Which meant that Phoebe had to take the initiative.
Telling herself and her houseguest that intimacy between them wasn’t a good idea was as realistic as commanding the moon not to rise over the mountain. She wanted Leo. She trembled with the force of that wanting. It had been aeons since she had felt even the slightest interest in a man, longer still since she had paid any attention to the sexual needs of her body.
It was foolish to miss this chance that might never come her way again. Leo was not only physically appealing, he was also a fascinating and complex man. She was drawn to him with a force that was as strong as it was unexpected. Some things in life couldn’t be explained. Often in her old life, she had picked stocks based on hunches. Nine times out of ten she was right.
With Leo, the odds might not be as good. Heartbreak and loss were potential outcomes. But at this barren time in her life, she was willing to take that chance.
Before she could change her mind, she drew her gown up and over her head. Being naked felt wanton and wicked, particularly in the midst of winter. Too long now she had bundled herself up in every way…mentally…emotionally. It was time to face life and be brave again.
She knelt beside him and sat back on her haunches, marveling at the beauty of his big, elegant body. His navy sleep pants hung low on his hips, exposing his navel. The tangle of bedding, blankets and all, reached just high enough to conceal his sex. Though she was pushing her limits, she didn’t quite have the courage to take a corner of the sheet and pull.
Would he reject her, citing her emotional distress and bad timing? Or was Leo’s need as great as hers? Did he want her enough to ignore all the warning signs and go for it regardless of possible catastrophe?
There was only one way to find out. Slipping her hand beneath the blanket, she encountered silk warmed by his skin. Carefully, she stroked over the interesting mound that was his sex. She had no more than touched him when he began to swell and harden.
Fifteen
Leo was having the most amazing dream. One of Phoebe’s hands touched him intimately, while the other moved lightly over his chest, toying with his navel, teasing his nipples with her thumb. He groaned in his sleep, trying not to move so the illusion wouldn’t shatter.
He sensed her leaning over him, her hair brushing his chest, his shoulders, his face, as she found his mouth. The kiss tasted sweet and hot. Small, sharp teeth nipped his bottom lip. He shuddered, bound in thrall to a surge of arousal that left him weak and gasping for breath. His chest heaved as he tried to pull air into his lungs.
His heart pounded like the hooves of a racehorse in the last turn. For a split second, a dash of cold fear dampened his enthusiasm. He hadn’t had sex since his heart attack. All medical reassurances to the contrary, he wasn’t sure what would happen when he was intimate with a woman. His hand—and the process of self-gratification—he trusted. Would the real deal finish him off?
But this was a dream. No need for heartburn. He laughed inwardly at his own pun. Nothing mattered but hanging onto the erotic fantasy and enjoying it until the end.
He felt Phoebe slide his loose pants down his legs and over his feet. In the next second she was up on her knees straddling him. Grabbing one smooth, firm thigh, he tugged, angling her leg over his shoulder so he could pleasure her with his mouth. When he put his tongue at her center and probed, he shot from the realm of slumber to delicious reality in a nanosecond. The taste of Phoebe’s sweet, hot sex was all too authentic.
His hands cupped her ass to hold her steady, even as his brain struggled to catch up. “Phoebe?” The hoarse word was all he could manage. Blinking to clear his sleep-fogged eyes, he looked up and found himself treated to the vision of soft, full breasts half hidden in a fall of silky black hair. Curvy hips nipped into a narrow waist.
Phoebe’s wary-eyed gaze met his. She licked her lips, uncertainty in every angle of her body. “I didn’t ask,” she said, looking delightfully guilty.
“Trust me, honey. There’s not a man living who would object. But you should have woken me up sooner. I don’t want to miss anything.” He loved the fact that she had taken the initiative in their coming together, because it told him she was as invested in this madness as he was. He scooted his thumb along the damp crevice where her body was pink and perfect. When he concentrated on a certain spot, Phoebe moaned.
Inserting two fingers, he found her swollen and wet. Sweet Lord. The driving urge he had to take her wildly and immediately had to be subdued in favor of pleasuring such an exquisite creature slowly. Making her yearn and burn and ultimately reach the same razor-sharp edge of arousal on which he balanced so precariously.