Kitabı oku: «Twin Expectations», sayfa 3
She heard Nick come up behind her and fervently wished the earth would swallow her up.
“Bridget?” His voice sounded full of concern, and at that moment she both hated and appreciated him. Appreciated him for caring. Hated him for seeing her like this, crouching in the bushes sicker than a dog. How humiliating!
“I’m fine, just give me a minute.” She took several deep breaths and promptly passed out.
When she came to, probably only a few seconds later, she was being held in a pair of strong and utterly secure arms. She stifled the urge to insist that Nick put her down. For one thing she felt weak as a baby bunny, and she wasn’t completely sure she could stand unless someone staked her up. For another it felt good to lie back and just let him take charge.
Nick was warm, and he smelled like the country and morning sunshine—the way her cotton clothes smelled if she dried them on a clothesline. She pressed her face against his shirt and closed her eyes again.
He didn’t stop until he’d carried her all the way to his back porch, and then he paused only long enough to elbow the door open. Once inside, he set her down on a big, striped sofa as gently as if she were an armload of eggs.
She opened her eyes and blinked at him.
“Thank God. You’re awake. Are you okay? What am I saying, of course you’re not okay. You fainted.” He ran his hands through his thick, chestnut hair.
Bridget thought irrelevantly that he was adorable when disconcerted.
“We should take you to the hospital,” he announced.
She quickly found her voice. “No, really, that’s not necessary. It’s just morning sickness. By ten o’clock I’ll be fine. Believe me.”
“You fainted. I thought morning sickness was just nausea.”
“I was light-headed. Maybe a little dehydrated.”
“Eyes rolling into the back of your head is not ‘light-headed.’ You were unconscious.”
“Just for a couple of seconds!”
“I’m calling a doctor. I have a friend—”
“No! As soon as I get something in my stomach, I’ll be fine. And I have an appointment with my obstetrician this afternoon. I’ll mention the morning sickness and see if he has any suggestions.” She sat up, though it cost her to do it without groaning. “See, I’m feeling better already.”
He looked almost convinced. She decided she’d better distract him with a task, or she’d be paying some strange doctor for a house call.
“Hot decaf tea with milk and honey usually helps. Do you have some tea?”
“No. Coffee?”
She shuddered. “’Fraid not.”
“Orange juice?”
The thought of OJ made her stomach twinge. “A glass of water and some dry toast or crackers?” she countered.
“That I can do.”
He practically knocked over furniture in his effort to get to the kitchen. She could hear him clattering around in there, searching through drawers, opening and shutting cabinets. Heavens, didn’t he know where things were in his own kitchen?
It occurred to her, then, that he might not live alone. He’d been at the charity ball without a date, and there clearly wasn’t a woman in residence at the moment, or the panicked man would have dumped his ill guest on her. But maybe his wife traveled on business or something.
For the first time she took stock of his living room. Peach-and-white-striped furniture and pastel woven rag rugs created a pleasant atmosphere. A wealth of houseplants, set in decorative Mexican pots, were apparently thriving, probably due to the abundant light spilling in through two generous skylights. Either Nick had good taste, he’d hired a decorator or some woman had staked her claim on his home.
Then again, something about his house was uniquely male, even with the flowers out front and the pastel living room. It was…unpretentious, she supposed. Lived in. No fussy widgets on the coffee table or lace whats-its around the no-nonsense window blinds. He must be single, after all.
Just as well he was unattached, she decided. More than once she’d been doing a portrait for a husband, and the wife got jealous over the amount of time Bridget spent with the man.
She got up and took a closer look at the items on his fireplace mantel—a large quartz crystal rock, a pocket watch under a display glass and a model biplane very similar to the one in the garden.
She nudged the tiny propeller on the plane, delighted to see it actually spun.
“I thought you were sick.” Nick stood directly behind her, much too close for comfort.
She whirled around, her heart racing for no good reason. “It…comes and goes,” she managed. “That’s the way this morning sickness thing is.”
He held a glass of ice water in one hand and a plate of buttered toast—at least four pieces—in the other. He’d forgotten she wanted it dry. He set both down on the maple coffee table. “Sit down before you fall down. A good breeze could blow you over.”
She followed orders, not wishing to be any more of a problem than she’d already been. “I’m sorry if I scared you. I do appreciate your concern.” She did, too, sort of.
Nick sank onto the opposite end of the sofa and put his head in his hands. Goodness, her sudden illness really had taken a lot out of the man.
“You’re not going to sue me, are you?”
“Sue you? Good heavens, what for?” She nibbled on a corner of toast.
“I’m an easy target. And you were talking about suing my brother—”
“I never said I was going to sue your brother. I never even met your brother! That was my sister.”
“She’s pregnant, too?” he asked, faintly amused.
Bridget slumped back on the sofa. “No. She’s not pregnant. She was referring to me, but she was only making a joke. Not a very good one, I’m—”
“A joke? I wouldn’t think an unplanned pregnancy is something to joke about.”
Now he was getting personal. “You think I should hide myself away like I’ve done something shameful?”
