“N-not here, Michael,” she repeated, pushing against him, her huge brown eyes swimming with emotion.

“Please,” she entreated. “Find us someplace else.”

Michael blew out a frustrated sigh, looked up, and glared at the headboard.

Goddammit. There was no place else. It was below freezing outside, his own house was occupied, and he couldn’t make love to her in the barn. He rolled to the side and threw an arm over his face, blowing out another sigh, this one resigned. The mattress dipped, and he lifted his arm enough to see Libby standing beside the bed, hugging herself.

He rolled off the bed, gathered up the blanket and two pillows, took hold of Libby’s hand, and strode out of the bedroom. She followed in silence as he led her into the garage, pulled her to the back of her truck, and handed her the quilt and pillows. He opened the back door, pulled out the third seat and set it on the floor, walked around to the side of the truck, and folded down the backseats.

He returned to Libby, stopping only long enough to kiss her gaping mouth, and tossed the pillows into the back of the truck. He shook the blanket out to make them a bed, turned, picked Libby up, and tossed her in after it.

And then he climbed in himself, shut the doors behind them, and reached for the buttons on her blouse.

Chapter Fourteen

Libby blinked to adjust her eyesto the darkness of the garage. The truck? They were going to make love in the back of her truck?

Well, she had gotten what she asked for; Mary certainly wasn’t in here. Libby laughed and threw herself at Michael, reaching for the buttons on his shirt. In more of a frenzy than a coming together, they undressed each other, and as each new body part emerged and each interesting patch of skin was exposed, Libby’s urgency grew.

Michael was right—she had no business making up his mind for him. She had warned him, and they would both simply have to live with the consequences. She would not cling to Michael when this affair came to an end—which it eventually must. And if she were destroyed, as the old priest had suggested, she would have no one to blame but herself.

It was liberating, finally giving in to abandon. Libby ran her hands over Michael’s body, reveling in the texture and warmth of his skin, not needing any light for her fingers to form a picture in her mind of his sculpted beauty.

Her pants got stuck at her ankles, and Michael worked to take off her shoes. He heated the air with colorful curses. Libby felt the truck move when he banged his knee on the fender well, and she laughed out loud when he twisted and bumped his head on the roof.

“Dammit, woman,” he hissed, trying to take off his own boots. “If ya don’t quit laughing, I’ll see that you’re sorry.”

Libby snapped her mouth shut—not because of his threat but because her eyes had adjusted to the darkness, and Michael took her breath away.

She’d seen many naked bodies in her career, some of them beautiful, athletic, and fine testaments to the human species. But Michael was… he was magnificent—beautifully sculptured bone and muscle perfectly proportioned for maximum strength and mobility. She could see now why Father Daar had called him a warrior.

He dwarfed the back of her cavernous truck, and when he turned to take her into his arms again, Libby’s mouth went dry. He was radiating enough heat to steam up the windows. He was so full of vitality, so larger than life, she felt overwhelmed.

But that lasted only until his mouth started doing wondrous things to her collar bone, and his hands introduced themselves to the more sensitive parts of her body. And Libby decided it was time she did the same. She ran her fingers down his solid, rippling torso and then lightly trailed over his hips, slowly inching her way toward his… his…

Michael reared up, a growl erupting from his throat the moment Libby touched him. He captured her hands just as they wrapped around his erection. There was a short, bittersweet tug of war before he was able to pin her down and glare into her smiling eyes.

“When ya finally make up your mind, ya certainly do so with zeal,” he whispered, lowering his lips over hers. “Slow down, lass. We have all night.”

“You can’t do all the touching,” she complained.

“Ya’ll get your chance,” Michael promised, sliding down her body and dipping his tongue into her navel.

Squirming, Libby sat up, grabbed fistfuls of his hair, and guided his mouth on its journey over her stomach. Michael couldn’t decide whether to groan or burst into laughter. She was so honest about what she liked and so eager to direct him to each sensitive spot.

As he kissed a tiny spot just above her hipbone, her little moan of pleasure told him he was driving her wild. He lifted his gaze and saw Libby’s head thrown back against the pillow, her eyes shut tight, her body flushed with passion.

“Oh, my God. Don’t stop,” she cried hoarsely, trying to push his head back down.

He was not about to stop, but he did change his focus, nuzzling back up her stomach until he came to her firm, delicate breasts.

Her grip on his hair tightened. Her body tensed in anticipation, and Michael began a slow and tender assault on her breasts, moving his tongue in sensual circles around each responsive nipple. She groaned and arched her back. She wrapped her legs around his thighs and lifted her hips until she was centered directly under his shaft.

Michael rolled onto his back, taking her with him. “Not yet,” he hissed, guiding her mouth down to his. “All night, remember?” he whispered, stilling her hips before she impaled herself on his erection.

She sat up, blinking, lost in a fog of passion.

“Now it’s your turn to touch,” he told her, wondering if he hadn’t lost his own mind.

“Hands and lips only,” he clarified. He had to capture Libby’s eager hands when she started before he was done giving his instructions. “We’re not protected, Libby.”

She abruptly pulled back in alarm. “You were supposed take care of that.”

“I did. It’s in my pocket,” he assured her, folding his arms behind his head, gritting his teeth, praying for some patience of his own and a healthy dose of control.

Libby wasn’t sure what to think of his dictate, but she sure as heck knew what to do. She started at his navel and ran her hands up the length of him, sliding her fingers through the silky hair covering his chest. She became fascinated by how his muscles shuddered beneath her touch, how his nipples hardened when she lightly raked her fingers across them, how beads of sweat broke out on his shoulders and neck, how he tensed and growled as if he were in pain.

She knew she wasn’t hurting him. In fact, she knew she was driving him wild. And that thrilled her, how just her touch could make a quivering mess of such a strong mountain of man.

She was empowered. Remembering he’d said lips as well as hands, Libby replaced her fingers with her mouth. And mimicking his earlier action on her, she ran her tongue over his nipples. Satisfied to hear his groan, she went in search of other interesting anatomy.

“Have a care, lest ya end this now,” he warned, his voice guttural and strained.

She smiled, flexed her fingers on his hips, ignored his suggestion, and gave him a shockingly intimate kiss.

Michael sat up with a shout and took hold of Libby’s shoulders, lifting her away before he disgraced himself. This had not been one of his brighter ideas, giving this woman such free rein with his body.

“Find my pants,” he ground out. “Now.”

Michael couldn’t help but smile as Libbly scrambled to pick up his pants. His grin broadened when he heard her mutter an impatient curse as she rifled through his pockets. She held up a small foil packet, stared at it, and then turned and stared at him—

or, more specifically, at what she’d just kissed.