Read Online Carry Me Home by Rosalind James - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Rosalind James
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never grabbed her. He’d just . . . steered her. Showed her. Taken her where he’d wanted her to go.
She made herself move at last, went and sat on the couch to pull off her boots. They said that the mind was the most important sex organ, and she guessed it was true. Before heading to her bedroom, she shrugged out of the jean jacket, unfastened the belt from around her waist, and left them on the coffee table to give back to Rochelle. She closed the door, pulled the lace dress over her head and dumped it into the hamper, then switched on her portable heater, her major indulgence, turned as usual to its highest setting.
She shivered at the pleasure of the heated air hitting her chilled body, let it warm her. And then paused, arrested by her reflection in the full-length mirror on the back of the door.
She looked . . . good. And she felt good, too. She ran her hands down her sides to her hips, over the delicate floral lace of the pale-blue bra and bikini panties she’d worn tonight. Some of her favorites, because if you were going out, if you were going to try to get pretty, it was important to feel pretty. And she did. She felt pretty, and curvy, and good . And she looked that way, too.
Standing in her underwear, in her bedroom. The one place she felt safe being soft, being feminine. The one place where she didn’t have to fit in, to be as tough as any of the guys, where she allowed herself to remember that she was a woman who felt, and yearned, and needed. That it was all right to want . . . whatever she wanted. That her fantasies were her own, and that they were allowed to be everything she wanted. Anything she wanted.
If the mind were the most important sex organ, she was right there, because the woman looking back at her looked sexy . Cal hadn’t even kissed her, and it didn’t matter. Just the way he’d danced with her, just the way he’d held her, and her lips looked plumper, her eyes looked softer, her curves looked lusher. For once, she wasn’t wondering if she should try to diet away five or six—or ten—more pounds. The way he’d looked at her . . . she’d seen how much he’d wanted to touch every inch of her, how much his hands had longed to trace every curve. Almost as much as she’d wanted him to do it.
You can be in charge all you want, but not right now. There’s only a couple of places where a man gets to be in charge. But we’re pretty jealous about those couple of sweet, sweet places.
Fantasy was one thing, though, and reality was something else. And when she was grading midterms on Sunday, thinking about how she could have been having breakfast with Cal right now instead, flirting some more . . . This was the danger zone, and she’d been right to say no, exactly because she’d wanted to say yes so badly.
But just because a guy flirted, just because he danced and smiled and talked like that, just because he was funny and charming and so sexy, that didn’t mean he was in love. It didn’t even mean he was in like . It just meant that he hadn’t seen anyone he’d wanted to go after more on that particular night. She couldn’t handle a one-night stand, and if it were more than that . . . she could handle that even less.
And if her body still wanted him, so what? He probably couldn’t hit an actual erogenous zone with a set of blueprints and a guide dog. Men who looked like that didn’t have to. It was all about the fantasy, and he was one heck of a fantasy. She could leave it at that, and she was going to.
But it was so quiet here. All right, it was lonely. She needed to talk to somebody, because it was so much harder than she’d thought to be up here in Idaho all alone. She was with students so much of the day, but somehow it wasn’t the same.
Well, she needed to make this call anyway. She only wished . . . she wished . . . well, it didn’t matter what she wished. She needed to make it. She picked up her phone from the coffee table and
She made herself move at last, went and sat on the couch to pull off her boots. They said that the mind was the most important sex organ, and she guessed it was true. Before heading to her bedroom, she shrugged out of the jean jacket, unfastened the belt from around her waist, and left them on the coffee table to give back to Rochelle. She closed the door, pulled the lace dress over her head and dumped it into the hamper, then switched on her portable heater, her major indulgence, turned as usual to its highest setting.
She shivered at the pleasure of the heated air hitting her chilled body, let it warm her. And then paused, arrested by her reflection in the full-length mirror on the back of the door.
She looked . . . good. And she felt good, too. She ran her hands down her sides to her hips, over the delicate floral lace of the pale-blue bra and bikini panties she’d worn tonight. Some of her favorites, because if you were going out, if you were going to try to get pretty, it was important to feel pretty. And she did. She felt pretty, and curvy, and good . And she looked that way, too.
Standing in her underwear, in her bedroom. The one place she felt safe being soft, being feminine. The one place where she didn’t have to fit in, to be as tough as any of the guys, where she allowed herself to remember that she was a woman who felt, and yearned, and needed. That it was all right to want . . . whatever she wanted. That her fantasies were her own, and that they were allowed to be everything she wanted. Anything she wanted.
If the mind were the most important sex organ, she was right there, because the woman looking back at her looked sexy . Cal hadn’t even kissed her, and it didn’t matter. Just the way he’d danced with her, just the way he’d held her, and her lips looked plumper, her eyes looked softer, her curves looked lusher. For once, she wasn’t wondering if she should try to diet away five or six—or ten—more pounds. The way he’d looked at her . . . she’d seen how much he’d wanted to touch every inch of her, how much his hands had longed to trace every curve. Almost as much as she’d wanted him to do it.
You can be in charge all you want, but not right now. There’s only a couple of places where a man gets to be in charge. But we’re pretty jealous about those couple of sweet, sweet places.
Fantasy was one thing, though, and reality was something else. And when she was grading midterms on Sunday, thinking about how she could have been having breakfast with Cal right now instead, flirting some more . . . This was the danger zone, and she’d been right to say no, exactly because she’d wanted to say yes so badly.
But just because a guy flirted, just because he danced and smiled and talked like that, just because he was funny and charming and so sexy, that didn’t mean he was in love. It didn’t even mean he was in like . It just meant that he hadn’t seen anyone he’d wanted to go after more on that particular night. She couldn’t handle a one-night stand, and if it were more than that . . . she could handle that even less.
And if her body still wanted him, so what? He probably couldn’t hit an actual erogenous zone with a set of blueprints and a guide dog. Men who looked like that didn’t have to. It was all about the fantasy, and he was one heck of a fantasy. She could leave it at that, and she was going to.
But it was so quiet here. All right, it was lonely. She needed to talk to somebody, because it was so much harder than she’d thought to be up here in Idaho all alone. She was with students so much of the day, but somehow it wasn’t the same.
Well, she needed to make this call anyway. She only wished . . . she wished . . . well, it didn’t matter what she wished. She needed to make it. She picked up her phone from the coffee table and
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