Dead by Midnight - Beverly Barton [145]
“I’m going to grab a quilt and a pillow off my bed,” Mike said. “With the power out, you’re jittery, and I think we’d both sleep better if I’m close by. I’ll bunk down outside your door in the hall.”
“There’s no need to do that,” she told him. “You won’t get any sleep on the hard floor.”
“I won’t get any sleep worrying about you if I’m down the hall.”
“Then sleep on the chaise longue over there.” She pointed with a flick of her fingers. “There’s already a pillow and afghan on the chaise that you can use.”
Talk about tempting fate! It had been difficult enough for them to keep their hands off each other with him sleeping down the hall. But on the other hand, the thought of Mike nearby was extremely comforting, all things considered.
“The alarm system’s backup batteries are good for about eight hours, I think,” Mike told her as he came into the room. “I figure the power will be back on long before that. The guys at the utility company are used to these frequent spring storms. And even if the phone line goes out, we both have our cell phones and Tommy’s got the radio, of course.”
“Then we’re as safe as we can be,” she said.
Lorie knew that if she stayed right where she was, Mike would have to walk past her to get to the chaise. So, she waited for him to come to her. As he approached, he slowed his gait and finally stopped right beside her.
While they stared at each other, sheets of heavy rain pouring down and the wind whipping through the trees outside, the mantel clock in the living room struck the midnight hour. Lorie gasped.
“It’s okay, honey,” Mike said. “Remember, you’re safe.”
“I know.” She wrapped her arms across her chest in a hugging gesture. “But for how long? We both know that he’s going to come for me.”
“And when he does, he’ll have to come through me to get to you.”
“Oh, Mike, that’s what frightens me. I can’t bear the thought of you risking your life to protect me.” Of its own accord, her hand lifted, reached out and rested, palm down, in the center of his chest.
Mike stiffened. His chest rose and fell heavily with each breath he took. Their gazes locked, neither of them able to look away.
Why had she done something so monumentally stupid? She knew better than to touch him. Correcting her error in judgment, she jerked her hand away, but Mike grabbed her wrist midair and brought her hand back to his chest.
“I want you to touch me,” he told her, his voice a rasping whisper.
She shivered, sexual longing spreading quickly through her body. “Are you sure?”
“I’m sure.” He maneuvered his hand holding hers to his chest and rubbed her open palm from one tight nipple to the other. He groaned as her fingers slid across his body. He guided her hand over his belly and down the arrow of dark hair that disappeared into his pajama bottoms.
She had dreamed of this moment for such a long time that it didn’t seem quite real. And it wasn’t real, not in the way she longed for it to be. Mike wanted her, but only for now, not forever. He wanted sex, not love and marriage. But she wanted him any way she could get him, even if tonight was all he could give her.
When he released her hand where it was poised above his navel, she slid her open palm down the fly of his pajama bottoms until her hand covered the bulge of his erection. With gentle seduction, she cupped his penis through the cotton material and tightened her fingers around him.
Moaning deep in his throat, Mike closed his eyes, and she knew how much he was enjoying her intimate caress. Ever so slowly, she lifted her hand to the waistband of his pajama bottoms, inserted her hand inside against his bare skin, and circled his sex with her fingers.
“Damn, honey. Damn,” Mike growled.
She pumped him very slowly, using her thumb to stroke the bulbous head of his penis. He was big and hard and ready.
“I’ll give you until daylight to stop doing that,” he told her, and she smiled as she remembered how that phrase had been a joke between them in their teens