He was sleeping like the dead. So what was the harm? It would quench her curiosity, and he would never have to know about it.
Just do it, Clare.
Her hand trembled as she reached out. She let it hover over his stomach for a second, so close she could feel the heat of his skin, working up the courage to take it one step further.
She was really going to do this. She was going to touch him.
Nervous, and excited, she lowered her hand, and the charge she felt as her skin touched his would have buckled her knees if she hadn’t already been on the floor. The contrast of her pale skin against his much darker olive complexion was a crazy kind of erotic, and she sat there like that, watching his face for any sign that he was waking. She was playing with fire and it was more exhilarating than she could have ever imagined. It had been so long since she allowed herself to let go and follow her heart, she had forgotten how good it could feel to want someone. And now that she had a small taste of what it felt like to touch him, to be so close to him, she didn’t want to stop.
Once she rang that bell, it was impossible to unring it.
She let her hand drift upward, toward his pecs, which were as impressive, or even more impressive, than his abs.
She looked back up at his face and froze. His eyes were open.
Damn, caught in the act. She muttered a very unladylike word.
“Am I dreaming?” he asked, his voice gravelly, eyes glossy from sleep, or lack thereof.
This had to be a dream. Real life never felt this good.
“You’re dreaming,” she told him, sliding her hand upward, through the sprinkling of silky hair on his chest.
He groaned and closed his eyes again. “If this is a dream I don’t ever want to wake up.”
“It is,” she said, gently dragging her nails down his pecs, over his small dark nipples. The scent of his skin was inebriating, and so delicious she wanted to eat him up. “This isn’t really happening.”
A sleepy smile curled his lips. “So I can do this?”
He covered her hand with his own and lifted it to his lips, brushing a kiss against her wrist.
She whimpered and cupped his face in her hand, his beard rough against her palm. She brushed her thumb over his full bottom lip and his tongue darted out for a taste. It just about did her in.
“Come here,” he said. He hooked his hands behind her neck and pulled her against the hard wall of his chest for a kiss. He tasted like coffee and sleep and something wild and exciting. Her heart pounded its way up into her throat and her skin felt electric. She was no longer thinking of the consequences. Screw the consequences. She wanted him, and she was going to take what she wanted.
His hand slid down her throat and slipped inside the opening of her robe, and when he cupped her breast, she stopped thinking altogether.
Her lips still pressed to Parker’s, Clare climbed on the couch with him, straddling his thighs, her eyes dark with desire. He’d been fantasizing about this for so long, it was almost hard to believe it was really happening. When he first woke up to find her touching him, he thought it really was a dream. But if she wanted to pretend this wasn’t happening who was he to shatter her illusion? If that was what it took to ease her conscience, to keep her in his arms, that was fine by him.
Then she was out of his arms, but only so she would be free to attack the zipper on his pants. She did it with the enthusiasm of someone on a time clock. Or someone trying not to change her mind. If she backed out now, the pain of what he would be missing out on would be excruciating. But it was a risk he was willing to take.
“No one can know about this,” she said breathlessly as she stripped him from the waist down. “And I mean no one.”
Even if he wanted to disagree, there was no way in hell he would risk blowing this. Not now. He’d slept with a fair amount of women over the years. Sometimes the sex was fantastic, sometimes not, but they had all been missing something. The emotional connection he felt with Clare, maybe. He had never been one to chase women. The truth was he’d never had to. They always seemed to come to him. Maybe having to work for it made him appreciate the end result that much more. Because, damn, did he appreciate her right now.
“I promise I won’t say a word to anyone.” He tugged at the tie on her robe until it fell open. Clare whimpered softly. Either she believed him or she didn’t care anymore.
“You’re not worried about your aunt coming home?” he asked her.
“She’s away for the week. She’s always out of town.”
“Good to know.” Sliding his hands inside her robe, he pushed it off her slender shoulders, running his hands down her toned arms, over her soft stomach. She was all pale skin and soft curves, and everything in his being sighed with pleasure. She was perfect. Her dark blond hair hung like spun silk over her shoulders, giving him a peekaboo view of her perfectly shaped, supple breasts.
“You’re amazing,” he said. “I’ve never seen you with your hair down.”
“Was it everything you hoped it would be?” She smiled at him with heavy-lidded eyes. “Because flattery will get you everywhere.”
That was what he liked to hear.
“Will it get me here?” he asked her, cupping her firm breasts, testing their weight against his palms, rolling the small pink tips between his fingers.
“Oh, yeah,” she said, covering his hands with her own, showing him what she liked.
“How about here?” He ran his hands up her thighs, using his thumbs to tease the crevice where her legs met. She gasped as he touched her most sensitive spot. She was hot and wet and ready for him, but he wasn’t about to rush this.
Clare had different ideas. She came up on her knees, and with one quick downward thrust he was inside of her. It was so erotic, and so unexpected, he nearly lost it right then. He moaned and his body arched upward to meet her, driving himself as deep as he could go.
Clare hissed with pleasure and threw her head back, her long hair brushing across his knees like the tickle of a feather. He gripped her hips, tried to slow her down as she rode him, but she was so deep in the zone, she didn’t even seem to realize he was there.
Mild-mannered Nurse Clare had a naughty side after all.
She used his body, putting a friction shine on the leather sofa cushion, and he let her. When he was sure he couldn’t take any more he wrapped his hands around her waist and tried to think about baseball, but she took him by the wrists and held them on either side of his head, using her weight to pin them there.
He could have easily gotten free, but why the hell would he want to? She seemed to get off on being in control, and he preferred a shameless and aggressive woman who knew what she liked. She could dominate him whenever and wherever she wanted.
Clare started to moan and ride him faster, and the last shred of his control took a vacation. He never let himself be the first to orgasm, but he beat her to the punch by about thirty seconds. Clare didn’t even seem to notice. She rode out her own release, then collapsed on his chest, breathing hard, her heart pounding in time with his own, and said, “I really needed that.”
“Me, too,” he said, folding his arms around her. Damn, she felt good. Holding her close this way was almost as good as the actual sex.
Almost.
He’d been anticipating this since the moment he’d first seen her, and she didn’t disappoint.
She tucked her face into the crook of his neck, her silky hair catching on his chin stubble. “If I had known it would be this amazing I would have jumped you months ago.”