At the very least, giving in to this breathtaking desire for Rick was risky. She didn’t even know his last name. And if she continued on the present course, her life might never be the same. But she didn’t care. Until now, she hadn’t been living.
Miranda decided not to question why she had chosen this enigmatic stranger with devilishly dark eyes, a soft spot for kids and strong yet gentle hands, to fulfill her fantasies. Perhaps because he was a stranger and knew nothing of her past. Maybe it was the bond she seemed to have with him, as if she’d always known him. In a way she did know him. He was the answer to her prayers, her dreams, her fantasies. At least for this one magical night.
Regardless, she had chosen him, and she wasn’t about to change her mind.
Miranda drew in a deep breath and released it with a sigh. “What if I don’t want to go?”
Rick was taken aback by Randi’s bold declaration and determined expression. Despite her obvious conviction, there was an innocence about her, something he found refreshing in the jaded sexual world he’d come to know.
He couldn’t fathom what he’d done right to be worthy of this angel on the doorstep, especially now that he was entertaining some wicked thoughts. But she deserved more than a one-night stand, and he couldn’t get involved with anyone right now. He didn’t have the time. Until he’d met her, he didn’t have the inclination. Even if he wanted a relationship, Randi probably wouldn’t approve of his occupation. Not to mention that his tenuous future didn’t include anything permanent. But her quick wit, no-holds-barred honesty and guileless green eyes made him consider things he shouldn’t.
He’d learned a lot in his thirty-two years, especially self-control. If he didn’t turn Miss Brooks around and march her outside, life’s lessons would be out the door instead of her.
Rick bracketed Randi’s face in his palms and searched her green eyes for the least bit of indecision. He didn’t find any. “Do you know what you’re saying?”
“I’m saying I want to stay. I want to be with you.”
He had to make her understand exactly how far this could go if she didn’t stop him. “I want you, Randi. All of you.”
“I know. I feel the same about you.” As if to prove it, she brought her arms from around his waist and fanned her palms in the opening of his shirt. Her touch seemed tentative, then more insistent as she feathered her fingertips across his chest. He was really sweating now.
“Your skin’s so hot,” she whispered.
That wasn’t the only thing. He swallowed hard. “Yeah.”
“Why don’t you take your shirt off?” She said the words without looking at him. Did she mean it? He aimed to find out.
He tugged the tails from his waistband and began slipping the buttons while she watched. Her eyes widened when he shucked the shirt off his shoulders and tossed it on the sofa. But she didn’t protest, or rush out the door. Instead, she circled her arms around his bare waist, sparking his imagination. What would it feel like to have her naked beneath him? His resolve weakened at the vivid mental image that thought created.
He hadn’t meant for this to happen. He’d only wanted the company of a beautiful woman who could hold her own in conversation and make him laugh. She had done both.
Of course, he had invited her inside in the first place. Obviously she’d read more into his intentions. But he’d kissed her first. He couldn’t help himself. Not when she looked at him like he was special, someone who could fulfill her fantasies.
When was the last time a woman looked at him that way? A woman who didn’t know who he was. Or what he was. Someone who expected nothing from him in terms of what he could do for their social standing.
Maybe she had just gotten caught up in the moment, the electricity that arced between them. If so, the time had come to slam on the brakes, before he couldn’t.
Then Miranda placed a kiss on his chest, right above his pounding heart, and his coveted control flew out the open window.
He slipped his hand underneath her silky hair and brought it to rest at the waistband of her skirt. When he began to tug her shirt up, needing to feel the bare flesh on her back, she flinched and pulled away.
“Are you really okay with this?” he asked.
Her smile was wan, self-conscious. “Yes, it’s just my back… I’m ticklish. It’s kind of weird, I know, but I don’t like being touched there.”
He grazed her cheek with a fingertip. “Where do you want me to touch you?”
She met his gaze, and he noted shyness in her expression, giving him pause. “You want me to tell you?”
“Unless you tell me, I won’t know.”
Randi didn’t answer with words. Instead, she took his hand and laid it on her left breast. Rick felt the butterfly beat of her heart and her nipple pebbling beneath his palm. He stared for a moment like a kid copping his first feel.
He’d had countless sexual offers from women, some he’d considered, some not. But he’d never met a woman like Miranda Brooks. The innocence shining in her eyes was in direct contrast to her saucy attitude and made-for-sin body. That innocence worried him the most.
What a time to get a conscience—when a beautiful brunette seemed bent on seducing him. But he didn’t want to hurt her, and he realized he could, even if he didn’t intend to. He had so little to offer, and she had something special that he couldn’t quite name. Something that had touched him on a deeper level than the physical. Something he didn’t care to acknowledge.
She pushed against his hand. Despite his caution, he stroked his thumb across her nipple through the thin cotton of her shirt, slowly back and forth. Her eyes turned soft and hooded, her expression languid.
He smiled to keep from moaning. “Is this how you like to be touched?”
“Yes.” She sounded breathless. God knew he was. If she was this responsive to such a simple touch, what would she be like when he really got down to business?
He took a mental step back. His gut instinct told him he might be making one giant mistake if he went any further. Then she reached up and unbuttoned the top button of her blouse, severing his last shred of resistance.
Removing her hand from the placket, he undid the remaining buttons at a snail’s pace, not only to draw out the tension, but also to allow her to stop him. When she didn’t, he pushed aside the blouse to reveal a silky champagne-colored camisole, no bra underneath. He cupped her breast again. The material felt cool to his palm, but he wanted to experience her warmth underneath the fabric.
She stood very still and for a moment he thought she might reconsider. Taking her back in his arms, Rick kissed her, then slipped one hand under the silk. Warm, supple flesh filled his palm. The muscles in his gut tensed as he struggled for control.
He broke the kiss and removed his hand from beneath the camisole in order to catch his breath and gather his scattered thoughts. Right now he should stop, the hardest thing he had done in a long time.
She brought her lips to his ear and whispered, “Make love to me.”
Oh, hell, she was making this damned difficult. How could he be a gentleman with someone so desirable in his arms, begging for his attention? He considered they were simply two consenting adults with normal biological urges. That’s what he kept telling himself, but he realized it was more. She was more than he had bargained for.
“Are you sure?” he asked, meeting her deep green eyes, bright with desire.
“Very sure.”
She sounded