He stared at it as if totally mesmerized, letting the strands sift through his fingers and then starting over. His gaze finally switched to her face and he smiled. He let go of her hair and used the back of his hand to touch her face.
“You’re definitely not getting soft,” she whispered, making another run up his chest, enjoying the feel of soft, springy hair beneath her palms.
His smile got crooked. “A truer statement was never made.”
She realized the double entendre in what she’d said and laughed. “Oh, really? I haven’t explored that far yet.”
“What’s keeping you?” He lowered his hands to grab a hold of her blouse and gently drew it over her head. Without looking, he tossed it in the same direction as his shirt. His gaze stayed fastened to her peach satin demicup bra. Or more accurately what spilled out of it.
Under the heat of his gaze, she shivered. The intensity in his eyes penetrated every bone in her body until she didn’t think she could keep herself from sliding to the floor. “Why aren’t we in the bedroom?”
He trailed a finger over the top of her bra, occasion ally slipping inside the cup and grazing her nipple with his fingertip, creating a nearly unbearable friction. “We’ll get there. Eventually.”
The teasing in his smile told her he knew exactly what he was doing to her. It called her to action, and she slid her palms to his waist and attacked his belt buckle.
He murmured something indistinct. Sucked in his belly and closed his eyes. She freed the buckle and went for his zipper, but he moved out of reach.
Startled, she returned her gaze to his face.
To her satisfaction, he seemed a little shaken himself.
“Oh, man.” He exhaled loudly.
“What?”
“Wait. I’ll be right back.”
She twisted around to see where he was going. He went into the living room and picked up their wine glasses from the coffee table. She swallowed and looked down at herself, suddenly feeling too exposed.
“Bring my blouse, please,” she called after him, but it was too late. He’d already entered the kitchen.
Alarm darkened his face. “What’s wrong?”
“I thought you—” She shrugged, unwilling to voice her insecurities. “I don’t know.”
“Here.” He handed her the half-empty glass of wine she’d abandoned. “I was abrupt. I’m sorry. No reflection on you, believe me.” He got the bottle of chardonnay out of the fridge and then turned back to her with a frown—and one hell of a hard-on. The bulge strained against his fly, and she could barely keep from staring. “I take that back. It’s you. You’re making me crazy. I need a time-out.”
She tried not to smile. “Sorry to hear that.”
“Right.” Snorting, he poured more wine in each of their glasses. He took a quick sip and then put his glass down beside her on the counter, his hungry gaze drawing to her breasts.
She got that warm, tingly feeling again and prepared herself for his touch. It didn’t come. He reached around her and got the carton of pot stickers and a pair of chopsticks.
Last night proved he was quite adept with the wooden utensils, but tonight he fumbled with them, and finally with a sigh of disgust, he cast them aside, fished out one of the dumplings with his fingers and put it to her lips.
She took a small bite, even though she was no longer interested in dinner, and he finished the rest of it.
That she was sitting here wearing only a bra and capris and he was shirtless with his belt unbuckled eating dinner struck her as incredibly funny and she burst out laughing.
He licked the corner of her mouth. “Come on, admit it. This is the way to eat.”
“Trying to steal my pot sticker?”
“I’m after more than that.”
She was about to utter a smart retort when her stomach grumbled loudly.
He grinned and picked out another dumpling. “All you had to do was ask.”
“I’m not really hungry,” she murmured, embarrassed. “I don’t know why it did that.”
“Hungry or not, you need sustenance.” He fed her another bite. “We have a long night ahead of us.”
She swallowed and moistened her lips, the tingling starting again. “Yeah?”
“Oh, yeah.” He locked gazes with her and, after a moment, shoved the carton aside. “The hell with this,” he said and scooped her up.
Dallas yelped. At five-nine, she wasn’t the type of woman a man easily managed to carry. She tried to maneuver herself down, but he held tight and carried her into the bedroom. There he let her down gently, holding on to her until her feet touched the plush white car pet.
He lifted her chin, kissed her briefly and then un clasped the front of her bra. He stopped for a moment to admire his discovery with a fascination that stole her breath, then he tugged the straps off her shoulders. The bra slid down her back and onto the floor.
