Read Online Changed (Second Sight) by Hazel Hunter - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Hazel Hunter
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covered his shoulder blade.
“Mac?” she said quietly as she instinctively reached out to him. The reading began immediately. No sooner had her vision gone gray than an excruciating pain stabbed between her shoulders. “ No ,” she muttered, arching her back to get away from it. She gasped at the ache in her ribs. She saw Mac’s big hands twist someone’s shoe. The back of his head throbbed with a sharp pain.
“ Isabelle ,” he said and she felt his fingers around her wrist.
Though the reading ended, the pain lingered.
“What…” she gasped. “What happened to you?”
His arms wound around her, his skin warm against hers, which was suddenly clammy.
“What happened to me? ” he said. There was a pause. “Oh that .”
“Your back,” she said, careful not to touch him. “There was a fight?”
The images began to slot into place. There had been a fight. Two men and…Darren?
“Mac,” Isabelle breathed, her vision still a murky gray. “Are you okay? Your ribs–”
“I’m fine ,” he said, rocking her gently.
He hugged her a little tighter.
“But the pain,” she insisted. “It’s not fine.”
“ Isabelle ,” he said. “Trust me. It’s fine .” She felt his hand caress the side of her face and she closed her sightless eyes to his gentle touch. “In fact,” he said lowly. “I’ll prove it.”
She felt his body flex and lean toward her. And, as she curved hers to match, their lips slowly and softly met. Full and throbbing, his lips pulsed with life. He kissed her gently, moving his mouth sensually over hers. Their lips moistly clung as he lingered, before capturing her upper lip between his.
Though the reading had faded, even Mac’s long, drugging kiss couldn’t shake the memory of the pain, the betrayal by Darren, the attack of those two men.
Mac had never said a word.
But as his mouth continued to stroke hers and his muscled chest pressed into her, Isabelle found herself being moved backward toward the waiting water. For a moment, she’d forgotten why they were even here. Slowly, he helped her over the threshold and, as the warm water poured down her back, she heard the shower door close.
•••••
Mac took his time. Though the stench of Geoffrey was everywhere, Mac remembered another shower when he’d been in a maddened rush–a downright frenzy. He kept his lips on Isabelle’s as long as possible. Soft as petals, he could have kissed them forever. But as the warm water began to flow through her long, black hair, he let her go.
Though he’d sensed her eyesight had returned, he watched as she turned to the water, reached for the shampoo and began to wash her hair. Sheets of water cascaded down her sinuous back. He took the soap, lathered it in his hands, and gently massaged it into her shoulders. Though she paused and Mac thought he heard her sigh, her fingers began to rinse the suds from her hair. Slowly, Mac worked his way down to her hips, her buttocks, then her thighs. His fingers slid through the soapy film, around her soft and curving flesh. He knelt on one knee, the spatter of mist wetting him, as he smoothed his slippery hands all the way down to her ankles. He smiled to himself as the memory of his first impression of her came to mind–that of her shapely legs.
As she finished rinsing her hair, she revolved in place and tilted her head back. Water cascaded from the tips of her bare breasts. The plump mounds shimmered in front of him as Mac’s slick hands wound their way upward: over the fronts of her thighs, around her round hips, and under the swelling flesh. Isabelle’s lips parted with a gasp as he gently palmed and then kneaded them. They were soft in his grasp, tender, and, as he stroked the velvety, pink tips, they quickly tightened and turned a dusky rose.
Her breathing quickened and, as her diaphragm flexed in and out and the skin there glistened and seemed aglow, Mac knew he had to taste it. He released one breast, drew her hips forward,
“Mac?” she said quietly as she instinctively reached out to him. The reading began immediately. No sooner had her vision gone gray than an excruciating pain stabbed between her shoulders. “ No ,” she muttered, arching her back to get away from it. She gasped at the ache in her ribs. She saw Mac’s big hands twist someone’s shoe. The back of his head throbbed with a sharp pain.
“ Isabelle ,” he said and she felt his fingers around her wrist.
Though the reading ended, the pain lingered.
“What…” she gasped. “What happened to you?”
His arms wound around her, his skin warm against hers, which was suddenly clammy.
“What happened to me? ” he said. There was a pause. “Oh that .”
“Your back,” she said, careful not to touch him. “There was a fight?”
The images began to slot into place. There had been a fight. Two men and…Darren?
“Mac,” Isabelle breathed, her vision still a murky gray. “Are you okay? Your ribs–”
“I’m fine ,” he said, rocking her gently.
He hugged her a little tighter.
“But the pain,” she insisted. “It’s not fine.”
“ Isabelle ,” he said. “Trust me. It’s fine .” She felt his hand caress the side of her face and she closed her sightless eyes to his gentle touch. “In fact,” he said lowly. “I’ll prove it.”
She felt his body flex and lean toward her. And, as she curved hers to match, their lips slowly and softly met. Full and throbbing, his lips pulsed with life. He kissed her gently, moving his mouth sensually over hers. Their lips moistly clung as he lingered, before capturing her upper lip between his.
Though the reading had faded, even Mac’s long, drugging kiss couldn’t shake the memory of the pain, the betrayal by Darren, the attack of those two men.
Mac had never said a word.
But as his mouth continued to stroke hers and his muscled chest pressed into her, Isabelle found herself being moved backward toward the waiting water. For a moment, she’d forgotten why they were even here. Slowly, he helped her over the threshold and, as the warm water poured down her back, she heard the shower door close.
•••••
Mac took his time. Though the stench of Geoffrey was everywhere, Mac remembered another shower when he’d been in a maddened rush–a downright frenzy. He kept his lips on Isabelle’s as long as possible. Soft as petals, he could have kissed them forever. But as the warm water began to flow through her long, black hair, he let her go.
Though he’d sensed her eyesight had returned, he watched as she turned to the water, reached for the shampoo and began to wash her hair. Sheets of water cascaded down her sinuous back. He took the soap, lathered it in his hands, and gently massaged it into her shoulders. Though she paused and Mac thought he heard her sigh, her fingers began to rinse the suds from her hair. Slowly, Mac worked his way down to her hips, her buttocks, then her thighs. His fingers slid through the soapy film, around her soft and curving flesh. He knelt on one knee, the spatter of mist wetting him, as he smoothed his slippery hands all the way down to her ankles. He smiled to himself as the memory of his first impression of her came to mind–that of her shapely legs.
As she finished rinsing her hair, she revolved in place and tilted her head back. Water cascaded from the tips of her bare breasts. The plump mounds shimmered in front of him as Mac’s slick hands wound their way upward: over the fronts of her thighs, around her round hips, and under the swelling flesh. Isabelle’s lips parted with a gasp as he gently palmed and then kneaded them. They were soft in his grasp, tender, and, as he stroked the velvety, pink tips, they quickly tightened and turned a dusky rose.
Her breathing quickened and, as her diaphragm flexed in and out and the skin there glistened and seemed aglow, Mac knew he had to taste it. He released one breast, drew her hips forward,
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