Early to Bed?

3

TONY DRIFTED somewhere in the twilight zone between waking and sleeping. The last thing he wanted to do was surface from the dream he was having. His Goldilocks was sleeping in his bed. And it felt just right.

She was nestled against him like a spoon, her back to his front. Each time he inhaled, her scent filled him. He would have recognized it anywhere. Spring flowers, the kind his mother had taken such care to grow in terra cotta pots on the roof.

With lazy pleasure, he slipped one hand beneath her to keep her near and ran the other down her from her shoulder to her thigh. The contrast of warm silky skin and more roughly textured cotton had a warm flame of desire moving through him. She shifted, pressing more closely against him, and the flame eased into a slow, searing burn.

He slipped his hand beneath thin cotton. She made a throaty sound of pleasure when he cupped her breast, another when he scraped his teeth against the nape of her neck. He’d dreamed before of touching her like this, but the sensations seemed sharper now. Her skin was soft as water, her waist so narrow. Hearing the quick hitch of her breath, he let his hand take the long, slow journey again. He felt his own need grow as he absorbed each separate layer of her response—the pounding of her heart, the warming of her skin when he pressed his palm against it, the tremor that moved through her when he finally slipped his hand beneath the waistband of her sweats. Then he used his mouth on the back of her neck again as he slipped a finger into her heat.

THE ORGASM MOVED THROUGH HER in one, hot, consuming wave, and Lily thought she just might die from the pleasure. Then before she could catch even one breath or gather up the strength to move, those strong, clever fingers began to move deep inside of her again. This time each sensation was sharper. She inhaled his scent—something darkly male. And the heat of his body—it burned hers like a brand at each and every contact point.

She’d never dreamed anything this clearly before. His teeth bit the back of her neck as his hand tightened on her breast. She could hear her heart beat, feel each pump of her blood as it accelerated the way a locomotive did when it hurled itself down a hill. His fingers moved relentlessly, and though she hadn’t thought it possible, a huge pressure was beginning to build inside of her again.

Then he withdrew his hand.

“No.” The word came out as a ragged moan and she twisted and rolled, desperate until she lay across him. Visualize. This was a dream, she reminded herself. A wonderful one. If she just pictured everything clearly enough, it wouldn’t fade. Her dream lover couldn’t leave.

She conjured up his face in her head again—the strong features, one by one. It was working. She could feel his body beneath her, all hard planes and angles, pressing into hers.

“I want you,” she said.

“Touch me.”

Lily wasn’t sure who said the words. All she knew was that she had an overwhelming urge to explore him with her hands, to memorize him the way he’d memorized her. With her eyes still closed, she traced her fingers over his brows, down the sides of his face to the hard line of his jaw. Yes, he was just as she’d pictured him. As she brushed just the tips of her fingers over smooth, firm lips, the image in her mind wavered a little. Slowly, she lowered her mouth to his. The urge to taste him was so huge, so consuming. His lips were parted, just slightly, and his flavor seeped into her—dark and tempting. His mouth was so warm, so gentle. When her tongue moved against his, the taste grew richer. Lily felt herself melting, skin, muscle, bones.

She was on the border between sleep and wakefulness, but as his hands began to move on her again, she couldn’t summon up the strength to open her eyes. Lean and firm, his hands weren’t gentle this time. They were strong and hard, the fingers callused. Wherever they pressed, flames licked along her skin. Threading her fingers through his hair, she arched against him, urging him on as she poured herself into a kiss.

TONY FELT his reason slipping away. She was so responsive, so giving. So his.

His hands had taken on a will of their own, racing over her, taking, touching, claiming. His mouth too seemed out of his control. He had to devour her. Even as her taste filled him, he couldn’t seem to get enough of it. Some part of his mind was telling him that this couldn’t be a dream, the sensations were too sharp, too real, but he had no will to listen.

He’d wanted a woman before—but not with this intensity. He’d needed a woman before, but not with this desperation. Desire hammered at him with sharp, piercing blows as he dragged off her clothes.

More. He had to have more. In some part of his mind, he knew that his hands weren’t gentle as they raced over her. Those soft curves beckoned to him, but he had no patience to linger. Even though her scent enveloped him, even though her taste filled him, he couldn’t get enough. He had to have her. His blood was pounding in his head as he rolled her beneath him and thrust himself into her. But as he did, she wrapped herself around him and matched her movements to his so that the two of them were perfectly in synch, driving each other higher and higher. Then as pleasure shattered through him, they merged as one.

