Shadows At Sunset - Anne Stuart [92]
“Nice underwear,” he said calmly. “Was that for me?”
She was wearing teal silk, the sexiest, most feminine underwear she owned, a skimpy bra and a thong bikini. “Yes,” she said.
“Good. Let’s leave them on for a while.” He pulled off his own T-shirt and sent it sailing across the floor, then reached for his zipper. “I better warn you—I’m not wearing any underwear.”
“Why am I not surprised?” she said faintly. The room was getting steadily lighter with the approach of daylight, and she would have much preferred it to get darker. She turned her head, and heard the sound of him shucking off his jeans, his quiet laugh.
“Are you prudish, Jilly?” he murmured, and the mattress sank beneath his weight as he moved closer to her. “Or just shy?”
She turned back to look at him, keeping her eyes focused on his face. Except that his chest was distractingly gorgeous. She’d never been that impressed with a man’s chest before, or muscles, but Coltrane was an exception. He was strong, muscled and gorgeous.
“No one on this earth would call me shy,” she said, wanting to touch his chest. Keeping her hand beside her, still and unmoving.
“I would,” he said. He took her hand and placed it against his heart.
His skin was hot, and his heart was thumping, loud, steady against her hand. “Your heart is pounding,” she said.
“That’s because I’m aroused. Which you’d know if you could bring yourself to look past my shoulders.”
Of course she did, instinctively. He was most definitely, thoroughly aroused. “Can I leave now?” she asked in a small voice.
“No.”
“All right.”
“No arguments?”
“I don’t really want to leave,” she said.
“I know. That’s why you can’t.” He took her hand and moved it down his chest to his flat stomach, over the rough covering of golden hair, and when he took his hand away she left it there, absorbing the heat and tension in him. “You have some catching up to do. How’s your back? Can you lie on it?”
“Yes,” she said. “Why?”
“I have work to do.” He pushed her onto her back on the new mattress, carefully, and she barely noticed the scratches. He loomed over her in the shadows, and she closed her eyes, waiting.
Nothing happened. She opened them again, to see him watching her. “That’s much better,” he murmured. “Now let’s see if I can get you even half as hot as you’ve got me.”
He put his mouth between her breasts, kissing her above the lacy bra, and she felt her heart leap in heated response. Tentatively she reached up and touched the side of his face, his shaggy blond hair, and he made a murmuring sound of approval against her skin as he moved his mouth across the swell of her breast. He covered her other breast with his hand, his long fingers squeezing gently, arousing, so that she felt her nipples harden in the warm room, felt the heat and tightness between her legs.
The skimpy bra had a front clasp, and he undid it, pushing the scant silk aside, and when he put his mouth on her breast she let out a soft cry, wanting him to stop. Her breasts were too sensitive, and the wet pull of his mouth stirred deep, scary feelings inside her. She opened her mouth to protest, but he put his hand over her lips to stop her from saying the words, and some dark, primitive instinct made her take his fingers into her mouth, sucking on them.
The sound he made was so utterly, completely sexual that her arousal deepened still further, and she suddenly felt greedy. She slid down on the bed, ignoring the pain in her back, and caught his face in her hands, kissing him full on the mouth. She wanted him, there was no question of it, and she tried to pull him over her.
“I’m ready,” she whispered.
“No, you’re not,” he replied. “But you will be.” He kissed her on the mouth, a slow, drugging kiss, and the feel of his tongue in her mouth was another hot jet of desire spilling through her.
And then he moved, down her body, kissing, tasting, sucking, as he cupped her between her legs, his fingers dancing against the damp silk of her panties.
Sheer instinct