was marred by only two things: the vivid blue of his eyes and the darkening red of his cock, which lingered in that tempting space between fully flaccid and fully erect.
She raised her eyes up the length of his body until their eyes met and held. One breath, two. Her pulse pounded in her temples as Lucas parted his lips as if to speak. Gwenâs left hand clenched tighter at her side, fighting down a sudden curiosity to find out what the hair on his chest felt like.
Lucas stayed still. If heâd smirked, if heâd so much as raised an eyebrow at her, she would have rolled her eyes and turned away. He didnât.
I could do this,
Gwen thought. This wasnât a power play, like in the green room. This was an invitation. She could accept. Hell, she
wanted
to accept. She felt the pull in her belly as they stood looking at each other. He was waiting for her to make a decision, letting her set the terms. What would change, if she gave in? She crossed the room slowly, then raised her hand and touched his chest. His eyelids flickered as if he were fighting to keep his eyes open.
Her fingertips caught in the moisture on his skin, the coarse hair covering it curled with humidity. Gwen closed her eyes and let her hand move up along his collarbone, then back down in a slow, sweeping stroke. When she opened her eyes, Lucas was watching her with intense curiosity in his eyes. It was unfair, how beautiful he was. He leaned down, but didnât kiss her mouth as sheâd hoped, instead placing one light kiss on the side of her neck, making her shiver. Water from his hair seeped through the shoulder of her shirt as he kissed her once more, over her pulse. He reached up and unfastened one of her buttons.
Her heart raced beneath his lips and fingertips. She should stop this before it went any further, but her head spun, her palm tingling where it lay flat against his chest. His heart was pounding too. Lucas unfastened another button, and nuzzled aside the collar of her shirt, away from her shoulder . . . and gasped. It was the scarâthe violent, livid starburst pattern that proved her survival.
Gwen swallowed and pulled away, breaking the connection before re-buttoning her shirt. âGet dressed.â She refused to meet his eyes, afraid of seeing disgust, or worse, pity. âWeâre meeting the others downstairs for dinner at seven.â
She left before he could say anything.
***
Lucas got into a long argument about prog rock with Craig and Sally after dinner, and by the time they dropped him off at his room, Gwen was asleep on the sofaâor feigning sleep remarkably well. They had a flight to Washington to catch in eight hours. Gwen had packed already, her belongings stacked together. His clothes were scattered everywhere, flung haphazardly each time he got dressed. He gathered them up and started packing, pausing now and then to look at the woman sleeping nearby.
Gwen was sprawled on her back like an extravagant child, legs a jumble under the covers. Her right arm was thrown up over her head, face turned into the crook of her elbow. The line of her neck stretched taut under her skin. Lucas had a sudden overwhelming urge to lean over and lick it. The thought stopped him where he stood, and he breathed deep for several moments, mirroring the steady breathing of Gwen asleep.
God, he wanted her. Even more so now, after everything that happened earlier. As a tour manager, she was getting better, there was no arguing that, but when she was training him, he could see she was truly comfortable, in her element. In the gym, he was on her turf. More than once heâd nearly regretted wearing the pants he had, worried that sheâd see or feel his reaction to her as she touched him, pinned him in place.
It wasnât the first time heâd met someone that made him want to kneel, to crawl, to submit, but it was the strongest reaction heâd had in a long time. And she had no qualms about
She raised her eyes up the length of his body until their eyes met and held. One breath, two. Her pulse pounded in her temples as Lucas parted his lips as if to speak. Gwenâs left hand clenched tighter at her side, fighting down a sudden curiosity to find out what the hair on his chest felt like.
Lucas stayed still. If heâd smirked, if heâd so much as raised an eyebrow at her, she would have rolled her eyes and turned away. He didnât.
I could do this,
Gwen thought. This wasnât a power play, like in the green room. This was an invitation. She could accept. Hell, she
wanted
to accept. She felt the pull in her belly as they stood looking at each other. He was waiting for her to make a decision, letting her set the terms. What would change, if she gave in? She crossed the room slowly, then raised her hand and touched his chest. His eyelids flickered as if he were fighting to keep his eyes open.
Her fingertips caught in the moisture on his skin, the coarse hair covering it curled with humidity. Gwen closed her eyes and let her hand move up along his collarbone, then back down in a slow, sweeping stroke. When she opened her eyes, Lucas was watching her with intense curiosity in his eyes. It was unfair, how beautiful he was. He leaned down, but didnât kiss her mouth as sheâd hoped, instead placing one light kiss on the side of her neck, making her shiver. Water from his hair seeped through the shoulder of her shirt as he kissed her once more, over her pulse. He reached up and unfastened one of her buttons.
Her heart raced beneath his lips and fingertips. She should stop this before it went any further, but her head spun, her palm tingling where it lay flat against his chest. His heart was pounding too. Lucas unfastened another button, and nuzzled aside the collar of her shirt, away from her shoulder . . . and gasped. It was the scarâthe violent, livid starburst pattern that proved her survival.
Gwen swallowed and pulled away, breaking the connection before re-buttoning her shirt. âGet dressed.â She refused to meet his eyes, afraid of seeing disgust, or worse, pity. âWeâre meeting the others downstairs for dinner at seven.â
She left before he could say anything.
***
Lucas got into a long argument about prog rock with Craig and Sally after dinner, and by the time they dropped him off at his room, Gwen was asleep on the sofaâor feigning sleep remarkably well. They had a flight to Washington to catch in eight hours. Gwen had packed already, her belongings stacked together. His clothes were scattered everywhere, flung haphazardly each time he got dressed. He gathered them up and started packing, pausing now and then to look at the woman sleeping nearby.
Gwen was sprawled on her back like an extravagant child, legs a jumble under the covers. Her right arm was thrown up over her head, face turned into the crook of her elbow. The line of her neck stretched taut under her skin. Lucas had a sudden overwhelming urge to lean over and lick it. The thought stopped him where he stood, and he breathed deep for several moments, mirroring the steady breathing of Gwen asleep.
God, he wanted her. Even more so now, after everything that happened earlier. As a tour manager, she was getting better, there was no arguing that, but when she was training him, he could see she was truly comfortable, in her element. In the gym, he was on her turf. More than once heâd nearly regretted wearing the pants he had, worried that sheâd see or feel his reaction to her as she touched him, pinned him in place.
It wasnât the first time heâd met someone that made him want to kneel, to crawl, to submit, but it was the strongest reaction heâd had in a long time. And she had no qualms about
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