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Clint looks me up and down again, and I can’t help it. The question on my mind comes bursting out of me. “You don’t like me, do you?”
His eyes snap up to mine. “What makes you think that?”
“Because… the other night…”
Clint’s eyes get even darker. He steps into the bathroom. His hands move forward, wrapping around my waist. I shiver. The calluses on his palms rake against my skin, and it makes me bite my lip against the moan that’s bubbling there.
“I wanted you then, Nora,” he says in a low, sexy voice. “You’re a fucking smoke show, and I wanted you then.”
“So why didn’t you?—”
He tugs me up. He’s fully clothed, and the contrast between us makes my heart beat with arousal.
“I didn’t because I didn’t. But that doesn’t mean I don’t want to,” he grunts.
I look up at him. “So, if I said I wanted to kiss you now, would you kiss me?”
He glances away. “Nora…”
“Please?”
Something snaps in him. Clint turns, his hands lifting up to cup the back of my neck, and he plants his lips on mine.
Oh, good lord. Kissing Clint is intense. I throw my arms around him, plastering my body to his clothes. He grips the back of my neck, making a fist in the hair there. I moan when he tugs my head back to reveal my neck, kissing down the column of my throat and toward my breasts.
“Clint,” I whisper.
He steps back, gasping. “Nora. I…”
“I want more,” I murmur.
He looks at me, his eyes round. I step back, opening the shower curtain all the way. He’s soaking wet, there’s no point to him standing there in those clothes. “I want you.”
Clint growls.
My fingers drift up, tugging at the snaps on his buttons. “Clint,” I whisper, pulling the shirt to reveal his chest. “I…”
He grunts. In a remarkably fast move, he tugs his shirt off more.
“Touch me,” he commands.
Oh, I can do that.
The bathroom is getting absolutely soaked, but I run my hands over Clint’s chest. He’s not burly like Shane or wiry like Landon, but somewhere in between. He’s covered in scars, though. Some of them have a familiar horse jaw-shaped bend, and some are just scars.
Clint hisses when I trail my fingers down his side. There’s a huge bruise coming around from his back, and when I peek at it, I see the clear indent of a horse hoof over where his liver is.
I suck in a breath. “Did Thunder do that?”
He gives a sharp nod.
“Clint, I’m so sorry…”
“Don’t be,” he says roughly. “She’s a tough mare. She was defending her foals, and she wasn’t about to let me or anyone else fuck with them.”
I laugh. “You would like that. Everyone else sees her as a mean, contrary bitch.”
“I see that. But she’s also fierce and powerful,” he says, his eyes going soft.
