Lightning Strikes

She moaned.

A deep, throaty groan responded.

A soothing breeze swept over them. The scent of pine. A dream took shape. Instead of a cruise ship, she lay beneath a tree, the swaying branches sweeping a blue sky. Sweeping, stroking her skin…

…no, the man’s hand stroked her skin. Down, down…brushing the bend of her waist, inching up her torso and sliding over her breast.

She gasped and pressed herself into his warm palm. Flames fanned higher as his fingers played lazily around her breast, circling the nipple. Rough, yet sensuous hands. And oh, so sweet the way they moved magically over her skin. Stroking, caressing, teasing…

Heat swept over her body, then sank through her skin, flooding every cell with a primitive need.

The hand slipped away.

The dream suspended. Savage disappointment shot through her.

His hand wedged between her legs.

Then he touched her there.

The world shrank to a focal point of fiery need where his fingers circled and stroked her sex. She tensed, arching her back, aching for release.

Hot, wet lips suckled her breast and she emitted a soft, guttural cry.

Wave after wave of heat rushed through her. She needed…more. Maneuvering her pelvis just so, she sank herself onto those skilled fingers.

Sizzling need coiled within Donovan as velvety heat enveloped his fingers, which mimicked what other parts of him wanted to do.

Against his chest, he felt feathery shudders of breath.

And where he touched her. God, that was the sweetest. Her hips thrust against him with a small yearning movement that spread fire through his body.

Need skyrocketed through him. Unbearable, exquisite need.

Shadows, like flames, leapt and danced in the periphery of his dream.

He tugged her snug against him, took his hardened member and slid it into her. God…so…tight. She was so wet, so ready. He shifted his hips, inching farther into silky, feminine folds.

She moaned, the sound sweet and anxious.

He slipped deeper until he was fully inside, his desire straining as he fought the urge to explode…to tumble over the edge…

Her body stiffened. A strangled gasp escalated to a cry as her insides contracted, tighter, tighter…

He stilled, holding her against him, as though they were poised on the edge of the world.

And as her insides suddenly convulsed, he buried himself into her, exploding his release.

BLAINE BLINKED. Sunshine, bright and hot, fell across her face. Hundreds of dust particles swayed and danced in the shaft of dazzling light. She sucked in a breath and coughed.

Damn allergies. She sniffed. Double damn. She was hopelessly clogged up.

And hopelessly groggy.

After rubbing her watery eyes, she again squinted into the sunshine. Above her head, a window was open.

No wonder she could hardly breathe—all the pollens in Manitou Springs had probably found their way through that opening last night. Two months ago, when she’d rented this room, her dad had warned her about living in a stranger’s house. People will use your things without asking. People won’t respect the ten-to-six rule. The latter being one of her dad’s favorites as long as she could remember—the “ten-to-six” rule being that you turned down the noise from 10:00 p.m. to 6:00 a.m. so people could sleep.

But she’d just chalked up his warnings to his worrisome nature.

Except for this morning. Somebody had sneaked into her room and opened her window. That went far beyond simply breaking the ten-to-six rule. That was breaking her fundamental, I need-to-breathe-it’s-allergy-season rule.

Although which of her roommates would open her window was a mystery. Georgio, who’s real name was George but “Georgio” better fit his flamboyant hair-dresser persona, owned the house. But his master bedroom and bath were at the far end of the house and he never entered her room unannounced. Which left the other paying renter, Sam, a sullen college student whose wardrobe consisted of jeans and Star Wars T-shirts and who seemed to subsist on cigarettes and coffee.

Not that Sam seemed like a stealthy window opener, but those Trekkie types sometimes did odd things. She once walked in while Sam and some of his buddies were mixing green Jell-O in the bathtub.

Her gaze shifted to a section of glistening metal below the window. Glistening, cylindrical brass that magically looped and curled.

My beloved bed!

Well, Sonja’s bed.

Blaine smiled lazily and stretched.

Wait. How’d my bed get into my tiny, cramped rent-a-room?

She frowned, vaguely recalling crawling into the bed after too many allergy pills. Well, no wonder I’m having a heck of a time waking up. She strained to remember exactly what happened last night. Images slowly materialized in her sluggish brain. Henry’s truck, Milly, a big leaf…

More images took shape in her mind. Not images exactly, but sensations.

Big, rough hands. Bare skin against bare skin. Roaming, skilled fingers…

A sleepy, and very masculine, groan interrupted her mental inventory.

Someone, no some man, was behind her, on the other side of the bed!

She stiffened, terrified she’d look over her shoulder and discover one of Sam’s Trekkie friends, wearing thick horn-rim glasses, a Jedi outfit and reeking of green Jell-O. God, had she done it with a Trekkie?

She squeezed shut her eyes. Please, Lord, I wanted to be Liv Tyler, not Princess Leia.

She stealthily eased herself off the bed, nearly falling when her foot lost traction on the slick satin-covered mattress. She caught herself, then wobbled to a standing position.

With great trepidation, she turned and looked at her mattress mate.

A guy’s long, muscular, tan body was sprawled naked across the white satin mattress.

Naked. She glanced around the room. Good. No Jedi or Vader gear. Better yet, no Jell-O.

She eased out a pent-up breath, coughing slightly in the process. This room…she eyed the plant, suddenly remembering exactly where she was. This is that traveling guy’s apartment. Where the bed had been misdelivered.