Well, there was some definite whimpering going on here, but shrieking? Uh, no. Then she realized her breast had somehow found its way into his hand.
“Oh, mm…you found it,” she whispered between kisses.
“Uh, yeah. Pretty much right where I expected it to be.”
“No, I mean…well, we’re not exactly talking Baywatch quality here.”
He backed away just enough to frown down at her, then slowly, deliciously, scraped his fingernails across the nipple, his face a study in concentration.
She shuddered, gasped, saw a star or two. He laughed, softly. “Give me a perfect half-carat diamond over a ten-carat Cubic Zirconia any day. Besides, you hear anyone complaining?”
She swallowed, shook her head.
“Good. Then no more of this I-hate-my-body business.” One hand still claiming her breast, his other one slipped beneath both leggings and panties to cup her bottom. “Got that?”
She murmured something unintelligible as her nipple strained toward his palm; he tightened his grasp, skimming his thumb over the hard peak. Need shot through her like a behind-schedule express train. Oh, man—she’d forgotten how good that felt. Her mouth fell open, her eyes closed.
“Look at me,” he commanded, his voice roughened. Soft.
She opened her eyes to look deep into his.
Oh.
Oh…mama.
“I don’t have anything with me—”
“It’s okay,” she interrupted. “I can handle that part of things. And I’m…um…” “Yeah.” Was that a hint of desperation in his voice? “Me, too. Just had a complete physical a couple months ago.”
One of the cats meowed behind her, making them both jump. She tried to pull away, though she wasn’t sure why. But Rod held her fast, those strong hands warm, careful, on her…everything. However, in a brief but noteworthy moment, it occurred to her he could be a lousy lover, for all she knew. Or, well, he could think she was. Frankly, this could be one helluva disappointing experience.
And once they crossed the threshold to her bedroom, that would be it. So the question was—was it better to continue dwelling in What-if? Land, where she could continue to shape and prune her fantasies to her own, admittedly impossibly high standards, or forge ahead to reality, where she ran the risk of having her dreams shattered…and common sense restored?
His soft chuckle caught her attention. “For someone I’d pegged as impetuous to a fault, you seem to think enough for a hundred people.”
She smiled, a little, lifted one shoulder in a shrug. He kissed her forehead.
“You can change your mind, honey. I’ll limp to the car, but I’ll survive.”
“Yeah, well, I’m not sure I would.”
He snagged her chin in his hand, his touch sending shivers of anticipation streaking through her bloodstream. “This is a first for me, Nancy,” he said, his mouth a breath from hers. “I don’t do casual sex. Never have. But—”
“No!” she said, pressing her fingers to his mouth. “No buts.” She drew in a breath, let it out in shaky spurts. “I’m new to this, too,” she whispered, then let her forehead drop to his chest. He drew her close, his breath warm in her hair. “And I meant what I said, about this just being for…now. It’s only that—” she rubbed her face against the soft wool of his sweater, discovering that his own heartbeat was as rapid-fire as hers “—it might be nice to have someone make love to me again while I still remember how.”
She felt his chest expand, collapse, on a huge sigh, before he carried—yes, carried!—her into the bedroom, shutting the door on the cats.
Chapter 3
Something was batting his nose, soft but insistent, accompanied by a low rumbling and the distinctive aroma of cat breath, barely tempered by the smell of freshly brewed coffee sifting in through the open door. Rod peered out of one eye at the little calico, who grinned down, then slung her rump toward him, smacking him in the face.
He carefully, but quickly, removed her to the floor, then yanked the comforter and sheet back up over his bare shoulders, taking in the pristine simplicity of this room as compared with the living room. Ivory walls, nearly bare floors save for a couple of floral-patterned rugs, linen tab curtains over the wooden blinds. A couple of paintings, a hand-painted chest and a cheval mirror pretty much did it. The bed was the only really fancy thing in the room, its black wrought-iron headboard nearly matching the gate in the living room.
Memories of Nancy’s hands, clamped to that headboard, shot through him.
A shiver raced over his skin. Cripes, it was cold. And it did not escape his attention, morning-fogged though his brain might be, that the naked, sweetly scented woman with whom he’d shared this bed last night wasn’t nestled against his chest, all warm and soft. His body groused a little in regret. His brain, which was rapidly clearing, was extremely grateful.
He glanced at the clock by Nancy’s bed: 7:14. The light filtering through the open blinds was weak, pale, like someone recovering from a lengthy illness. He felt much the same way—wiped out, depleted, unsure of his footing.
Petrified. Sated, yes, but petrified.
She was something else. He blew a stiff whuh of air through his lips, remembering how a single well-placed caress had taken her over the edge before they’d even fully undressed. He’d never known a woman to be that responsive, could be that responsive. Had never known a woman’s cries of fulfillment could make his heart burst like that. The way she looked at him afterward….
“Bless you,” her smile had said.
Minutes later, she’d taken—no, welcomed—him inside her, trembling with eagerness, a fierce need to share…comfort…succor. She was an erotic combination of madonna-lover-friend-stranger who resurrected old, forgotten fantasies while forever obliterating them as well. And he’d been just as eager, just as fierce, plunging deeply, then deeper still, until she gasped again with expectant pleasure. Her fingers were soft and smooth against his face as she rose to meet him over and over and over until it was no longer the warmth of her body enveloping him, but her very soul. The explosive power of his own release shattered him, and he cried out, his eyes shut against a haze of crimson as her sweet, exquisite convulsions ferried him back to earth.
When he’d recovered enough to look at her face, she was beaming, inordinately pleased with herself.
And for him.
He hadn’t had the heart—or maybe it was the guts—to leave. Or the willpower to turn down an encore. Or three.
Now he groaned, sat up in the bed. Not that he was surprised, mind, but didn’t it figure that the woman with whom he’d just had the greatest sex in his life was the one woman he didn’t dare have it with again?
He wasn’t a complete fool. Nancy’s generosity came at a price: she fully expected to get as good as she gave. And she damn well deserved it, too. Just as he’d suspected, she withheld nothing. A fount of emotions, in all shapes, sizes and colors, she said whatever popped into her head, did whatever struck her at the moment, made love with an abandon and ingenuousness that took his breath away.
Oh, sure, she said this was just a one-time thing. But he saw that hope in her eyes. That need.
The sooner he stopped this, the better. This—she—would never do. Not even for a fling, contrary to his body’s imploring. The risk was far too great.
Nancy Shapiro represented everything he’d learned was foolhardy from the