At Home in Stone Creek (Silhouette Special Edition) by Linda Lael Miller

the heat.
    Even a few minutes before, Jack wouldn’t have believed he had the strength for sex, but the drive was deep, elemental, as much a part of him as Ashley herself.
    There was no foreplay—their need for each other was too great.
    The two of them fell sideways onto her bed, kissing as frantically as half-drowned swimmers trying to breathe, their arms and legs entwined.
    He took her in one hard stroke, and found her ready for him.
    She came instantly, shouting his name, clawing at his back with her fingernails. He drove in deep again, and she began the climb toward another pinnacle, writhing beneath him, flinging her hips up to meet his.
    â€œJack,” she sobbed, “Jack!”
    He fought to keep control, wondered feverishly if he’d die from the exertion. Oh, but what a way to go.
    â€œJack—”
    â€œFor God’s sake, Ashley, lie still—”
    Of course she didn’t. She went wild beneath him.
    Jack gave a ragged shout and spilled himself into her. He felt her clenching around him as she erupted in an orgasm of her own, with a long, continuous cry of exultant surrender.
    Afterward, they lay still for a long time, spent, gasping for breath.
    Jack felt himself hardening within her, thickening.
    â€œSay it, Jack,” she said, burying her in his hands. “Say you’re going to leave me. I dare you.”
    He couldn’t; he searched for the words, but they were nowhere to be found.
    So he kissed her instead.
    Â 
    Ashley awakened alone, at dusk, naked and soft-boned in her bed.
    The aftershocks of Jack’s lovemaking still thrummed in her depths, even as panic surged within her. Damn, he’d done it again—he’d driven her out of her mind with pleasure and then left her.
    She scrambled out of bed, pulled on her ratty chenille robe, and hurried downstairs.
    â€œJack?” She felt like a fool, calling his name when she knew he was already gone, but the cry was out of her mouth before she could stop it.
    â€œIn here,” he called back.
    Ashley’s heart fluttered, and so did the pit of her stomach.
    She followed the echo of his voice as far as the study doorway, found him sitting at her computer. The monitor threw blue shadows over the planes of his face.
    â€œHope you don’t mind,” he said. “My laptop camedown with a case of jungle rot, so I trashed it somewhere in the mountains of Venezuela, and I haven’t had a chance to get another one.”
    Ashley groped her way into the room, like someone who’d forgotten how to walk, and landed in the first available chair, a wingback she’d reupholstered herself, in pink, green and white chintz. “Make yourself at home,” she said, and then blushed because the words could be taken so many ways.
    His fingers flew over the keyboard, with no pause when he looked her way. “Thanks,” he said.
    â€œYou’ve made a remarkable recovery, it seems to me,” Ashley observed.
    â€œThe restorative powers of good sex,” Jack said, “are legendary.”
    He was legendary. It had been hours since they’d made love, but Ashley still felt a deliciously orgasmic twinge every few moments.
    â€œAnswering e-mail?” she asked, to keep the conversation going.
    Jack shook his head. “I don’t get e-mail,” he said. “After I booted this thing up and ran all the setups, I did a search. Noticed you didn’t have a Web site. You can’t run a business without some kind of presence on the Internet these days, Ashley—not unless you want to go broke.”
    â€œYou’re building a Web site? ”
    â€œI’m setting up a few prototypes. You can have a look later, see if you like any of them.”
    â€œYou’re a man of many talents, Jack McCall.”
    He grinned. He’d showered and shaved since leaving her bed, she noticed. And he was wearing fresh clothes—blue jeans and a white T-shirt. “I began to