Lowering his head, he kissed one rosy tip and then the other. She blossomed against his mouth, ached for him to suckle her, but he took his time, finally leaning back to look at her again.
“Do you have any idea how incredibly beautiful you are?” He seemed a little dazed, astonishingly earnest, and she didn’t experience the embarrassment she should have. Didn’t make the wisecrack she normally would have about the dim lighting. “Tell me this isn’t a dream. You are real, aren’t you?”
She lifted herself on tiptoes and kissed him before reaching for his zipper. This time he didn’t move. He watched her as she slid the zipper down, exposing brown silk boxers, and then shuddered when she touched him.
“Does this feel real?” she whispered, running the back of her fingers over the hard thickness straining against the silky fabric.
He murmured something, his voice too hoarse to understand. Grabbing her wrists, he forced her hands away. Took a couple of deep breaths, his chest heaving.
“Help me,” he said, but she didn’t understand until he moved back and yanked one side of the rust-colored quilt back from his queen-size bed.
She took the other side but gave up on trying to be neat about it when he shoved everything to the foot of the bed, heedless of the rich textured fabric that spilled to the floor.
When he reached for the lamp, she started to protest, preferring the filtered light coming from the living room. But he switched it on dim, and the soft glow bathed the coppery tones of the room in a mellow warmth that helped calm her.
“Need help taking those off?” he asked, lowering his gaze to her capris.
She smiled at the nudge. He was already pulling off his jeans. “I think I can manage.”
He stepped out of them and then without hesitation he slid off his boxers. She froze and stared. She tried not to. Tried to finish undressing. But she couldn’t seem to move. He was truly beautiful. Breathtaking, really.
Swallowing hard, trying to get in motion, she told herself that he wasn’t the best-looking guy she’d dated. In fact, she’d dated some real honeys. One of them a famous local model who’d had a terrific sense of humor. But something about Eric appealed to her like none of the others. Something beyond his good looks and generosity and sense of humor. Maybe it was simple chemistry. Maybe it was about this crazy mystery-woman fantasy of hers.
“I guess you do need some help,” he said, discarding the boxers and approaching her.
She still couldn’t move. Until he was right there. In front of her. And she reached out and touched him. His penis twitched at the contact, and when she circled the glistening tip, he shuddered. She curled her hand around it and stroked down to the base, and he moaned.
A sense of power surged through her, and finding a rhythm, she started to pump him, but he captured her wrist and stilled her hand.
“Wait, Dallas,” he said, his breathing irregular.
She smiled. “Whatever for?”
“This.” He lowered his head and took control of her mouth, forcing her lips open with his tongue.
She didn’t move when he released her wrist and slid his hands around to her backside, squeezing gently while he kissed her senseless. It took a few moments be fore she realized he was sliding her capris down her hips, past her thighs.
He broke the kiss to pull them down her legs and stopped to nuzzle her breasts, swirling his tongue around one nipple and then the other. She shuddered and grabbed his shoulder, and he held her steady while she stepped out of the capris.
Standing in only a skimpy pair of cream-colored silk bikini panties, she sucked in a breath when he moved back to look at her. Appreciation gleamed in his eyes as his gaze swept her body, lingering at the small, silky tri angle at the juncture of her thighs.
“Take those off,” he whispered hoarsely, lowering his hands to his sides, his fists clenching lightly.
She obeyed by slipping her hands beneath the strips of lacy elastic across her hips and then slowly lowering her panties, her palms molding her skin as she slid the silky fabric down her thighs, taking her time, making him wait.
Visibly swallowing, he watched her, his chest rising and falling, his gaze riveted to her little striptease show. His hand went to his straining sex and he touched him self briefly before backing her up so that she fell on the bed. He sprawled over her, hungrily kissing her mouth, her cheek, her eyelids, as if it were impossible for him not to.
She moved her hips and his breathing faltered. He wrapped his arms around her and rolled onto his back, bringing her with him. Her hair fell forward, brushing his chest, and he pushed one side back from her face and rubbed the pad of his thumb across her cheek.