“Really?”
“Really.”
She scrubbed the back of her arm over her eyes. “I’m sorry. For taking off like that.”
He gave a soft laugh. “You scared me.”
She touched his face. “Can we try again?”
Was she serious? He’d already screwed up once. Didn’t trust himself not to do so again in the heat of the moment.
She reached up, her thumb brushing across his lower lip. “Please, Brad. I need to erase the bad memories and replace them with good ones.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
He hesitated. He’d already told himself this was the end—that he was all wrong for this kind of thing—but her heartfelt words and the fact that his body was responding to her touch in a way that was impossible to hide made him rethink his decision. If he said he didn’t want to, she’d know he was lying, and the rejection might damage her more than she already was.
Helping her up, he went and switched off the shower then picked up two towels. Slinging one around his waist, he used the second one to dry Chloe off, patting every inch of her body then sliding the soft towel under and over her right breast, the nipple tightening as he did so. He repeated the act on the other side and lingered there until she leaned into the friction, her eyes fluttering closed.
His body responded instantly, and he put his mouth to her ear. “That’s what gets my motor running.” He dropped the towel to the floor and scooped her up in his arms and carried her off to bed.
* * *
Chloe rolled over, her breathing ragged, while his senses were still firing like crazy.
Brad followed her, leaning on one elbow as he stared down at her flushed cheeks, the faint sheen of perspiration on her brow. He’d allowed her to find her own way this time, although it had nearly killed him, his body straining under the pressure of keeping still. The result had been well worth it.
He might never recover, in fact.
Experienced or not, she set him off the second she touched him.
And that mouth. Lord. He’d tried to draw her away before she got too close, but she’d brushed his hands aside, insisting. The heat of it as it had closed over his flesh...
He shuddered. It was like nothing he’d ever felt in his life.
The graphic image flashed through his skull, and he swallowed hard as a part of his anatomy defied gravity and stirred back to life. So soon.
What the hell was she doing to him?
“You’re a witch,” he whispered, reaching to brush her hair from her forehead, needing the contact, wishing he could roll her on her back and start all over again. But he didn’t want to scare her.
Not the way he was scaring himself.
He’d never minded the mirrors the former occupants had left over his bed. Until today. Seeing their entwined images reflected back at him had taken his normally icy control and shaved it down to nothing. He’d barely lasted until she’d climaxed.
Her lips curved and she caught his hand, carrying it to her chest where her heart beat strong and firm against his palm. “So it was okay?”
“More than okay. Much more.”
That was another problem. The sex had been good. Really good. Which could create problems down the road. As a doctor, he was used to patients—pregnant though they might be—getting a little case of hero-worship when the team helped them right a troubled pregnancy.
Chloe had been stuck in a terrible marriage, with a man who’d selfishly used her and given nothing back. Hell, anyone would look better than what she’d had. And she’d had her first man-made orgasm less than a week ago. The last thing he needed was for her to become infatuated with him. Because he couldn’t be locked into a relationship. He’d feel as trapped as she had with Travis—as trapped as he’d felt as a kid. Things could turn ugly really quickly if he wasn’t careful.
He dropped onto his back and put his hands behind his head, not bothering to cover himself. His reflection stared back at him, his need still very much in evidence. Disgusted, he flicked his glance over a couple of inches and found Chloe’s eyes on him as well. Great.
Those mirrors were being ripped down from that damned ceiling the first chance he got.
As if realizing something was wrong, Chloe’s brow puckered. “You okay?”
“Peachy.”
Her head twisted sideways, looking at the real him, rather than the image above them. “Brad?”
Her voice had gone from purring contentment to uncertainty.
He was damned if he did. Damned if he didn’t.
Well, then, he might as well make sure he was as damned as possible.
He reached for her and hauled her on top of him. “I’m fine. Just wondering if you’ve had enough lessons for one night?”
As if he’d actually taught her anything. She had been the one who’d taught him a thing or two.
“Can you? I mean, aren’t you...done?”
He slowly ground against her. “Does it feel like I’m done?”
She gave a soft laugh. “I had no idea it was even possible.”
“Yeah, well, neither did I.” He nuzzled the fragrant skin just below her chin. “Which is why I’ve decided you’re a witch.”
Chloe wiggled her body until she was positioned at just the right spot, then slowly took him inside her, the air hissing from his lungs as the impossible became entirely probable. And any argument he might have made vanished in a puff of smoke, leaving only him and Chloe...and the fiery need that threatened to consume him.
THE SOUND OF a buzzer awoke her, along with Brad’s muffled curse.
“What is it?” she asked, cracking her eyelids and trying to focus on the glowing numbers of the clock. Eight o’clock. On Saturday. Wow, it was hard to imagine a week had gone by since that fiasco in the shower. A week of sharing Brad’s bed. If she squinted her eyes just right, she could almost pretend they were in a normal relationship.
“It’s the interphone. It must be the doorman. I’ll see what he wants.”
Levering himself out of bed, he walked to the door, his naked butt the best kind of eye candy there was. Chloe propped herself up on her elbow to watch, all thoughts of sleep gone. A second or two out of the room, she heard a thump and then a strangled curse.
She smiled. Not quite as cheerful this morning as she’d thought he’d be. Well, she was in a happy mood today. She’d gotten word yesterday that her paperwork at the hospital had gone through. She was officially part of the Angel’s team. She and Brad had gone out last night to celebrate. Then had come back to the apartment and had another celebration. A much more private one.
She felt like a child who’s just gotten her first taste of chocolate and couldn’t stop gobbling it up, even though she knew she was eventually going to pay for her greed. But Brad was an intensely passionate—and pretty much insatiable—lover. Which served her purposes to a T. She’d never thought she’d see soreness as a good thing. But this was a different kind of discomfort, one that served as a reminder of all the pleasure that had gone on before.
Brad appeared in the doorway. “Get dressed.”
The barked order took her by surprise.