Would you take pleasure from me on your own terms?"

I wanted him every way and any way. Nana and Beverley were sleeping. Ares was in Beverley's room. We had time. He wanted me. I wanted him. I wanted him now.

I stood before him. Slowly, I lifted my nightshirt. In the soft glow of the yardlight streaming in through the window, I watched his face as the rising fabric revealed the curve of my breasts. I lifted higher. He squirmed a little and rested his hands once again on the cushions to either side of him, palms down this time.

I dropped my shirt to the floor.

I turned away, let the shorts drop, and stepped out of them. I was wearing nothing now but white cotton bikini panties.

I bent to pick up the shorts, keeping my legs straight, grateful for being flexible. Johnny's throat rumbled approval. I didn't straighten up, but shifted to see the potently male expression on his face, mouth slightly open, nostrils flaring as he inhaled my scent again. His eyes took in every inch of me. His fingers dug into the corduroy cushions, fisting the fabric.

When I stood up and faced him, he jerked his denim shirt off and threw it to the floor, revealing the Celtic knot tattoos around his arms. The black bands had small images of wolves worked into the design. My eyes drank in the lean, muscular figure of this man, this man I was about to—

Sliding one knee onto the couch, I put my fingers to his brow, playing with his hair. My hand ran through those silky waves and came to rest on his shoulder. Leaning down, I watched him assess my breasts, the mixed wonder and lust on his face. I whispered, "Touch me, Johnny."

One hand rose to stroke the curving mound. My breath came faster. He filled both hands with the weight of my breasts, lifting them, stroking, the heat of his touch inflaming me more.

My hand slid to the bottom of his tank top. I yanked it up, pulling it off as he moved to allow me to take it. Sliding my other knee onto the couch, I straddled his hard, muscular thighs. His arms, still raised from the removal of his shirt, came down around me, hands caressing my hair as he pulled me into a kiss. It started gently, a soft brush of lips, but as his mouth opened to me and I tasted him, a deep hunger built upon immense desire. I sucked at his tongue and licked at his lips even as my fingers found the jeans zipper and released it.

I pulled from the kiss. "You do it."

Our eyes locked, my fingers ran though his hair as he worked his jeans down. When he settled back onto the cushion, I eased onto his thighs again. His hands went to my back, gliding to my hips. My fingers trailed down his abdomen to the hot, velvety smoothness of his cock, rigid and erect.

Johnny sucked a breath through his teeth as I caressed the length of him.