Raye Morgan - Working Overtime

Suddenly, she ached to have that feeling again. Her senses drank in every nuance of his presence, his clean, manly scent, the brush of his breath against her hair, the hard muscles of his thighs pressing on hers. Her hands were flattened against his naked chest, and she could feel his heart beating a pulse into her palm.

“I hold your heart in my hand.” The sentiment flickered through her mind and for one very scary moment, she was afraid she might have said it out loud.

But there wasn’t time to worry about that, because her body was turning traitor. A shudder ran through her soul and she knew she wanted him in a strange, deep and very primitive way. The need had an urgency that took her breath away and seemed about to convulse her body, as though she’d been taken over by a libidinous spirit that would soon render her helpless to resist. Her lips parted and she found herself arching toward him, begging for his kiss. There was a moan starting deep in her throat. Was it a moan of surrender? Of triumph? Of overwhelming desire?

She would never know, because at that moment there was a new sound from the hallway.

“Mama? Mama?”

As though a switch had been thrown, her eyes snapped wide and she used those hands that had been kneading into the muscles of his chest to throw him off her. Springing to her feet, she called out, “Just a minute, baby,” and glared at where Michael was sprawled on the bed, looking as though he wasn’t sure what had just happened here.

“If you need anything else, Mr. Greco,” she said evenly, “you can wait for Hannah to get back. I’m off duty. See you in the morning.”

She stared at him for a short moment, as though she could hardly believe what they’d just shared could have really happened, then she spun around, threw open the door and headed into the hallway.

He rose slowly from the bed, still throbbing deep down with the need for her. His mind was fogged with exhaustion and desire, and he really wasn’t sure what was going on. Reaching the doorway, he leaned against the jamb and looked out into the hallway, watching as she scooped two little redheaded boys into her arms.

“Where did they come from?” he asked, completely at sea and mainly intent on getting her to come back into the room.

She looked up at him and her chin lifted. “They’re mine,” she said proudly. “Ricky and Ronnie. Say hello to Mr. Greco, boys. He’s my boss.”

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