WHEN SANITY RETURNED, she was lying beneath him. He was sure he was crushing her, but he couldn’t move except to tremble. His breath was coming in ragged gasps. And he couldn’t think. A cold sliver of fear moved through him. The last thing he clearly remembered was asking her to touch him. When she had, his control had begun to stretch thin like a rubber band—until it had finally snapped.

The one thing he was pretty sure of was that what had just happened was too real to have been merely a dream. Slowly, he raised his head, opened his eyes, and confirmed his worst suspicion.

The woman lying beneath him was indeed his Goldilocks, and she was real. Had he hurt her? The thought gave him the strength to lever his weight off of her. “Are you okay?”

Her eyes opened, and he found himself looking into a deep sea of green. As he watched, they darkened and focused, then shut.

“Did I hurt you?” he asked.

She opened her eyes, raised a hand to his cheek and frowned. “You’re real, aren’t you?”

The husky sound of her voice had him hardening all over again. Later, he would find that amazing. Right now, the effect was dimmed by the fact that she was clearly not pleased.

He tried a smile. The Romano dimples had gotten him over rough ground before. “Last time I checked, I was.”

She shut her eyes. “I thought—I thought I was dreaming.” Then her eyes snapped open again and her gaze narrowed. “Just what are you doing in my bed?”

The haughty accusing tone had him biting back a grin. It wasn’t everyone who could pull it off, especially when they were naked and still lying partly under you. He planted a quick kiss on her nose. “My bed,” he corrected. “When I came in, you were sleeping on the couch. So I claim squatter’s rights.”

“This is my room,” she said. “Lucy Romano gave it to me. Therefore, this is my bed.”

“Remind me to thank Lucy,” he murmured as he lowered his mouth to hers. He meant to merely drop a quick kiss, but the moment his lips brushed hers, he had to have just one more taste, and then he had to have more. There was such sweetness on the surface—rich, wild honey, and when he nipped on her bottom lip, the flavor deepened. He told himself that he would have pulled back if she’d shown any sign of resistance. But she didn’t. When he finally did withdraw, he waited until she met his eyes. “This isn’t a dream.”

“No,” she said.

“I want you again.”

Her eyes remained steady on his. “I want you too. But…”

He nibbled kisses along her jawline. “But what?”

“We’re strangers. We don’t even know each other.”

He met her eyes again. “Do you want me to stop?”

She tightened her arms around him. “No.”

Even as he made a space for himself between her legs, he said, “Are you protected?”

“No. I—”

He dropped a quick kiss on her forehead. “Don’t worry. I’ll take care of it.” But he had not taken care of it before. They’d have to talk about that later. Reaching into the drawer of the nightstand, he removed one of the foil packets that his father had kept there. Once he had sheathed himself, he pushed into her just a little.

“We’re going to take it slow and easy this time,” he said.

“Oh? We are?”

Surprise and delight filled him when he saw the light of challenge come to her eyes. He’d been right in his first assessment of her. She was a fighter, all right. “Slow and easy,” he promised. “I’ll just have to persuade you.”

“We’ll see about that,” she said as she tightened her legs around him and drew him in.

When the battle was over, neither was sure who’d won.

SHE SLEPT LIKE A ROCK, Tony decided as he slipped out of the room. Pausing in the doorway, he glanced back at her. She hadn’t moved since he’d awakened at the first light of dawn. Not even the running of the shower had disturbed her. She was still sleeping on her side with one hand tucked under her cheek, in much the same position that she’d been in when he’d first seen her on the couch last night.

Goldilocks looked quite at home in his bed, he thought. And just what in the hell was he going to do about that? Turning, he moved toward the kitchen. Perhaps, coffee would defog his brain. The cold shower hadn’t. Heaven knew after the night they’d spent, he should be sated with her, but he’d barely made it out of bed without waking her to make love again.

That was more than enough to give him pause. He couldn’t recall another woman who’d ever threatened his control the way she did. As he measured water and scooped coffee into the coffeemaker, he reviewed the problem.

His father’s warning to beware of J. R. McNeil no doubt included his daughter, too.

So—bottom line and in a nutshell—he’d just spent the night sleeping with the enemy.