Maureen Child - Love - From His Point Of View! - Meeting at Midnight

“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.”

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