Asking for Trouble - Leslie Kelly [12]
Her V-necked red sweater, also soaked, outlined her slim waist and positively clung to her generous breasts.
Correction. More. Than. Generous.
The woman was very well built. His hands clenched reflexively at the thought of cupping her, scraping his fingers across her puckered nipples, so sexy and inviting against the sweater.
She turned around, so her curvy butt faced the flames. Smiling, almost purring in delight, she closed her eyes. Obviously wanting more, she shifted her feet a little apart, silently admitting she wanted the waves of heat to slide between her wet thighs.
He stiffened. But didn’t take his eyes off her.
Pure physical contentment made her whole body stretch and sway. It was as if each muscle in her body were crying out to be kneaded and caressed by the heat, every inch of her skin kissed by the glow of the fire.
She soaked it up. Indulged in it. Smiled and sighed at the pleasure of sensation.
As he stood there and watched, lazy desire suddenly turned into raging want. It was sudden. Shocking. Overpowering.
This wasn’t about looking at a woman and acknowledging she was lovely. It was about seeing the secret, sensual side of a mysterious female and knowing that she wanted to be touched—was thinking of being touched—by a lot more than warm air.
And he did know. He’d suspected it when she hadn’t pulled away from him after falling into his arms. Now, seeing her take pleasure from the warmth enfolding her body, he had no doubt this stranger was one sensual woman.
Watching long, individual tendrils of her dark hair slowly beginning to dry, he swallowed hard as a few strands thickened in soft curls around her face. He would dearly love to see the woman strip off her wet clothing, piece by piece, and stand there, covered only by the golden glow of the flames and her own thick, brown hair.
Lowering his glass, he stepped closer. There was more he’d like to see. A lot more. Like the way her bottom lip would catch between her teeth as a small moan escaped her mouth when she was being caressed. The way those tiny remaining goose bumps on her neck would disappear under the warmth of his touch.
The way her dark eyes would widen and her body arch as he slid inside her.
No.
He’d let his guard down around a sultry stranger once. He’d never do it again.
Clearing his throat, he asked, “Feeling better?”
She finally opened her eyes and nodded lazily. “Definitely. My brain cells are functioning again.”
The rest of her looked in tip-top shape, too.
“I think some of the cold rain slid into my head somehow and made me act like a twit when you opened the door.”
“Yes, that would explain it,” he replied softly, hiding a smile when he saw her eyebrows shoot up in indignation.
She must have seen some hint of humor sparkling in his eyes. “Smart-ass. I was trying to apologize for being such an idiot.”
“An idiot?” He wasn’t sure whether she meant the way she’d curled into his arms, or the way she’d suddenly flung herself out of them. A part of him—the sexual, womanizing part he’d thought had been lost along with a lot of his blood and part of his chest back in Charleston—preferred to think it was the latter.
“Thinking you were a ghost or something. You don’t really look like…him.”
“Him?” Simon stepped closer, then sat on the arm of an overstuffed leather chair beside the fireplace. “Please tell me you’re not referring to Casper,” he murmured. “If I’m a ghost, I’d at least like to think I’m a frightening one.”
She chuckled softly, and Simon relaxed a little at the sound. He wasn’t used to making small talk with strangers. To light conversation and lighter flirtation. To letting down his guard and laughing. But he was remembering why he’d once liked it so very much.
God, what had happened to the man he’d once been?
The stranger’s pale cheeks were now flushed, though he didn’t know if it was because of the fire or embarrassment. “No, of course not. It was silly. It’s been a long day of driving.” Wriggling, she twisted again to face him—and to warm her left side. She tugged