Jennifer Greene - Ain’t Misbehaving

“We went too fast. It wasn’t fair to you,” he continued, his mouth pressing a kiss into the hollow of her palm, then dipping down to the tip of her shoulder.

“We might just both have been in a terrible hurry to make love. Did you ever think of that?”

“I thought of that.” He suddenly shoved back the covers that he’d tucked protectively around her minutes before. “I still think we went too fast. I didn’t have nearly enough time to savor the feel of you.”

“Didn’t you?”

“I really think-” he kissed the underside of one breast, studied its swollen tip with immense satisfaction, and glanced back up to her eyes with a frown “-that we’d better do it all again. In slow motion this time.”

“Mitch, you must be sleepy.”

“How’s your allergy, Kay? I’m checking for dizziness. For instance, does this make you dizzy, and this…”

“Why do I have the feeling you’re never going to let me forget that little lie?”

“Little?”

Kay was silent. “Mitch, I…care,” she said softly. “I care so much. I needed to show you that, and I needed to know if you wanted me-”

“How could you possibly have doubted that I wanted you? After seeing you, I’ve been going home to lie in the snow for hours at a time.”

“Have you?” she asked wryly.

“Let’s go back to discussing your allergy. Shrimp, wasn’t it? And the symptoms were alternate hot flashes and chills, followed by a weak feeling and dizziness. Now, if we try to duplicate those symptoms…”

“Mitch, we have to eat.”

“Why?”

“This way lies starvation,” she explained patiently. “Think of blueberry pancakes, drowning in syrup. Think of a steaming cup of coffee, and cinnamon rolls just out of the oven-”

“And I’m going to make every one of those things for you,” Mitch promised gravely, “in just a little bit.”

“Good Lord, the woman’s still in bed at one in the afternoon. What is this laziness all about?”

Kay opened one sleepy eye and groaned.

“The pancakes died,” he informed her. “I held the last rites over the garbage disposal. But scrambled eggs I could manage, and the cinnamon rolls are warm-at least on the outside.” Mitch set the tray down on her bedside table. Leaning over the bed, he forced the comforter out of her hand and gradually peeled it down to reveal her face. “Who would have guessed you’d turn out to be such an indolent hussy? We’re four hours late for our skating date.”

“What a terribly cold idea.”

“Open your eyes. Come on, you can do it.”

“I can’t.”

“Trust me, you can.” He waved the steaming cup of coffee in front of her nose to tantalize her nostrils. “You know the old proverb about early to bed and early to rise? I think we’ve blown it.”

“I think you’re right.”

“So much for health, wealth and wisdom.” He plumped up the pillow behind her, forced her limp frame up against it, set the tray on her lap and perched on the side of her bed, watching her with the air of the cat that caught the canary.

There was really a very silly grin on his face.

She expected there was an equally silly grin on hers. Every inch of her body felt utterly, thoroughly loved, and the look of him was enough to initiate another onslaught of wanton yearnings. Mitch had lost all traces of inhibition rather quickly. In fact, he had a talent for improvising variations on a theme like a jazz pianist.

The first time, yes, had been fast. What can you expect from a keg of dynamite? And just maybe there’d been a hint of awkwardness; Mitch had been far too concerned about hurting her, so very worried she would guess he was a virgin…

And she had loved every moment, savoring the man’s innate capacity for loving, his tenderness, the explosive richness he brought to intimacy. The second time she’d soared past ecstasy, but it was still the first time she would always remember.

For the rest, he was the fastest learner she’d ever met. A prodigy. And he was looking disgracefully proud of himself for producing an exhausted woman propped up against pillows, who undoubtedly was going to walk as if she’d spent the past five years riding a horse.

No one, by contrast, had the right to look that energetic and virile after a night without sleep. He’d showered; his hair was still damp. And he must have used her razor, because there was a tiny nick just below his chin.

She set down her cup and stared back at him. A wave a love filled her up, bubbled over. She shoved aside the tray, crawled over to Mitch on her knees and assaulted him. When he crashed flat on his back, she straddled his ribs and waggled a forefinger in front of his nose. “I’ll take you skating,” she said severely, “only if you take that silly smile of your face. Because if you don’t…”

“Ah. Here come the threats of a violent woman.”

“If you don’t, I’ll wipe it off myself.”

“You do that,” Mitch advised. Long brown fingers closed around her hips as he glanced down. “You know, this is a potentially very interesting position…”

“That’s it. Now you suffer.” She grabbed a pillow, mercilessly smothered him, and victoriously vaulted from the bed in the direction of the shower. Which would have worked out fine, except Mitch joined her.

They made it to the skating rink at a few minutes before five. It was a makeshift rink, set up in a field between two old houses. By the time they arrived, it was already dark, and anyone with any sense had already gone home. A nasty mixture of rain and snow pelted down helter-skelter, and a north wind whistled through treetops like a poltergeist.

Mitch was insistent. He was also fussy. “You know, I’ve been tying my own laces for a few years now,” she informed him.

“I saw how you tied them. You need support for your ankles, foolish one.” He wrapped the string around her skate yet another time and knotted it, leaning back on his haunches to survey his work. “Ready,” he pronounced.

“You’re sure there isn’t something else you want to criticize about the way I’m put together?” she said demurely.

He offered one of his slow, lazy grins. “Now, do you really want more trouble than you can handle?”

“I’ve already taken on more trouble than I can handle,” she said in the tone of the long-suffering, gave him a pointed glance and rapidly shoved off.

It took a moment to gain her balance. She’d skated every winter since she could remember, but the rink was pitted and scarred from a day of too many skaters. After a few minutes, she found the smooth spots, and a few minutes after that she tried out a little fancy legwork, just in case Mitch was looking.

Mitch was tying his skates. When he finished, he put his gloves back on, glanced up once to see Kay mightily showing off, and grinned as he carefully got to his feet.

“Mitch?” Kay gave him a funny look.

Paying no attention, he shoved off. Exultation had been singing in his bloodstream for hours; it refused to stop. Sweet, cold air rushed into his lungs; the wind whipped his face and snow blinded him. He didn’t care. Energy desperately needed to be expended; he had oceans of the commodity. He hadn’t slept and couldn’t imagine feeling tired; he’d barely eaten and couldn’t imagine feeling hungry.

Kay was the source of all that manic energy.

He saw a perfectly ridiculous look of concern on her face before one skate went out from under him, and ice-probably the hardest substance in the universe-came up in a crashing hurry to meet his rear end.