Nancy Warren - Aftershocks

She was delighted to comply.

She rose slowly, irresistibly pulled toward him. How had they managed to hold off all the days and nights since the elevator escapade?

Since she didn’t think the arm of her upholstered wicker armchair would hold her weight-at least that’s the excuse she gave herself-she eased onto Patrick’s lap and kissed him.

It was an easy kiss, meant to be the prelude to something very different from what they’d experienced in the elevator. For one thing, they had her apartment to spread out in, and for another, they weren’t feeling their lives were in danger. But perhaps best of all, they had all night.

As though he’d read her mind, Patrick said, “You know what’s been driving me crazy?”

Wanting her, she hoped. “What?”

“I don’t know what you look like.” His voice was already husky. “I know what you feel like, I know the scent of you, the taste of you.” He nibbled her ear to illustrate his point. “But I have no idea what you look like naked.”

She bent awkwardly as she tried to kiss him. They were going to either end up on her living room floor or make a move for the bed before it was too late.

Maybe later she’d go for the living room floor. This time, she wanted all the comforts.

So she took his hand and hauled him to his feet, then led him to her room.

Once more she congratulated herself on her housecleaning binge this morning. The sheets on the bed were fresh, the bathroom sparkled and all her junk was put away. She didn’t live like a slob by any means, but today her place was as neat as it ever got. Not that Patrick seemed bothered about her decor. She suspected that if she put her hands over his eyes and asked him to describe anything about her apartment, he’d be stumped.

And for all the right reasons. Since he’d entered her home, he’d had eyes only for her.

His gaze was so intense that she shivered as he stepped close to her and reached for her shirt.

They undressed each other slowly. Watching him watch her strip off her blouse was as erotic as the most exquisite foreplay. He traced the lacy cups of her bra with a fingertip, leaving a trail of goose bumps in its wake, then slid the shirt slowly off her shoulders so it slipped to the floor like a dropped handkerchief.

He seemed undecided whether to go for bra or skirt next. She thought about reaching down for his belt buckle while he was busy making up his mind, but she felt curiously lazy, and decided she’d wait her turn.

The same index finger traced the line where her breasts met, tracked down over the bra and then followed the center line of her ribs in an invisible path that crossed her belly button and ended at the waistband of her short denim skirt.

He unzipped the skirt and she wriggled it past her hips.

He kissed her again, rubbing against her, and she decided he had far too many clothes on, when she was wearing so few. With a tug and a yank, she had his T-shirt out of his shorts and halfway up his belly. He stepped back a little and raised his arms so she could finish the job.

Mmm. Oh, yes. Mmm-hmm. She loved a hairy chest, and he had a terrific one. Lots of dark curls from his collarbone spreading over his nicely developed pecs and tapering down to his ribs.

A gold medallion of some sort nestled against his sternum. “What’s this?” she asked, touching the medal.

“St. Christopher.”

“It’s nice.” And it was. Intricately detailed, and warm from his body.

While she admired the medallion, he unsnapped her bra and pulled it away before she realized he was going to.

“Apricot,” he mumbled with satisfaction.

“I beg your pardon?”

“Apricot. I had a bet with myself what color your nipples would be. They’re a little more on the brown side than I’d guessed, but I had the right general palette.”

“I can’t believe you’ve been thinking about the color of my nipples.”

He grinned at her. “They match the color of your cheeks when you blush.”

As she was doing now.

He flipped back the bedcover and laid her on her back, then he slid his thumbs into the waistband of her panties and eased them down.

A single shiver passed over her from crown to toe as the silky material slid down her legs. The sheets were cool and crisp to the touch, smelling faintly of lavender linen spray.

He kissed her slowly and thoroughly, beginning with her mouth and heading slowly south as though she were a long-denied treat and his diet was over.

“I think you even taste like apricots,” he said, as he toyed with her breasts before sucking one sensitive tip right into his mouth.

Oh, what that man could do with his lips and tongue. He kissed her skin everywhere, bringing it to tingling life. Slow and meticulous, he seemed intent on kissing every inch of her.

“Oh, Patrick,” she sighed.

“I didn’t take enough time with you in the elevator,” he murmured against her ribs. “I was in too much of a hurry, too eager.”

“I loved what happened in the elevator.”

He grinned up at her. “Me, too. But this time, we’ve got all night.”

And he was as good as his word. He kissed her everywhere, and what he wasn’t kissing, he was touching, stroking, learning with his hands.

She was close to begging him to take her, when he slipped her thighs apart and put his mouth just there. She felt zapped-shocked to the core-and tiny helpless cries escaped her.

He licked her until she couldn’t hold back, and every part of her exploded; fireworks burst behind her eyelids and she let out a sob of relief.

Only then did he sheath himself. As he positioned himself at the still-pulsing entrance to her body, he smiled down at her with great tenderness and held her gaze as he entered her slowly.

Even though they’d been intimate in the elevator, this was completely different. It was light, and they’d made this decision as consenting adults, not as adrenaline-pumped earthquake victims. He felt so right moving inside her, reaching all her lonely places, that she longed to close her eyes and savor every sensation. But somehow she knew how important it was for him to look into her eyes, so she kept them open for him, ignoring the quiver of fear that such intimacy caused.

When he started moving faster, she lost her grip on conscious thought and concentrated instead of hanging on to him. He was beautiful, decent and gorgeous. If only she could stop her feelings from going too deep.

If only it weren’t too late.

His eyes darkened, his breathing harshened, his movements became half-crazed. As climax rocked her, she set off his explosion and they seemed to melt together in one perfect moment.

“I love you,” he said as he poured himself into her body.

I LOVE YOU. The words echoed in the air along with their labored breathing and pounding hearts.

Briana wished Patrick hadn’t said those dangerous words, those dangerous, magic words, as she played her fingers through her lover’s hair, feeling warmth coming off him in waves.

It was a moment of such perfect contentment, she wished she could make it last. He loved her.

After a minute or two, he raised himself up on his forearms so he could look down into her face. Cupping her cheek in his palm, he kissed her softly on the lips. “I didn’t mean to blurt out my feelings so soon,” he said. “They’re true, though. I do love you.”

“Well, I’m glad it’s not an automatic reflex thing, every time you climax.”

He chuckled. “No. Usually I’m not so articulate. If I’d thought about it, I wouldn’t have said it, I guess, but I didn’t think.”

“Oh, Patrick. I love you, too.”

What a tangled web she’d woven, and hadn’t she become well ensnared in it? The man she was meant to entrap had trapped her, body and heart.