Jill Shalvis: Her Perfect Stranger

He thought she was cold.

The gentleness of this man floored her, along with his size and shape and his utterly confident masculine air.

"I can sleep on the floor," he said quietly, and the tenderness in his voice, combined with the careful way he was touching her, nearly did her in.

"No, I-"

He put a hand to his chest. "I wanted you here more than I wanted my next breath, but now that you are here, I don't want to rush you."

She stared at his hand, but that wasn't what drew her eyes, not really. It was his chest, which was broad, muscled and calling for her hands.

She tried to remember the last time she'd been drawn to a man, but couldn't. She saw attractive men all the time, and not one of them had ever sparked an interest in her.

This man wasn't causing just a spark, he'd started a full-blown wildfire, and it wasn't simply his physical beauty, though that was nothing to sneeze at. It wasn't his smile, though that alone had been enough to set her hormones raging.

There was just something about him, so big and tough, yet so… gentle.

He'd probably laugh at that, or maybe get embarrassed. And yet again, maybe not; he seemed to be a man embarrassed by very little.

"You're not rushing me," she finally said.

He flashed his smile, then set his hands on her shoulders and turned her away from him again. In what started out as a light, sexy touch, he kneaded, then found the knot of tension at the base of her neck that she was rarely without these days. With a rough sound of empathy, he dug in.

She nearly melted to the floor, unable to contain her soft moan of pleasure as his fingers unerringly zeroed in on the place she needed them most.

"Mmm, you're so tight. Try to relax a bit." He smoothed the muscles all the way down her arms and out toward her fingertips, then started again at her neck. He did that, over and over, with infinite patience, until she had to grip the windowsill to keep from sliding to the floor in a boneless heap of massive gratification.

"Better?"

"If it gets any better," she said, "I just might explode."

"Promise?" As if rendering a woman completely out of control was an everyday occurrence for him, he laughed huskily when she let out another helpless little moan.

And it well might be for him, but not for her. Certainly not for her. When was the last time she'd had sex? She tried to remember, but his fingers were working their magic and now she could feel his chest, his thighs, brushing her back and legs, making her even weaker.

"It's very late," she said.

His fingers stilled, then he carefully stepped back. "Yes, it is. You'll want to go to sleep."

She turned to him, her heart in her throat. "I think maybe this is worth being tired for."

He'd been wearing a solemn expression, but now she saw what he'd been hiding behind that in case she turned him down. Stark desire and need, even fear-everything she was feeling was in his gaze, and there was no way she could resist it, no way she wanted to.

She'd given herself this night, and she wasn't going to take it back now. But even in their anonymity, there was something they had to discuss. "I don't have any protection." She actually blushed; she hadn't done that since grade school. "I wasn't.,.expecting this."

His smile was sweet and self-deprecatory. "Neither was I. I'm just hoping that in my shaving kit I still have… Hold on." He vanished into the bathroom, and she saw the quick small flash of his penlight. Then he was back, relief shining in his strong features as he held up two condoms.

"Two." She went a little weak in the knees. "Well…" She was actually breathless. "It's rumored two of anything is better than one, right?"

He let out a low laugh, then his mouth brushed her cheek. She turned toward him. Their lips connected once, then again, making her sigh. "You taste just the way you smell," she murmured, not really meaning to say it out loud. "Like heaven."

A sound escaped him, one that might have been humor mixed in with hunger, and slowly, slowly, he eased his jacket off her shoulders before drawing her close and moving her against him.

She nearly died of delight right then and there, because his body was large and hard and so thrilling she tipped her head back and wordlessly asked him to kiss her again.

He did, but she needed more. She had since she'd first set eyes on him, and it wasn't entirely loneliness now, but a hunger she'd never experienced before.

Cupping her face, he continued to kiss her, more deeply now, touching her as if she were special, precious. Feminine.

She wanted to be all those things to a man, this man, if only for a night. He fascinated her. He was beautiful and physical. He was dangerous, if only to her mental health. And he was hard and aroused, for her.

Perfect.

She wrapped her arms around his neck at the same time he caught her up against him. His mouth was firm, demanding in a quiet way that reminded her of his voice. But he didn't press her for more than that simple connection of their mouths, and she realized that he wouldn't.

If she wanted more, which she most definitely did, she would have to take it. It wasn't that he didn't want her in turn; she could feel that he did, could feel the satisfying bulge between his powerful thighs. And his restraint made her want him all the more.

Later she would wonder what had come over her during that dark, stormy night, but for now, safe in his warm, strong, giving arms, there seemed no better way to satisfy the emptiness deep inside her. "More," she said, sinking her fingers into his hair, lifting his head to look deeply into his melting brown eyes.

"More," he promised. Still holding her, he turned toward the bed.

She felt a moment's hesitation when he laid her on the sheets, but then he pulled off his clothes. Oh, how she wished there was light. But when he set a knee on the bed, then crawled toward her, she was able to catch sight of his incredible body and forgot everything else. His chest was broad, tapered down to a flat belly that she itched to touch. His thighs were long, taut with strength, and between them, he was hard and heavy.

Fully aroused.

He was a stranger, so that nothing about any part of him was familiar, yet she lifted her arms and welcomed him closer as if they'd known each other forever. His mouth took hers, more hungrily this time, and his hunger fueled hers. As if it needed fueling!

The heat spread, and when he undid her blouse, and then her bra, gliding both off her shoulders, she found herself panting, her hips already pressing insistently toward his. He excited her beyond belief, and if she could think, which she definitely couldn't, she might have been horrified at her lack of control.

And yet it never occurred to her to stop him, not then, and not when he slid the rest of her clothes off and his condom on. Not when he cupped her face in his big hands and kissed her, deep and wet and long. And certainly not when he touched her first with his eyes, then his fingers, then his mouth, and then finally, oh finally, sank into her.

Outside, the storm continued to rage, while inside one of not such a different nature took its course, as well. Reality had little chance, between the flashes of lightning and the flashes of bare, naked hunger. The friction of his thrusts and the greed of her own body shattered her. It might have been terrifying, how far he lifted her out of herself, if he hadn't been right there with her. She was still in the throes of a shockingly powerful orgasm-her third!-when he buried his face in her hair and found his own release.

Morning was bound to come, Corrine knew, but damn it, did it have to arrive so soon?

Bright orange-and-yellow rays of sunlight filtered through the crack in the curtains, casting an almost surreal light in the room, assuring her that the storm had passed.