If You Could Read My Mind...

Tipping her head back, she gazed up into his face, the distance in her eyes beginning to melt away. She slipped her arms around his waist and rested her head on his shoulder.

First base.

“You don’t think it’s kind of late for dinner?” she asked.

“If we get a move on, we could probably be seated by seven-thirty.”

“It’ll be after eight by the time we’re served.”

Michael knew what was happening here, and if he didn’t catch her quickly, she’d talk herself out of his thoughtful gesture. “I wanted to do something nice so you know how much I appreciate the way you handle my patients.”

“Especially when you get behind?”

“Most especially when I get behind.”

“I owed you. For taking care of Widow Serafine.”

She was testing him, mentioning the camp to see how he responded. He walked a razor-sharp line with his response and shot for the right mix of repentant and sincere. Any defense would only lose the ground he’d gained.

“Widow Serafine is our caretaker. If we take good care of her, she’ll take good care of us, don’t you think?”

Again, she peered at him as if deciding whether or not to take him seriously.

“You know me, Jillian. Mr. Sweet Guy. That’s why you married me, remember? I’d never leave a lady without her teeth.”

The second it was out of his mouth, Michael knew it had been exactly the right thing to say. He could feel the last of her resistance melt away as she relaxed against him.

Second base.

He didn’t pressure her with words, just rested his chin on the top of her head, inhaling the scent of her, always fresh and feminine, not perfumed but reminding him of the way the air smelled after a spring rain.

He could see their reflections in the vanity mirror. Jillian looked sexy with so much bare skin revealed, her arms relaxed as she held him around the waist. He liked the way they looked together, right, the long lines of her body molding against him to create the perfect fit.

“He wants sex.”

“I always want sex with you.” He dropped his voice an octave into what Jillian always called his bedroom voice. “If you think it’s too late, we can always skip dinner and go straight for dessert.”

That statement didn’t have quite the effect he’d expected.

Jillian exhaled heavily. “At least it won’t be the kind of dessert that’ll put on any weight.”

He’d made a good call on the chocolate. Crowding her against the wall, Michael gave in to the urge to remove her bra.

“Michael, what are you—” Jillian broke off her words on a sigh when he filled his hands with her warm skin.

He recognized the mixture of hesitation and yearning in her voice, a tone that always made his blood crash straight to his crotch. Her mind might be saying, “No, we really shouldn’t.” But her body was saying, “Take me, I’m yours.”

He thumbed her nipples, a deep slow stroke, and was rewarded when the tips speared into tight peaks. She arched just enough to invite him to further exploration, and he found the sight of her reflection arousing in the extreme.

His hands looked dark against her skin, and she was all beautiful curves as she leaned her head against the wall, exposing the graceful sweep of her neck. Michael couldn’t have resisted a taste if his life had depended on it.

Lowering his mouth to the pulse beating low in her throat, he pressed an open-mouthed kiss there.

Jillian shivered.

He sucked gently, and was rewarded when she inhaled a long breath that whispered brokenly against his hair. He couldn’t resist dragging his hands down her ribs and anchoring her closer. He rode his growing erection against her belly. She rocked her hips, making him swell so hard his pants seam bit painfully into his skin, which dampened his enthusiasm for foreplay in the bathroom. Disentangling himself, he caught her around the waist and under her knees then lifted her into his arms.

She draped her arms around his neck to hang on. “You’re going to hurt your back.”

Michael only laughed, a sound that burst out harder than he’d intended and made her scowl knowingly.

Okay, so he wasn’t as young as he’d once been… “I can still think of a few ways to show my appreciation, Jilly.”

She turned to gaze in the mirror. “That’s not the problem. I’ve been watching what I eat, but I think my metabolism is slowing down now that I’m thirty.”

Michael exhaled a snort of disbelief that managed not to sound as if he was gasping for air. Maneuvering her through the bathroom doorway, he deposited her on the side of the bed. He didn’t give her a chance to protest, or to get away. Catching her around the waist, he worked the jumble of uniform and cotton panties down her legs before tossing the whole thing onto the floor.