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

“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. I wanted to wrap her close in my arms—hell, my one good arm—and soothe her. I took a step forward.

“Uh-uh.” She tossed her hair back, lifted one eyebrow. “You’re not in charge here, bud.”

I wasn’t?

“Wait,” she ordered. Her hands went to the waist of her jeans.

I’m no fool. I waited.

She stripped for me. First she unfastened the jeans, giving me a peek beneath while she toed off her shoes. Then the socks, and how anyone could turn the removal of socks into a tease I don’t know, but she did. Then she shoved the jeans down and stepped out of them.

A slim dip of a waist, and more lace below—white again, riding low on her hips, darker at the notch of her legs. “You have the most magnificent legs I’ve ever seen.”

She blinked once, like a surprised cat. “Well. And here I thought it was my breasts you were fixated on.” She reached behind her with both hands, which lifted her breasts in a way that nearly made me swallow my tongue. And unfastened her bra.

Magnificent was too pale a word. But when I went to her, I put my hand in the center of her chest, not over one of those bare, perfect breasts. I looked at her face. “Your heart’s pounding.”

She lifted one eyebrow. “I’m excited.”

Her voice, her posture, that coolly lifted eyebrow—all spoke of confidence and experience. She knew her body could make a man beg. But while passion might ripen the heart’s rhythm, it didn’t send it tripping this fast, this hard, as if it were trying to flee. Not unless some other feelings were mixed in.

I didn’t tell her I didn’t believe her. I didn’t follow the instinct that demanded I gather her close, stroking her back until whatever fears rode her had eased. Naked bodies didn’t bother Seely. Tenderness would.

The time would come when I wanted her feelings as naked as the rest of her, but not yet. Not today. I touched her cheek and promised silently I would treasure and protect whatever she shared with me. Her body, for now.

Her eyes closed. “You are a devious man,” she whispered.

I nodded. Then, at last, I cupped her breast. “You feel like

rose petals.” I stroked, cupped and lifted, then bent to take the hard little pebble of her nipple in my mouth.

Her breath sucked in. Her fingers fretted my hair, skimmed my jaw as I switched breasts. She made a pleased sound, then, after a moment, said, “As your medical attendant, I insist that you get off your feet. Quickly.”