fakes an orgasm. Then the woman at the table behind her says, "I'll have what she's having." God help him, but it was all too easy for him to imagine Jennifer in the throes of an orgasm.
When she rose to get the wine, Matt leaned his head back and inhaled an agonizing breath. Damn, even with her gone, he could smell that perfume she wore. He'd caught a whiff of it last night too. It was the same perfume she'd worn to his office that day. Against his will, he breathed deeply, tormenting himself with deep lungfuls of the sensuous scent.
He wanted her, he finally admitted to himself. And definitely not as a patient. He hadn't been this bad off since he was a kid. What was it about the woman that affected him so?
"Here we go," Jennifer said. "I also brought in a bowl of strawberries. I love the succulent red fruit with white wine," she said, smiling. "Most people think they only go well with champagne, but I find they're positively scrumptious with any white wine."
She set the oval silver footed tray on the glass-topped table. Matt found himself watching her lips as she formed the words. He'd never realized speech could be so sexy.
"First, you dip the richest," she paused and looked into his eyes, "reddest berry you can find in this little crock of thick," she paused again, "luscious cream."
Matt curled his fists so tightly that the nails left white half moons on the palms of his hands.
Jennifer chose the largest berry in the silver bowl and did as she'd described. With cream dripping from the ripe fruit, she said, "Then you dip it in this brown sugar, and then you devour every last bit of it." Her mouth opened and enclosed the ripe berry.
Matt watched as a bit of juice dribbled over her bottom lip. It was all he could do to keep from licking her lips. Then when the tip of her tongue darted out, he thought he would explode. He imagined that tongue on his body, tracing the delicate designs that her lips would sear into his skin. He'd never wanted a woman as badly as he wanted Jennifer. He was royally screwed.
"Next, you sip the wine and let it slowly trickle down your throat." She closed her eyes and tilted her head back while she demonstrated. Then she pressed the chilled glass to the rosy skin of her breasts. As if lost in the sensual experience of drinking the wine, she rolled the glass back and forth across the curves of her breasts.
Lucky glass, he thought, squirming on the couch to ease the pressure in his pants. He'd like to replace the crystal with his face, his mouth, his hands. With her eyes closed, he seized the opportunity to commit her face, the creamy skin of her throat, her slender arms, and her breasts to memory. How could a woman this appreciative of the sensual pleasures of wine and food be sexually repressed? It made no sense.
He looked around and realized that her home expressed a deeply sensuous nature. Rich scarlet and the jewel tones of emerald and sapphire covered the furniture. Lustrous gold fabric draped the windows and pooled on the floor in extravagant folds.
Everywhere he looked in the living room and the adjoining dining room showed rich color and texture. Tapestry fabrics, roughhewn wrought iron bases on the tables, heavy smoky glass on top, elegant fringe on the base of the chairs. Even the antique silver tray and the silver fruit bowl pointed to her appreciation of beautiful things. Her sensuality took flower in her home surroundings obviously.
"Now, it's your turn," Jennifer said, handing him a glass of wine from the silver tray.
"Thanks." Hurriedly he gulped the wine as if he had a fire to quench.
She reached for another strawberry.
"No, I don't think I can handle that." His eyes rounded as she selected an especially plump berry, lifting it by its stem.
"I mean." He swallowed. "Can't handle anything to eat. Had a big lunch." He set his glass down and leaned back, patting his stomach with both hands. "Wow, am I stuffed." His stomach chose that moment to make a sound that
When she rose to get the wine, Matt leaned his head back and inhaled an agonizing breath. Damn, even with her gone, he could smell that perfume she wore. He'd caught a whiff of it last night too. It was the same perfume she'd worn to his office that day. Against his will, he breathed deeply, tormenting himself with deep lungfuls of the sensuous scent.
He wanted her, he finally admitted to himself. And definitely not as a patient. He hadn't been this bad off since he was a kid. What was it about the woman that affected him so?
"Here we go," Jennifer said. "I also brought in a bowl of strawberries. I love the succulent red fruit with white wine," she said, smiling. "Most people think they only go well with champagne, but I find they're positively scrumptious with any white wine."
She set the oval silver footed tray on the glass-topped table. Matt found himself watching her lips as she formed the words. He'd never realized speech could be so sexy.
"First, you dip the richest," she paused and looked into his eyes, "reddest berry you can find in this little crock of thick," she paused again, "luscious cream."
Matt curled his fists so tightly that the nails left white half moons on the palms of his hands.
Jennifer chose the largest berry in the silver bowl and did as she'd described. With cream dripping from the ripe fruit, she said, "Then you dip it in this brown sugar, and then you devour every last bit of it." Her mouth opened and enclosed the ripe berry.
Matt watched as a bit of juice dribbled over her bottom lip. It was all he could do to keep from licking her lips. Then when the tip of her tongue darted out, he thought he would explode. He imagined that tongue on his body, tracing the delicate designs that her lips would sear into his skin. He'd never wanted a woman as badly as he wanted Jennifer. He was royally screwed.
"Next, you sip the wine and let it slowly trickle down your throat." She closed her eyes and tilted her head back while she demonstrated. Then she pressed the chilled glass to the rosy skin of her breasts. As if lost in the sensual experience of drinking the wine, she rolled the glass back and forth across the curves of her breasts.
Lucky glass, he thought, squirming on the couch to ease the pressure in his pants. He'd like to replace the crystal with his face, his mouth, his hands. With her eyes closed, he seized the opportunity to commit her face, the creamy skin of her throat, her slender arms, and her breasts to memory. How could a woman this appreciative of the sensual pleasures of wine and food be sexually repressed? It made no sense.
He looked around and realized that her home expressed a deeply sensuous nature. Rich scarlet and the jewel tones of emerald and sapphire covered the furniture. Lustrous gold fabric draped the windows and pooled on the floor in extravagant folds.
Everywhere he looked in the living room and the adjoining dining room showed rich color and texture. Tapestry fabrics, roughhewn wrought iron bases on the tables, heavy smoky glass on top, elegant fringe on the base of the chairs. Even the antique silver tray and the silver fruit bowl pointed to her appreciation of beautiful things. Her sensuality took flower in her home surroundings obviously.
"Now, it's your turn," Jennifer said, handing him a glass of wine from the silver tray.
"Thanks." Hurriedly he gulped the wine as if he had a fire to quench.
She reached for another strawberry.
"No, I don't think I can handle that." His eyes rounded as she selected an especially plump berry, lifting it by its stem.
"I mean." He swallowed. "Can't handle anything to eat. Had a big lunch." He set his glass down and leaned back, patting his stomach with both hands. "Wow, am I stuffed." His stomach chose that moment to make a sound that
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