“Forgive me for saying so, but some people might think that sleeping with so many men that you don’t even know your child’s parentage is shameful. There, I’ve said it. I’m an old-fashioned, fossilized dinosaur. I know it. I can’t help it.”
Bridget knew she should be furious by the assumptions he’d made about her. But there was something pretty funny about a studly guy like Nick Raines talking about family values like a blue-haired old lady.
She folded her arms. “So, that’s what this hostility is all about. It’s not the baby that bothers you. It’s my sleeping habits.”
“It’s both. I don’t understand how you, a seemingly intelligent, successful woman, could so thoughtlessly conceive a child.”
Okay. It was time to put that particular misconception to rest. “For your information, Nick—not that it’s any of your business—I put a great deal of thought into conceiving this child. I love children. I want to raise a family more than anything in the world. I just don’t happen to have a husband.”
“How would you have time for a husband?” he grumbled.
What seemed humorous a moment ago suddenly didn’t. Bridget felt tears coming on—her raging hormones had turned her into an emotional wreck—but she ruthlessly swallowed back the lump in her throat. “I was artificially inseminated.”
She almost enjoyed the look of consternation on his handsome face. Then she promptly burst into tears.
“Oh…oh, here, now, stop that. There’s no need…” Nick waved his hands around helplessly. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay,” Bridget sniffed. “I’m just overemotional.”
He held the glass of water out to her. “Here.” When she didn’t take it right away, he set it down, dashed out of the room, then back again with a box of tissues. “Here.”
She took the tissue and dabbed at her eyes, then blew her nose in a most unladylike fashion. After a few more sniffs, she had herself under control.
“I’m really sorry,” he said again, though he looked relieved. “I didn’t mean to make you cry. But you have to admit, you did lead me to believe—”
“I didn’t lead you anywhere. You assumed.”
“I assumed the most likely scenario, given the limited information you gave me. I don’t think I’ve ever known or even heard of a single woman having herself artificially inseminated.”
“But you’ve known lots of women who slept around and got pregnant.”
That stumped him for a moment. “Well, no. A couple in college, maybe.”
Bridget took a deep breath. The crisis was over, and with it all of her hostility. Maybe she had deliberately led him to the unfair assumption. She was willing to let bygones be bygones if he was. “So, let’s set up a schedule for our work together. Can you spare me an hour in the morning, three or four times a week for the next couple of weeks, then once a week thereafter?”
“You still want to do the portrait?”
“Yes, of course.”
“That’s generous of you, considering I all but called you a slut.” He almost let himself smile, and Bridget was reminded of exactly how handsome a man Nicholas Raines was, particularly when he wasn’t showing off his sardonic wit at her expense.
“Can we please put the misunderstanding behind us and start fresh?”
“Okay. I think I can spare a few hours a week. I’ll even buy some tea and honey and soda crackers, just in case.”
“Sounds like a plan.” She stood up, feeling vastly better. “I think I should go home now.”
A couple of minutes later, as Nick opened Bridget’s driver’s door as if it were Cinderella’s coach, she felt optimistic about the coming portrait. She always enjoyed committing a client’s personality to canvas, but it had been a long time since a subject had so excited her creative juices. And maybe a few other types of juices as well.
“Just one more question,” Nick said as he helped her into the car.
“Sure.”
“Don’t you think your kid ought to have a father?”
Something in Bridget’s imagination snapped shut. “A bit judgmental today, are we?”
“Just curious.”
Since the question hadn’t been asked with the intention to antagonize, she decided to give him an honest answer. “I would dearly love for my child to have a father. But good husbands don’t grow on trees. I’ve had several dating relationships over the past few years, but most of those guys, once I really got to know them, I couldn’t picture as fathers. And the few ‘maybes’ flipped out if I even hinted at possible long-term goals.”
“You mean they wigged when you said you wanted a baby.”
“Something like that.”
“Can you blame them? Most men aren’t like women when it comes to children. They have to get used to being husbands first. Then they gradually grow into the idea of having kids.”
“You know all about this, huh?”
“I know that if a lady I was dating suddenly started talking babies, I’d run as far and as fast as I could.”
“You’ve just made my point for me.” Bridget gave him a steely-eyed look. “I’m thirty years old. The old biological clock thing isn’t just an old wives’ tale.”
“It’s no fun growing up without a father,” he said, making his point in a different way.
“What would you know about it? You were raised by Eric Statler, Jr.”
“That’s not exactly correct. My mother, who had me out of wedlock, by the way, met and married Statler when I was five. But he was never, ever my father.”
Bridget realized she’d struck a sore spot. Nick’s feelings on this subject ran much deeper than she would have guessed. She felt for him. But the way he was raised had nothing to do with how she would bring up her child. She wouldn’t allow any man into her life who didn’t accept her son or daughter 100 percent.
“My sister and I were raised without a father, too,” she said quietly. “Ours died when we were two and my mother never remarried. She loved us more than enough to make up for it. And we turned out okay.”
“So it seems.”
“For that matter, though you might regret some elements of your childhood, you seem to have turned out okay, too.”
He sighed deeply. “Some might argue with you there.”
