Travis and Gillian sat together in the Suburban, looking across the valley. The falling snow gilded the ski jump, making it look more like a rocket to the stars than a concrete tower. The pine forest closed behind them, turning the currently closed miniature golf parking lot into a private verandah.

“Beautiful,” Travis said finally, breaking the silence.

“Exquisite,” Gillian sighed.

“Especially redheads with green eyes.”

She swung around to look at him. “Travis!”

But her remonstrance contained more laughter than objection.

He winked at her, taking a chance on seducing her. Just a little making out, nothing too serious. His heart was pounding as fast as on any run as an E-cop. “Not that I can tell about the eye color when you’re all the way over there,” he drawled.

She tilted her head, a slow smile curving her mouth. Even in the dark, he could see her eyes sparkling.

“There’s a big, bad piece of plastic in-between us that Chevrolet calls a center console but I’d call a chaperone. To come closer, I might just have to climb onto your lap. Do you think there’s room?”

Christ, how he surged with agreement! “Yeah, I think we can find some, if I push my seat back. Care to come on over, Gillian?”

She promptly unbuckled her seatbelt and sat up. She knelt on the seat, limber as a cat, and stretched.

He watched her greedily, wondering whether to first explore her curves with his mouth or his hand. Or maybe a little teeth and tongue, to go with the lips. Or some fingernails and palms, to match the fingertips.

And the way her hair turned into a brilliant cap, which highlighted the vulnerable curve of her neck and the strong lines of her shoulder. It just begged to be investigated by some serious kissing.

She peeled off her ski jacket, exposing a fine woolen sweater, and tossed the jacket into the backseat. Her breasts bounced and settled, her nipples very much erect.
So were Travis’s.

Christ, she had beautiful breasts for such a fine-boned woman. Not too big, nothing that looked purchased — just enough to make her every inch a woman. His body heartily approved.

He took a deep breath and told himself to think, dammit, think.

The most basic logic emerged from the mists. He unfastened his seatbelt, took off his ski jacket, and dumped it in the backseat.

An instant later, he’d pushed his seat all the way back and pulled Gillian over into his lap. She sat astride him, supple as any yoga instructor and comfortable as a cat.
“Much better,” she purred, nestling against his chest.

Damn, she was so delicate against him. Soft, feminine — and the top of her head barely reached his chin. Would she be strong enough to handle him? He’d manage to be gentle somehow.

She fanned her fingers over his shoulders, comparing their strength and breadth to her fragility. Lord, he felt ten times bigger at the visual contrast and her wide-eyed appreciation, no matter how studied it might be.

“Travis, ah, Travis,” she sighed, her finger gliding back and forth in time to the syllables of his name.

He kissed her very gently, a delicate sweep of tongue over lip, a moist caress to awaken and tease. She answered in kind, their tongues flickering against each other, gradually building strength and interest until their mouths opened. She sighed in pleasure, turning her face up to him, and settled against him with her hand wrapped around his waist under his cashmere sweater.

Damn, Gillian was good at kissing and she wasn’t trying to do anything else.

Warmth flooded through him, until he felt achingly alive. He had always loved to kiss, but most women saw it as the beginning to something more, not a pleasure in itself. He closed his eyes, enjoying himself with a woman who took kissing the same way he did — with no strings attached.

Of course, he ran his hands down Gillian’s back, pulling her closer and enjoying her little moans. And she slipped her fingers inside his trousers and kneaded his hips, which made it damn hard to concentrate on her slim waist.

He groaned her name and she slid her fingers around to the front, coming to within inches of his belt buckle.

Travis froze. His cock was also damn close to his belt buckle, albeit inside his pants.

Gillian gave him a teasing grin and slid down onto the floor between his legs. She pulled his black cashmere sweater up slightly and his breath stopped with an audible gasp.

She nuzzled him through his T-shirt and he shuddered. She drew his cashmere sweater up, little by little, with a few teasing nudges and kisses through his T-shirt. Then she went to work on his T-shirt, drawing it loose, kissing and licking the bare skin underneath.

Every time she tasted him, fire crackled through him. She unbuckled his jeans and slowly unzipped them, gently stroking him through his briefs. His hips circled restlessly, while he watched her, groaning in anticipation.

Gillian outlined his ribs with her teeth then kissed them, sending shudders through him. She rhythmically kneaded his left chest, gradually centering on his nipple. His balls were drawn up high and tight, under his throbbing, eager cock.

He tried to peel his sweater and T-shirt off but Gillian licked Travis’s abs at his solar plexus. The fever singed him again. His hands tightened on her shoulders and he threw his head back, his breath catching in his throat. Dear God in heaven, how could anything feel that good.

She hummed her encouragement and flicked his nipples with her fingers, sending vibrations through his skin and into his lungs. The fire gained a new dimension inside his body. He bucked, desperate for more, frantic to come.

Gillian came up higher between his legs until her head was just below his shoulder, palming his glans through his briefs. If he got the damn sweater off, he could pull her up and finish this to their mutual satisfaction. . .

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