Jade Star - Catherine Coulter [111]
Saint wasn’t about to ask how the pounding had come about. Ryan sounded every bit as much of a villain as any other Sydney Duck. He asked instead, “Any dizziness?”
“Yep, a bit. When I walk.”
“Any blurred vision?”
Ryan thought about this for a while, then nodded.
“Yes, Michael,” Jules said for him.
“All right. Sit still now, Ryan. Mrs. Morris is going to hold up a finger. First follow it to the right, then to the left . . .”
Jules was scared to death that she wasn’t following Michael’s instructions exactly right. After each test, Jules told him the result.
Saint said finally, “Sounds to me like you got yourself a concussion, Ryan. Now, here’s what you’re to do. I don’t want you to be alone for another twenty-four hours. When you sleep, have someone with you, have them wake you every four hours and ask you who you are and where you are. That’s just to make sure that your brains aren’t addled. Then . . .”
After the grateful Ryan had taken his leave, pressing money into Jules’s hand, she returned to the surgery, a wide smile on her face. The smile dropped away when she realized Saint couldn’t see it.
“This,” she announced, “is the first money I’ve ever earned in my entire life. Fifty dollars, Michael!”
He heard the excitement in her voice and said, “Come here so I can congratulate you.”
He drew her down onto his lap. “Well done, sweetheart.”
“We’re a good team, aren’t we?”
“Yes,” he said slowly, “I think we are.”
“Michael?”
“Yes?”
“I don’t know if I can stitch somebody. I think I’d throw up all over them, and that wouldn’t be very reassuring for the patient, would it?”
“We’ll see,” he said. “And now, wife, I think what I would like to do is spend the next hours upstairs studying your body with my hands.”
“Oh,” Jules said.
“Do you know,” Saint said a few minutes later in their bedroom, “I can hear you take off each item. You’re only in your chemise now, aren’t you?”
He heard a whisper of a sound, and grinned. “Lord, now my imagination is becoming overworked. Come here, Jules.”
He was still completely dressed, but Jules didn’t hesitate. She felt an odd kind of excitement as he lightly began to touch her.
“Your nipples,” he said, his voice deep, “I can’t feel their exact color. Pale pink?”
“Yes,” she whispered.
“And soft as velvet. Now, let me see if they taste pink and velvet.”
It had been too long, she thought, as his mouth caressed her. She felt the familiar stirrings deep within her, and arched upward to give herself more fully to him.
She was responding to him, he thought, pleased, and so very quickly. He let his right hand journey slowly downward, pausing to trace her ribs, feel the small contour of her navel. He sucked in his breath, wishing desperately that he could see her face at that moment. His fingers were gently probing, caressing, and she was very warm to his touch, her woman’s flesh swollen and moist. “Jules,” he said, “does that please you?”
“It pleases me so much that I’ll scream if you stop.”
“The feel of you,” he said, his fingers exploring her, “it’s almost more than this simple male mind can handle.”
“If you don’t stop a moment, husband, I shall . . . Please . . . Oh, Michael!”
She pushed his hand away, her breath coming in hoarse little gasps that made him smile.
“Now for you, arrogant man!”
With his enthusiastic cooperation, Saint was naked in minutes. He knew she was looking at him, and since he could hear her breathing, knew she was very interested. She thought him beautiful, and that pleased him inordinately.
Her hands and mouth were a torture. “You are very methodical,” he moaned when at last her fingers were weaving in the thick bush of hair at his groin.
“Oh yes,” Jules said, her fingers lightly closing around him. “And you are most appreciative.”
He nearly leapt off the bed when she took him into her mouth, her tongue teasing and light, driving him nearly beyond control.
He felt her hand pressing his chest. “No, Michael, you must do what the doctor’s very excellent assistant wants you to. It’s all for your own good,