Yeah. She was special. There was no one quite like her. He was long gone over her and perfectly content to be so. Not since those first magic months with Belinda had he felt quite the way he felt right now.
Belinda …
Uh-uh. No point in going there.
He’d messed up with Belinda. She’d been all wrong for him. Weak. Not focused. A woman from a nice middle-class family who didn’t understand the first thing about his world.
A woman nothing like the one beside him right now.
He continued his slow, appreciative scrutiny, admiring the sleek curves of her back, the leanly muscled shape of her dancer’s arms—one bent at the elbow supporting her head, the other resting along her side. He was just getting to the poetry in her slim, long-fingered hands when she stirred and yawned and rolled to her back.
“What?” She squinted up at him, her face sleep-flushed and so beautiful it hurt to look at her—hurt in a very good way.
“Just admiring the view …” He traced a finger around a pert, pink nipple.
She lightly slapped his hand away. “The view is getting chilly since you stole all my covers.”
“Let me warm you up.”
She smiled at him then. Damned if her smile couldn’t light up the darkest night. “Hmm. You know, that’s an excellent idea….”
And then, before he had a chance to take the lead, her warm, soft hand closed around him. The feel of her gripping him was so perfect, so exactly right, that a low, pleasured moan escaped him.
She was still smiling—a much naughtier smile than before. “How about … like this?”
“Oh, yeah …”
She put her other hand—the one that wasn’t doing incredible things to his suddenly rock-hard erection—on his chest. Gently she pushed him over until he lay on his back. Then she canted up over him. That cinnamon hair brushed his chest. The scent of her swam around him. She whispered, “And like this …?”
He could only nod as those long fingers of hers stroked him, slow, knowing strokes.
How did she do it?
The woman drove him wild.
She worked him, milking him with her hand, and she kissed her way down the center of his chest. When she took him in her mouth, he was absolutely certain he was going to explode.
Somehow he managed to hold back as her soft lips closed over him, as the wet cave of her silky mouth surrounded him, sucking. He rolled his head on the pillow and groaned low in his throat and tried not to reach for her….
He could only hold out for so long. The moment came too quickly when he couldn’t take the sweet sexual torture she inflicted for one second more.
So he caught her by the shoulders and pulled her up to face him.
“Hey.” She grinned down at him. “I wasn’t finished.”
“Maybe not. But if you don’t stop, I will be.”
Her fingers tightened on him again. “Fine with me.”
He groaned. “Wait.” And then he swore. “Have mercy….”
“Oh, Fletcher. I love it when you beg.”
“Kiss me. Now.” He lifted his head off the pillow, straining for that soft mouth.
She gave him those warm, full lips, and he kissed her, urging her to open, which she did without even token resistance. He wrapped his arms around her and rolled, wild for her by then, wanting only the hot, perfect feel of her body closing around him.
He sought her, found her. She was slick and swollen with arousal, already wet for him. She could take him. Now. When he needed her so desperately.
He nudged her smooth thighs apart and slid inside with a pleasured moan.
Oh, the way she fit him. No one. Ever. Had fit him like that.
She wrapped those fine legs around him and she moved with him, rocking, taking his rhythms and giving them back to him, answering the questions he hadn’t even known to ask.
She whispered his name, husky and low. “Fletcher …”
“Yeah,” he said. “Cleo …”
And then he was rising, going up and over, spilling into her, and she was holding him, meeting him, crying out with her own release.
There was that frozen, straining moment as the pure pleasure took them. Then they both went limp.
He lifted up to his elbows and looked down into her flushed face. Her satiny throat was dewed with sweat. He bent his head and licked her there, tasting her.
“Fletcher,” she whispered, breathless—and insistent. He lifted his head enough to meet her eyes. She looked … what? Disbelieving? Shocked?
He stared down at her, baffled. What the hell could be wrong? “What’s the matter?”
“We forgot the condom,” she said.
Chapter Eleven
Cleo thought he looked totally stunned—as stunned as she felt. “I can’t believe we did that,” she whispered. “Damn.” He blinked. Shook his head. “Neither can I.”
“We’ve got to be more careful….” She waited for him to agree.
And he did. Kind of. “Yeah,” he said. “Maybe …” She pushed at his shoulders. “Fletcher, what do you mean maybe? There’s no maybe about it. We have to—” He put a finger against her lips. “Easy.” She pushed his hand away. “Fletcher, this is serious.”
“We could look at this from another angle, you know”
“Another angle? I don’t think so. We messed up. We can’t afford to—”
“Wait.”
“But I don’t—”
“Go with me here, just for a minute.”
She stared up at him, bewildered. He really was acting strangely. “Go with you … where?”
“You did tell me you wanted kids, didn’t you?”
“Well, yeah. But—”
“Having sex without a condom is a good way to make that happen.”
She gaped up at him. “Excuse me?”
“You heard what I said.”
“Yeah. I heard it. I can’t believe you said it, but I definitely heard it.”
“Are you telling me you’ve changed your mind—that you don’t want a baby, after all?”
“No. No, that’s not what I said—or at least, not what I meant. What I meant was, I don’t want a baby like this.”
“Like what?”
She couldn’t believe the look on his face. Did he find this amusing? She accused, “I swear, all of a sudden you are grinning at me.”
“Yeah. So?”
“It’s not funny. I don’t want to be like my mother—or even like your mother, though that is no judgment on either of them, it’s truly not. I want my kids to grow up with their father in the house, you know? I want—”
“Okay.”
“Okay?” She glared up at him and demanded, “Okay?”
“Yeah.