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Bootlegger’s Bride by Marty Kindall

Published by mkindall May 26th, 2007 in Romance Excerpts
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Author: Marty Kindall
Buy the Book: Bootlegger's Bride

Publisher: The Wild Rose Press

Grace pulled the brake and, when she let up on the clutch, the engine sputtered to a stop.  She sighed, and glanced at Aidan.  His jaw worked, as if his mind dissected the world’s biggest math equation. 
Adding the two of them together didn’t seem so difficult to her.
He jumped when she rested her hand on his arm.
“Here we are,” she murmured, then risked a bolder question.  “What are you thinking, Aidan?” 
He flashed a lopsided grin.  “Wonder how cold it is inside.”
Her heart raced as he laced his fingers with hers.  “We can build a fire.”  
“Come inside, then.”  He kissed the back of her hand, then released her and came around to the driver’s side to help her out.  “We’ll see about that fire.”
She turned into him, her shield from the wind, and walked with him into the house.  White moonlight filtered through tattered lace curtains.  Once upon a time, a woman’s touch had graced this place.  Long neglected, the room resembled a bear cave more than a home. 
“It’s not much,” Aidan admitted, bending before the hearth to start a fire.  The sulfur scent of the lit match wafted toward her, followed by the promising sound of hungry flames.  “I didn’t have anywhere else to go.”
She shook her head.  He should have been able to knock on her door, like any respectable gentleman.  How had everything become so dire so quickly? 
Stealing up behind him, she rested her hands on his broad shoulders, the sputter of sparks reflecting her worn nerves.  “Anywhere with you is perfect.”
“You deserve better.”  As heat radiated from the fire, Aidan shrugged off his coat and spread it across the floor for her to sit on.  Then he lowered himself beside her, and loosened the collar of his broadcloth shirt. 
Her pulse quickened yet again, the suggestive tilt of his head telling her everything she needed to know.  She offered an inviting smile, and he rocked forward to kiss her, his rough urgency like a match on dry grass. 
She responded without hesitation, her fingers roaming across his chest, up his neck, and into his hair.  When he groaned, she set her nimble fingers to work on his shirt buttons.
The blaze in the hearth seemed too hot now, and she tore at the buttons, eager to remind herself of his lines, the smooth, muscled planes of his chest. 
Aidan broke the kiss, a thin sweat glistening across his face.  He tossed aside his shirt, then lifted the undershirt over his head as well. 
When he leaned in for another kiss, she slowed her frantic pace, wanting him in a different way than she’d wanted any other man.  This time she needed to enjoy each minute.
He was the same, yet different, older.  In the dancing light, she both remembered him and discovered a more mature man.  Her fingertips lingered over a scar at his collarbone, and she raised her eyes to him.  “What happened here?”
“Nothing,” he answered, kissing each of her fingertips.  Would he ever talk about the war, those long years of separation she’d rather forget?
Not now.  Closing her eyes, she shivered with the progress of his lips from her fingers to her elbow.  With her free hand, she loosed the mother-of-pearl buttons on the front of her blouse, then at the waist of her skirt.  When Aidan reclaimed her mouth, her garments fell away under his assured touch, leaving her only a thin chemise for cover.
Thankful for the cool edge to the air, she took and held a deep breath while Aidan appraised her nearly naked form.  Stark desire simmered behind his eyes, as if he meant to reclaim something that had been taken from him, starting with another torrid kiss. 
She surrendered, letting go of the tight control that bound her to daily life.  His weight leveraged her backward, and she relaxed against his scratchy wool coat. 
Twining her arms around his shoulders, she nuzzled his neck while his hands roamed her body.  He found his way under her chemise, sweeping it up and aside with no effort.  When he rested his weight against her, she felt his desire hard against her hip. 
Her body responded without benefit of thought, their kisses more fluid, the friction chasing away the last fringes of cold.  His lips moved against her neck and he sighed her name in her ear, while his hands cupped and massaged her breasts.
“Grace,” he whispered again, pulling back, his brow tight. 
She smoothed her hands over his face.  “What is it?”
“Tell me you thought about me.”  His hand slid up her thigh.  “Tell me.”
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