But according to the note, she had to leave early to take her daughter Penny to the doctor, so no tasty supper awaited me. If Dawson didn’t show up, I’d probably just eat yogurt.
I changed, rolled out my mat, and practiced yoga until sweat stuck my clothes to my skin.
As I stood under the tepid shower spray, I wondered how my life had become so mundane. I went to work. Came home and played with the dogs. Worked out. Showered. Ate supper. Watched TV, looking at the clock every ten minutes and wondering when Dawson would show up. Then I’d hit the hay.
I’d always been fairly solitary, but tonight it almost seemed… forced. By the time I’d dried off, combed out my wet hair, and slipped on a robe, I’d decided to partake of a little nightlife at Clementine’s. I wandered into the kitchen for a pregame beer when the dogs started barking. Dawson’s deep voice soothed them, and I could practically hear their tails thumping against the boards on the porch.
God, I knew the feeling. I was tempted to give a little yip of excitement myself.
The door opened. Dawson didn’t notice me at first, as he was too busy taking off his butt-ugly hat, hanging up his coat, and toeing off his boots. When he lifted his head and looked at me, my belly jumped like I was a teenage girl with a crush.
Dawson smiled. “Hey.”
“Hey, yourself.” I took a sip of beer. “You done for the night? Or just stopping to get something to eat before you head back out?”
“I’m done.” His gaze started at my forehead and leisurely traveled the length of my body, down to my bare toes, and then back up.
By the time his eyes met mine, they held that look. The look I’d been missing for the last week.
Then he stalked me until my spine hit the counter. “Whatcha got on under that robe, Sergeant Major?”
“Just my skin, Sheriff.”
Dawson made a noise that resembled a growl before his mouth covered mine. I fell into him, fell into the kiss, blanking my mind to everything except the happy fact that he was here.
His hands cradled my face then slid down my neck to the gap in my robe. Then his hands were on my bare skin, cruising down my chest over my rib cage to circle my waist. The way the ragged pads of his fingertips stroked my breasts made me arch into him harder. Kiss him harder.
Then he dropped to his knees.
He chuckled against my lower belly at my moan of delight. Then his hard-skinned hands were on the inside of my thighs, pushing them apart so he could settle his mouth on the damp flesh within.
I held on to his head with one hand, the edge of the counter with the other, and gave myself over to his intimate kiss. He had me panting, begging, and quivering in record time-a feat that might’ve been embarrassing for me if I hadn’t already known this man took tremendous pride in turning me inside out as fast as possible.