Love - From His Point Of View!: Meeting at Midnight. Maureen Child

nestled into my groin. I wondered how long my brain could survive without oxygen, seeing that all of my blood was tied up in one part of my body. “Do I need to run through the rest of the Gospels?”

      Her low chuckle delighted me. “Old Testament. Think lions.”

      “Lion’s den. Daniel.”

      “Bingo.” The top of her head was even with my eyes. Her hair was so soft…. I didn’t nuzzle it. Surely some celestial scorekeeper was pasting all kinds of gold stars next to my name. “I’m glad Duncan turned me down. Better to hear all this from you.”

      She went stiff. “What do you mean, he turned you down?”

      Uh-oh. Too much distraction. “Let’s pretend I didn’t say that.”

      “Oh, no.” She turned, pulling out of my arms, a dangerous glint in her eyes. “I want to know what you meant.”

      “You weren’t telling me things. Important things. So I…hell.” I ran my hand over my own head this time.

      “So you had me checked out? You had your brother check me out?”

      “No, I told you—he turned me down.”

      “Oh, that’s different, then! You wanted the cops to investigate me, but your brother wouldn’t do it, so everything’s fine!”

      “I needed to know about you, okay? I didn’t want to know. I needed to. And if that doesn’t make sense, well, tough. Tough on both of us,” I said, my voice getting louder, “because I’m used to making sense, only here you are, and I keep doing stupid things and I don’t know why! I don’t make sense at all anymore!”

      For a second after my outburst, there was silence. I scowled at her. She was smiling, dammit. “And you like that.”

      Her smile just got wider. Then she lifted up onto her toes, put her hand on my good shoulder and her mouth right smack on mine.

      “You…” Hard to form words with my head buzzing this way. “Why did you do that?”

      “Impulse.” She skimmed smiling lips across mine. “Very poor impulse control I have at times.”

      I, on the other hand, was great at self-control. I proved it by not grabbing her.

      “Oh, dear, here comes another one. Help,” she said, sliding her arms around my neck and tickling my nape with her fingers. “They’re coming pretty fast now. Can’t seem to stop them.”

      “Stop…” Her body brushed mine, scattering what passed for my thoughts. “Stop what?”

      “Impulses. Wicked ones. Whoops.” She slipped the top button of my shirt from its buttonhole. “See what I mean?”

      “Ah…” I ran my fingers down the whole, wiggly length of her hair, then slowly wrapped my hand around a hunk of it. “This sort of thing, you mean?” And I bent my head and licked her bottom lip. “I’m not supposed to do that.”

      “Exactly.” That word glided out on a puff of breath. “I guess they’re catching.”

      Another button met the fate of the first. And I snapped.

      My left arm clamped around her waist—and damn that sling! I couldn’t snug her against me the way I wanted. But I could crush my mouth down on hers. I could catch her sigh as her lips parted and send my tongue to steal her taste, take it inside me.

      I needed two hands. Hell, I could have used three or four, there were so many places I wanted to touch, but I made do with what was available. She’d fitted herself up against me as closely as possible, so I turned my left hand loose to wander.

      It liked the taut shape of her thigh, the flare of her hip, the muscle and flesh of her bottom…but that sweater. I’d been looking at that sweater all day, imagining what lay beneath it. I nudged her legs apart with my knee, making a space for my leg between hers. And slid my hand up under her sweater.

      “Lace,” I groaned as my hand found the warmth and weight of her breast. “This damned sweater made me crazy enough. If I’d known there was lace beneath it…” I rubbed her nipple with my thumb and pressed up with my thigh.

      She moaned into my mouth. Then bit my lip.

      “I want this.” I squeezed her nipple between my thumb and forefinger. “I want to see this.”

      The shiver that rippled up her spine struck me as agreement, but she shook her head as she slid one hand up my chest. “I’d have to let go of you to take it off. And I don’t want to.”

      That was a problem, all right. I admit I wasn’t much help, since I claimed her mouth again when she scraped my nipple with a fingernail. Her mouth was warm and sweet and a little wild, and though something was nagging at the back of my brain, telling me to slow down and think, I wasn’t listening.

      Vertical was losing all appeal. I wanted to be horizontal, where the lack of one hand wouldn’t matter so much.

      I also wanted her naked. “Damn,” I muttered against the column of her neck as that vagrant thought finally surfaced. Reluctantly I eased away. “Hold on. We’re by the window, and the drapes are open.”

      “Oh. I forgot. I can’t believe…” She laughed unsteadily and pushed her hair back from her face with both hands. “Good grief. I’m glad you thought of it.”

      “Yeah.” When I pulled the drapes closed, the light dimmed and softened. I smiled. “Now you can take that sweater off.”

      “Um…there’s something I should say first.”

      “If you’ve changed your mind…” I grabbed for self-control. Never had it felt more slippery. “I won’t yell. I might whimper a bit or beg. But I won’t yell.”

      “No. Oh, no.” She wrapped her arms around my waist and leaned into me. “I just wanted to make sure we’re on the same page. I can’t picture myself staying in Highpoint, exchanging friendly greetings with my grandmother in the produce section. And I can’t picture you anywhere else.”

      Some emotion landed with a jolt in my stomach. “So you’re saying we should have fun, but nothing serious.”

      “Something like that.”

      She’d stolen my lines, dammit. The warning I was supposed to give her. The conditions I’d forgotten about. The ones I wasn’t sure I wanted anymore.

      This wasn’t the time to mention that. I bent and nuzzled her hair away from her ear so I could kiss her there. “I never argue with a lady who’s about to remove her sweater.”

      Her chuckle sounded relieved. “You’ve got a thing about my sweater.”

      “Oh, yeah. I’d do it myself if I could.” I longed to strip her slowly, teasing and touching and kissing as I went. I couldn’t even undress myself properly, dammit.

      Which left me supervising again. I ran my tongue along the cord of her neck, then released her and waved my hand. “Up and off.”

      “Bossy,” she observed, but her voice was husky. She grasped the hem on her sweater, peeling it up over her head.

      Lace. Her breasts were cupped in it, full half-moons of creamy flesh overlaid with white lace, with darker nipples and areolas peeking through. Her hair spilled over bare shoulders, one curly strand falling in a soft hook around one dark-tipped breast.

      My mouth went dry and my heart tried to hammer its way out of my chest. “Did I mention that lace makes me crazy? Never mind,” I said, forgetting my plan to get horizontal. I brushed the skin above the lacy edge of her bra. “I’ll show you.”

      “Wait a minute,” she said, and stepped back a couple of paces.

      Something in her voice brought my gaze to her face. Her smile was the same, that easy curve of lips. But nerves or uncertainty jumped in her eyes.