‘I had a dream,’ she whispered softly. She dropped her head to run her tongue over the flesh of his chest. It tasted salty. ‘Only I hadn’t fallen asleep at the time,’ she reflected out loud. ‘I dreamt I woke up and you were in bed with me. You didn’t have any clothes on; neither did I.’
‘That’s called a fantasy, not a dream, Rosalind.’ He lifted the nightshirt over her head and she pressed the pointed tips of her breasts against his chest. A deep, voluptuous sigh of pleasure shuddered through her. Her knees locked at either side of his muscular waist and she slowly ground her hips against him. His arousal dug into the softness of her belly.
‘Have you any idea what you’re doing to me?’ he demanded hoarsely.
She lifted her head and smiled slowly at him. Her hand slid lower down his body, and paused. ‘I’ve got a fairly good idea.’
His body shuddered with tension and he pulsed against her hand. ‘Witch,’ he gasped throatily.
‘I just want to make you feel good, Sam,’ she purred. Legs straddling his body, she ran her fingers over his torso in slow, rhythmic strokes. She couldn’t tear her eyes from the receptive quiver of muscles under her fingers. She tangled her fingers in the short, dark hair on his chest.
‘You make me feel crazy!’ he growled.
She gave a grunt of surprise as she found herself flat on her back with his heavy body pressing her into the mattress. His glance was hot and taut as it skimmed over her flushed, aroused features. Panting hard, he took her hands in his and, interlacing his fingers with hers, placed them at either side of her flushed face.
There was no subtlety in his kiss. It was rough and needy, and it ripped a series of soft moans from her throat. ‘You can’t escape me!’ he whispered.
‘Did I give you the impression I wanted to?’ She looked at him through half-closed eyes. Her breasts, flushed rosy, rose in time to her short, shallow inhalations.
Sam made a terrific effort to retain control, but as he sank into her and felt her hotly close around him he became oblivious to anything but the desperate, blind need that drove him.
‘Did I hurt you?’
Lindy looked up, startled, and belted the thick unisex robe around her waist. ‘I didn’t know you were awake.’
‘Did I?’
She blushed, the memory of his lovemaking just as vivid as the imprints left on her body this morning.
‘You were very energetic for a man on the edge of exhaustion.’ She tried to hit just the right note, not too light, not too intense. She couldn’t tell him the experience had shaken her profoundly. She couldn’t tell him she’d discovered an aspect to her character she hadn’t even suspected existed.
‘Should I apologise?’
She couldn’t be that cool! ‘That would spoil it.’
He relaxed slightly, and she realised for the first time that he’d been awaiting her reply tensely. He sat up and the covers slipped down to his waist, revealing his torso. Dry-throated, she averted her eyes. She could exactly recall the satiny texture of his skin beneath the light dusting of dark hair.
‘I have to go to the hospital.’
That was it. It was over. She had steeled herself for this moment.
‘Will you come with me?’
The words robbed her of composure. ‘Me?’
‘The medics might be more forthcoming with you. It’s incredibly frustrating when they’re obviously holding back. I don’t want to be humoured, I want the whole truth. But if you’re busy…?’
‘No!’ She took a deep breath and excised the fervour from her voice. ‘I’ve nothing on today.’ Her shrug was casualness personified. So, he didn’t need her to share his burden—but he did need her, and that was better than nothing.
‘Thanks.’ Totally lacking self-consciousness, he lifted the covers and stood up.
The pattern on the carpet really was very interesting, almost hypnotic, Lindy mused.
‘Have you showered?’ he asked.
‘Yes.’
‘Pity.’
Coward that she was, she didn’t look up. It was truly pathetic, she reflected, how powerfully the husky suggestiveness in his voice could arouse her. She continued to lay out her clothes.
‘Where’s your luggage?’
She mentally backtracked, trying to recall exactly what she had said to him. God, my memory’s not good enough for this lying lark, she thought anxiously.
‘It was lost…at the airport.’ She was so pleased with this lie she felt inspired to embroider it slightly. ‘It went to Hawaii.’ She looked up and her self-confident smile faltered. ‘Will you put some clothes on?’ she snapped. How was a person supposed to lie convincingly when faced with that sort of distraction?