Anne Mather - Jack Riordan's Baby

He caught his breath when she knelt down in front of him. What now? he thought, wondering if a man could die from illusions created by his own imagination. But all she did was remove his shoes and roll his socks down over his ankles. Then, when he was barefoot, she slipped those soft hands beneath the cuffs of his trousers and gently massaged his calves.

She offered him a demure smile when he rested back on his elbows, his damp palms pressed into the coverlet for support. Did she know it was the only way he could stop himself from reaching for her? She had to be aware of his erection. Dammit, it wasn’t something he could disguise, after all.

But all she said was, ‘There—doesn’t that feel better?’ as if her sensuous ministrations were something he was used to. She couldn’t be that ingenuous, he thought, so what in God’s name was she playing at? The pain in his groin had convinced him that, however unlikely it seemed, this was really happening.

Nevertheless, when she got to her feet again, putting his eyes on a level with the black strings that tied the thong at her hips, he couldn’t look away. His eyes were irresistibly drawn to the cluster of blond curls that were visible through the black lace, and he couldn’t deny she was sexy as hell.

‘Relax,’ she said now, coming closer and reaching for his tie, which he’d partly loosened as he came upstairs. Slender fingers dealt with the knot, and if Jack hadn’t been so conscious of her hip against his thigh he’d have admired her expertise.

As it was, he thought that relaxing was totally beyond his current capabilities. Which wasn’t helped when she lifted one leg to kneel on the bed beside him and started unbuttoning his shirt. Her fingertips brushed his skin, her nails scraping sensually over the fine dark hair that arrowed down to his navel and beyond. She was steadily driving him crazy and he had to stop her.

‘Rachel,’ he protested weakly, but when he lifted his hand he lost his balance and his back hit the mattress with a distinct thud. Then, to his amazement, she climbed totally onto the bed and threw one leg across him, straddling him as she continued to unfasten his shirt and pull it free of his pants.

The knowledge that her spread thighs were pressing down onto his groin almost overwhelmed him. He’d never been so close to losing control, and he closed his eyes to shut out the incredible sight of her leaning over him, her luscious breasts only inches from his mouth.

He felt her push his shirt and jacket over his shoulders, and then she turned her attention to the buckle on his belt. He knew he ought to stop her. He wanted to stop her, he told himself. But his hands wouldn’t obey what his brain was telling them. Instead, he let her loosen his pants and draw the zip down partway.

‘Mmm,’ she murmured, and he knew she must have discovered that his boxers were no barrier to the heavy thrust of his shaft. But, although he’d expected her to stop then, she only drew the blue silk aside and took him into her hands.

‘Rachel,’he muttered, his eyes opening to find her bending to caress him with her tongue. ‘What do you think I’m made of?’

Rachel lifted her head, her smile strangely triumphant. ‘Oh, I know what you’re made of,’ she said, her tongue appearing again, to circle her lower lip with seductive deliberation. ‘Flesh and sinew and—’ she stroked a finger along his length ‘—blood and bone. Exactly what a man should be made of, don’t you agree?’

Jake expelled a tortured breath. ‘What do you think you’re doing?’

Rachel arched brows that were several shades darker than her hair while eyes as deep a blue as indigo assessed him with disturbingly intensity. ‘I thought I was helping you to undress,’ she replied with artless innocence, and Jack swore.

‘Have you been drinking?’

‘Mmm.’ She nodded eagerly. ‘I had some tea earlier. Iced tea. Would you like some?’

Jack stared at her disbelievingly. ‘Are you for real?’

‘I hope so.’ She straightened her spine, so that her weight was lifted off him, and ran exploring hands down her body from her breasts to her hips. ‘I think so.’ She paused. ‘Don’t you think I am?’

Jack didn’t know what to think. ‘Is this some sick game you’re playing?’ he demanded harshly. ‘Because I have to tell you, if it is, I—’

‘It’s no game, Jack.’ Rachel looked positively offended now, and as he watched with incredulous eyes she swung herself off him and started to crawl towards the edge of the bed. ‘I just thought we might—connect. You know? But—if you don’t want to…’

‘Want to?’ Jack echoed her words with a feeling of frustration that knew no bounds. ‘God, Rachel, of course I want to.’ He pushed himself up, tearing off the shirt and jacket that were restricting his arms and tossing them on the floor. He restored himself to some semblance of modesty and scrambled after her, only his hipbones and good fortune keeping his pants from slipping down his thighs. ‘For pity’s sake, come here!’

With his heart pounding so heavily against his ribcage that he was afraid it was going to burst out of his chest, he managed to snag her ankle, preventing her from climbing off the bed. And although he’d expected her to object she didn’t. She let him pull her towards him, twisting obediently onto her back and provocatively spreading her legs.

‘Is this better?’ she asked huskily, and Jack could only gaze at her with stunned disbelieving eyes.

He expelled a harsh breath, still not entirely convinced she meant what she said. His stomach was twisted as tight as a drum, and although his senses were telling him to take what she was offering without further explanation, a latent instinct for self-preservation warned him that nothing was ever that simple.

‘Rachel,’ he said, his voice uncertain even to his own ears. But she didn’t want to talk.

Lifting her hand, she laid a slender finger across his mouth, and he couldn’t stop his lips from turning against her soft skin. Capturing her hand, he brought her palm to his mouth, his tongue seeking the texture and the taste of her. But before he could do more than touch her she snatched her hand away.

‘I thought you wanted me,’ she whispered, reaching for his belt and using it to tantalise him. ‘But you’re vastly overdressed.’

Jack could hardly breathe. Whatever way he wanted to play it, this was like some crazy dream, and he was no longer capable of dividing the illusory from the reality. Somehow he managed to push his suit pants and his boxers down his legs, kicking them off the bed, too. Then he knelt beside her, content for a moment just to marvel at his own good luck.

She was beautiful, he thought unsteadily. He’d almost forgotten how incredibly beautiful she was. Small, high breasts, a narrow waist, and hips that flared sweetly above long, sexy legs. Her skin was smooth, unblemished, honey-toned from the hours she spent outdoors. The Devon coast could be as hot as the Mediterranean, and Rachel had always loved the sun.

He allowed his hand to skim the slopes of her breasts above the provocative line of the bra. Then, with a little less restraint, he dipped his hand into the lace and cupped one warm rounded globe.

Her nipple was hard. It thrust against his palm. He didn’t need to glance at himself to know that his erection was hard and prominent, too. It jutted from its soft nest of dark hair with a total lack of modesty.

‘You’re overdressed, too,’ he said thickly, unable to resist tugging on the strings that tied the thong and pulling it away. ‘That’s much better.’

She shifted a little restlessly when he replaced the thong with his hand, his thumb finding the throbbing nub of her womanhood, his fingers discovering that she was wet and ready for him.