sickness was the only thing that could take her mind off of his sensuality. What would help fight his fever?
She nodded to his pullover. “You should take off your clothes.” Her face heated. God, the words had come out too fast, too soon. She couldn’t believe her audacity. As he gave a small smile, she explained, “It’ll help bring your fever down.”
He swallowed, and winced. “Fever is good.” His voice sounded raspy.
“I know. A high fever can be useful on the first day of sickness. But I think—”
Her instincts told her to put a hand on his forehead like a mother examining a sick child. But she couldn’t. It was hard enough to stand in front of this stud and passively receive the warmth emanating from his body—and ignore the tease in his glowing eyes. Her impulses had proved treacherous lately, and she feared they would bring her straight into his arms.
Brian . Cold fear rushed through her. Remember Brian!
She took a deep breath, avoided Micaela’s stare, and tried to control her choking voice. “I think what you need now is to bring the fever down.” She had read about it in mommy magazines. When a child had a high fever, the best way to stabilize its body temperature was to remove all the clothes and keep only a thin cloth of cotton on.
He shrugged with a white-toothed grin before proceeding to remove his pullover. Once more, damp heat drifted to her with the smell of musk and sweat, though not an unpleasant one. She couldn’t help breathing in his manly scent and wanting to memorize it.
When he folded the sweater over the chair arm and straightened, she stifled a gasp of admiration. The man was better looking than any god from Greek mythology. Dim light shone on his tanned and perfectly sculpted torso. She could only gape and stare, transfixed. Blood pulsed in her temples.
Now was a good time to leave. She’d helped him and had no business staying. From the way her body reacted to him, the situation could quickly get out of control. But she was too weak.
His dark, seducing eyes held hers and seemed to scrutinize her reaction—before a new coughing fit forced him to lean between his knees again. Scorching barks filled the room. His torso jerked back and forth, thrashing his long hair around. He coughed so hard and so long she thought he would throw up, and she stood helpless before him.
When the coughing stopped, he drew ragged breaths, groaned, and rubbed his face.
Wanting to do something to help—maybe just put a palm on his shoulder to calm him—Anne stepped forward.
With a grunt, he shot his hands to the backs of her legs, behind her skirt, and pulled her toward him. She stumbled between his spread legs with a small cry, knees pressing against the edge of the chair. He buried his face in her lap, guttural moans drowned in her skirt.
She should have pushed him away but didn’t.
Face nestled against her, he lifted her skirt and stroked her naked thighs with hard hands, sculpting her muscles, heating the skin—probably not from sexual teasing, but need , as if rough handling could ease the pain in his throat and lungs.
He moved forward on the chair, and his hot crotch met her knees. Her inner thighs and stomach filled with such intense heat, she couldn’t move. Her corrupt body overruled every reasonable thought and willingly melted into his forceful embrace. She gasped as her traitorous pussy reacted, opening and wetting with lust.
Against her will, she reached down, found his head, and entwined trembling fingers in the sweaty black locks. She pulled at his hair, pressed him to her burning core. There was no stopping, no reasoning.
Micaela’s hot, quick breaths heated the fabric of her skirt. He moaned, and the rumble resonated inside her. His groin hardened against her knees, the erection evident. With one strong hand on her butt, he moved underneath her skirt with the other and stroked up her inner thigh until meeting the wet panties.
Gasping again from the sharp rush of
She nodded to his pullover. “You should take off your clothes.” Her face heated. God, the words had come out too fast, too soon. She couldn’t believe her audacity. As he gave a small smile, she explained, “It’ll help bring your fever down.”
He swallowed, and winced. “Fever is good.” His voice sounded raspy.
“I know. A high fever can be useful on the first day of sickness. But I think—”
Her instincts told her to put a hand on his forehead like a mother examining a sick child. But she couldn’t. It was hard enough to stand in front of this stud and passively receive the warmth emanating from his body—and ignore the tease in his glowing eyes. Her impulses had proved treacherous lately, and she feared they would bring her straight into his arms.
Brian . Cold fear rushed through her. Remember Brian!
She took a deep breath, avoided Micaela’s stare, and tried to control her choking voice. “I think what you need now is to bring the fever down.” She had read about it in mommy magazines. When a child had a high fever, the best way to stabilize its body temperature was to remove all the clothes and keep only a thin cloth of cotton on.
He shrugged with a white-toothed grin before proceeding to remove his pullover. Once more, damp heat drifted to her with the smell of musk and sweat, though not an unpleasant one. She couldn’t help breathing in his manly scent and wanting to memorize it.
When he folded the sweater over the chair arm and straightened, she stifled a gasp of admiration. The man was better looking than any god from Greek mythology. Dim light shone on his tanned and perfectly sculpted torso. She could only gape and stare, transfixed. Blood pulsed in her temples.
Now was a good time to leave. She’d helped him and had no business staying. From the way her body reacted to him, the situation could quickly get out of control. But she was too weak.
His dark, seducing eyes held hers and seemed to scrutinize her reaction—before a new coughing fit forced him to lean between his knees again. Scorching barks filled the room. His torso jerked back and forth, thrashing his long hair around. He coughed so hard and so long she thought he would throw up, and she stood helpless before him.
When the coughing stopped, he drew ragged breaths, groaned, and rubbed his face.
Wanting to do something to help—maybe just put a palm on his shoulder to calm him—Anne stepped forward.
With a grunt, he shot his hands to the backs of her legs, behind her skirt, and pulled her toward him. She stumbled between his spread legs with a small cry, knees pressing against the edge of the chair. He buried his face in her lap, guttural moans drowned in her skirt.
She should have pushed him away but didn’t.
Face nestled against her, he lifted her skirt and stroked her naked thighs with hard hands, sculpting her muscles, heating the skin—probably not from sexual teasing, but need , as if rough handling could ease the pain in his throat and lungs.
He moved forward on the chair, and his hot crotch met her knees. Her inner thighs and stomach filled with such intense heat, she couldn’t move. Her corrupt body overruled every reasonable thought and willingly melted into his forceful embrace. She gasped as her traitorous pussy reacted, opening and wetting with lust.
Against her will, she reached down, found his head, and entwined trembling fingers in the sweaty black locks. She pulled at his hair, pressed him to her burning core. There was no stopping, no reasoning.
Micaela’s hot, quick breaths heated the fabric of her skirt. He moaned, and the rumble resonated inside her. His groin hardened against her knees, the erection evident. With one strong hand on her butt, he moved underneath her skirt with the other and stroked up her inner thigh until meeting the wet panties.
Gasping again from the sharp rush of
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