That's My Baby!. Vicki Thompson Lewis

her lower lip. “I worked until I was so tired, I couldn’t stand. And still I couldn’t sleep for needing you.”

      His beard tickled her skin. She longed to give herself to the sensuous delight of his kiss, but first she had to know. “And did you…find someone to help you with that problem?”

      When he stilled, her heart twisted. Cupping his face in both hands, she drew back and looked into his eyes. She saw remorse there, and a crack started to form in her heart. “You did, didn’t you?”

      “No,” he said quietly.

      “No? Then why are you looking so guilty?”

      “Because it just hit me how she must have felt when I turned her down.”

      “A refugee?”

      “God, no. I would never take advantage of those vulnerable women. Another camp volunteer, from England. She wanted me, or at least she wanted someone like me. I thought I could go through with it. I tried to go through with it.” His gaze bored into hers and he sounded irritated. Whether with himself or her, she wasn’t sure. “I wanted to forget you,” he said. “I wanted in the worst way to be able to make love to her.”

      The thought of him even considering getting naked with another woman drove her crazy. “So, did you kiss her?”

      “Yes.”

      She couldn’t leave it alone. “French-kiss?”

      “Yes.”

      “You had your tongue in another woman’s mouth? How could you do that?”

      A faint smile touched his lips. “Forget it, Jess. Nothing happened. Not that I wasn’t hoping it would. I just…couldn’t.”

      Jessica was pretty happy about that. “Did you take her clothes off?”

      “Yes, and now I’m going to take off the rest of yours.” His mouth came down, cutting off her next question as he worked her arm out of the bathrobe sleeve.

      She shoved him away and gasped for breath. “Not so fast, buster. I want to get this straight. Were your clothes off, too?”

      “Mostly.” In one smooth movement he pulled the robe off her other arm and tossed it on the floor.

      “And even after all that, you didn’t make love to her?”

      “No.” He pushed her flat on the mattress and followed her down, pinning her there with his chest.

      Oh, yes. She loved the satisfying weight of him, the slight abrasion of his chest hair against her breasts. And he needed her. Only her. She gazed up at him, overjoyed with the news that he’d had a chance to make love to someone and hadn’t been able to.

      Yet she still could hardly believe it. “Is that normal?”

      “I doubt it. I think you’ve ruined me.” He framed her face in both hands, and his eyes searched hers for many long moments.

      “What is it?” she questioned softly.

      “I can’t believe I’m really here with you. I’m afraid I’m going to wake up.”

      “Me, too.” She reached up and touched his cheek. “Make love to me, Nat, before we both wake up.”

      With a groan he lowered his head and kissed her. His kiss was deep and sensuous, as it always was in her dreams, and she arched against him, praying that he wasn’t an illusion. Deepening the kiss, he slid his hand between her legs and caressed her inner thigh, but that had been a part of her dreams, too. Even when he slipped his fingers into her moist channel and stroked her until she whimpered, she couldn’t be sure he wasn’t a figment of her imagination.

      But in all the nights she’d fantasized about loving him again, she’d never dreamed of the soft whisper of his beard against her skin. As if that alone could convince her that he wouldn’t disappear in a puff of smoke, she combed her fingers through it.

      He lifted his mouth from hers. “I should have shaved,” he murmured.

      “No.” Oh, his fingers could work magic, winding her tighter and tighter. “I…like it.”

      “It must be like making love to a furry animal.” As if to make his point, he nibbled his way down her throat, his beard tickling her all the way.

      “Uh-huh.”

      He stroked his beard deliberately over the tip of her breast. “Or some caveman.”

      She closed her eyes in ecstasy. “Uh-huh.”

      “And you like this?” he asked in a husky voice as he swept his beard back and forth across her tingling nipples.

      She struggled for breath. “Uh-huh.”

      His low chuckle was laced with excitement. “You’re kinky, woman.”

      “And you love it.”

      His voice roughened. “Damned if I don’t.” He moistened each nipple with his tongue and then brushed them dry with his beard. He repeated the process, all the while coaxing her higher with the persistent rhythm of his fingers.

      The effect was incredible. She climaxed with a wild cry, arching away from the mattress as he buried his bearded face between her breasts. And he’d only begun. As she lay helplessly gasping from his first assault, he kissed a path down her quivering body until he’d nestled himself between her thighs.

      “Oh, Nat.” This was no dream. In a million nights of fantasizing she couldn’t have imagined the delicious sensation of his mustache right there, while his beard feathered her inner thighs, and his tongue…there were no words for it, only sounds. And she filled the room with her moans of delight.

      He gifted her with another shattering climax before making his way back to her mouth, revisiting his sites of conquest along the way. By the time he kissed her again, she would have done anything for him, if only she had a smidgen of strength left with which to do it.

      “And I thought this beard was only good for keeping my face warm in a cold wind,” he whispered.

      She could barely move, let alone talk. But she wanted him to feel this euphoria, too. It was only fair. She liked her dry lips. “What about…you?”

      He lifted his head and gazed down at her, his eyes alight. “I’m getting to that.” He kissed the tip of her nose and his voice was gruff with emotion. “But you know how guys are when they’ve been frustrated for this long. It’ll be fast and furious the first time. You needed a head start.”

      “Mmm.” She figured she’d already finished the race. Twice.

      “Don’t go away.” He leaned over and opened the bedside-table drawer.

      She turned her head and watched him put on the condom. Observing him rolling the latex over his stiff penis turned out to be an arousing activity. After the way he’d thoroughly loved her, she was amazed she was still capable of being aroused.

      He hadn’t worn a condom any of the other times they’d made love, and she wondered if she’d feel the difference. They’d both trusted in her birth control pills, which had ultimately failed them. But she couldn’t be sorry about getting pregnant. Even if Elizabeth ended up tearing them apart, she couldn’t be sorry.

      He slid back into bed beside her and turned on his side. His gaze locked with hers. She grew restless, wanting him again, but the ache was deeper this time. She no longer had that frantic craving for release. This time she wanted connection.

      Still looking into her eyes, he took her chin in his hand. Then slowly he stroked down the curve of her throat, and his gaze followed the path of his hand as it swept past her collarbone and over the slope of her breast. His touch seemed to define the shape of her body as his palm glided past her hip and down her thigh. His penis twitched impatiently, yet he took his time, propping himself up on one arm so he could reach all the way to her ankles.

      She’d