Vision in White (Bride Quartet #1)(70)

She bowed over him, back from him, wriggling out of the flannel pants. She pushed him back, rose up, her body lean and pale, dappled by the thin light that eked through the windows. She took him in, surrounding.

She arched, trapped in her own web of pleasure, and moved to the beat of her own blood. Slow and thick and deep, gliding silk to silk, steel to velvet. In that morning hush, there were only sighs, a tremble of breath, a whispered name.

And the beat quickened while pleasure tipped toward ache. She watched him watch her, watched what she was fill his eyes as that ache spread, swelled. The beat pounded-urgent now, faster now. She rode him, rode them both until the ache peaked, tore, and shattered.



       
         
       
        

When she went limp, he drew her down and held her close as he had in the night.

Floating, she thought, it was like floating down a long, quiet river where the water was warm and clear. And even if you sank, he'd be there, to hold on to you.

Why couldn't she have this, just enjoy this, without creating obstacles, digging up problems, worrying about mistakes, about tomorrows? Why let the maybes, the ifs, the probablies spoil something so lovely?

"I'd like to stay right here," she said quietly. "Just like this. All day."

"Okay."

Her lips curved. "Are you ever lazy? Do the serious sloth?"

"Being with you isn't lazy. We could consider it an experiment. How long can we stay in this bed, without food or drink or outside activities? How many times can we make love on a Sunday?"

"I wish I could find out, but I have to work. We have another event today."

"What time?"

"Mmm, three o'clock, which means I have to be over there by one. And I have to upload the shots from yesterday."

"You need me out of the way."

"No, I was thinking shower and coffee for two. I might even scramble some eggs instead of offering you my usual Pop-Tart."

"I like Pop-Tarts."

"I bet you eat the grown-up breakfast."

"I rely heavily on Toaster Strudels."

She lifted her head. "Those are great. If I can provide hot water, coffee, Pop-Tarts with a side of eggs, would you consider hanging out for today's event?"

"I would-if a toothbrush and a razor get tossed in. I don't suppose you have a spare pair of shoes."

"I have many shoes, but I assume you're talking about manly ones."

"That would be best. High heels make my toes cramp."

"Funny guy. Actually, we may be able to help you out. Parker keeps a supply of dress shoes for events. Standard black dress for men, black heels for women."

"That's . . . efficient."

"It's compulsive, but we've actually dipped into them several times. What size?"

"Fourteen."

This time her head shot up. "Fourteen?"

"I'm afraid so."

"That's like aircraft carrier size." She tossed off the covers to study his feet. "You have battleship feet."

"Which is why I trip over them so much. I don't think Parker's compulsive enough to carry fourteens."

"No, not even Parker. Sorry, but I can provide the toothbrush and razor."

"Then it's a deal." 

"I think we should start with the shower. We need to get hot and wet and all kinds of slippery." She glanced down at him and grinned. "Hey, look who's awake again!" Laughing, she rolled out of bed, raced for the shower.





BY THE TIME MAC WRAPPED HERSELF IN A TOWEL, SHE'D DECIDED Carter was as creative vertically as he was horizontally. Wonderfully loose, she dug out a spare toothbrush, a disposable razor, and a travel-sized can of shaving cream.

"There you go." She turned as he rapped his elbow getting out of the shower. "I have a question. How come you're not clumsy when you're having sex?"

"I guess I pay better attention." Frowning, he rubbed his elbow. "Plus you distracted me in your towel."

"Since you're going to shave, I'm going down to start the coffee. That way I won't distract you into cutting your face to ribbons."

She gave his face a pat, ended up yanked against him and thoroughly distracted. When she managed to wiggle away, she tossed him her towel. "You take it since it's a problem."

She grabbed her robe off the back of the door, and sauntered out naked.

When she disappeared, Carter picked up the razor, studied it dubiously before eyeing the nasty sunset of bruising on his jaw. "Okay, let's see if we can do this without any facial scarring."

Downstairs, Mac hummed as she measured out beans. She didn't really need coffee to jump-start her day, she thought. Carter had taken care of that. He took care, she thought with a sigh, so she felt tended and appreciated, challenged and excited.