“No family is perfect. But if you raise a child with love, whether you’re one parent or two or ten, that has to be enough.”
“I hope you’re right.” He was silent for a few moments, during which he seemed to close down. The bitter emotions flashing across his face faded until he could look at her impassively. “Tomorrow, same time?”
“Yes. That will be fine.”
Bridget couldn’t help thinking about their discussion during her drive home. There were lots of single mothers in the world. Some of them provided good homes for their kids; others didn’t. Most of them hadn’t chosen to raise kids by themselves, but somehow they coped, and the kids survived. Some thrived, like her and Liz. But what if she wasn’t as good a mother as her own mother had been? What if the child, despite her hopes, wasn’t good at coping with the stresses of a single-parent household?
Was it selfish and unfair of her, wanting to bring this child into the world without a father?
Nick Raines seemed to think so.
Chapter Four
“You are definitely showing,” Liz observed as Bridget examined herself critically in the dressing room mirror.
Bridget sighed, plucking her loose-fitting denim dress away from her abdomen. “I was hoping this one would hide it a while longer, but I guess there’s no denying it. I look pregnant. Time to put away the jeans and invest in some tent dresses.”
“Hey, this is what you wanted, remember?” Liz groused. If she were pregnant, darn it, she would be flaunting it, not trying to hide herself away.
“Yeah, but the deal was, you and I were going to do it together. Look at you in those size six jeans. I wouldn’t be able to get my big toe in those.”
“Just wait a few months. I haven’t given up,” Liz said, studying a ragged fingernail. She pulled a nail file from her purse and went to work, casually adding, “I have a date tomorrow night with Ted.”
Bridget gasped. “Ted, the gas station attendant at the corner by Mom’s house?”
“Yeah, anything wrong with that? He’s cute, and he worships the ground I walk on. You’re being an elitist.”
Bridget unzipped the denim dress and stepped out of it, tossing it onto the “yes” pile. “I have nothing against a man who works with his hands for a living. However, I do think the father of your child should have an I.Q. a bit higher than an iguana’s.”
Liz snorted. “Find me one.”
“You never like the suggestions I make.”
“That’s because your idea of a hot date involves poetry readings and sipping hot chocolate. Next time you set me up with a guy, would you at least check first to see if he has a pulse?”
“Okay, so maybe setting you up with my accountant wasn’t such a hot idea.” Bridget stepped into her jeans, which she couldn’t snap, then pulled on a sweatshirt that hung almost to her knees. As she pulled on her sneakers, she paused and yawned. Twice.
“You okay, Bridge?” Liz asked, concerned by the shadows under Bridget’s eyes. This pregnancy hadn’t been easy for her. She was finally past the morning sickness, but she still seemed extremely fragile.
“Just tired, is all. I never realized how exhausting a baby could be before it’s even born. I don’t know how I’m going to make it to that party tonight.”
Liz’s senses went on alert. “Who’s having a party that I didn’t get invited to?”
“The costume party. I told you about it.”
“That’s tonight?” Liz had been pure green with envy when her twin had told her about the society party she’d been invited to.
“Yeah.” Bridget just sat there.
“You don’t seem very excited about it.”
“I’m not. You know, my priorities have really changed. All I want to do is crawl into bed and sleep. Besides, I’ll feel awkward. It was nice of Geraldine Statler to invite me, considering I’ve only met her once. She seems to have taken an inordinate amount of interest in the painting. But I doubt Nick wants me there.”
“Oh, so it’s Nick now, is it?” Seeing that Bridget didn’t welcome any teasing, Liz backed off. “Funny, I could have sworn you liked him. You light up like a meteor shower every time you talk about him.”
“Yeah, well, you’re wrong. He thinks I’m a terrible person for having a baby with no father. He’s cordial enough, but we’re very tense around each other.”
“Tension can have a lot of sources,” Liz murmured.
Abruptly Bridget sat up straighter. “Hey, I’ve got a great idea. Why don’t you go to the party in my place?”
“Bridget! We haven’t pulled a switcheroo like that since college! Besides, the minute anyone sees me, they’ll know I’m not you. I don’t look like I swallowed a cantaloupe.”
Bridget looked more animated than she had all day. “I’m not implying we should perpetrate a hoax. Just go to the party, introduce yourself to Geraldine Statler, and explain that you’re my proxy. I guarantee she’ll welcome you with open arms. She’s very nice.” Bridget gathered up the clothes she’d tried on, shouldered her purse and headed for the cash register.
“Uh-uh, no way. I’m not going near those Statler people ever again.” At the same time, Liz felt a little thrill at the idea of seeing Eric Statler up close once more. Ever since their ill-fated meeting at the Oilman’s Ball, she’d devoured every news story she could find. She’d even gone to the Statler Enterprises Web site to gawk over pictures of Eric like an infatuated teenager.
“Chicken,” Bridget murmured under her breath as she paid for her purchases.
“I am not. It’s just…what kind of costume do you have?”
“I was planning to dig out my old Queen Elizabeth costume from when I was in that play in college, remember?”
“Hey, that’s a great idea. All those yards of fabric will completely camouflage your stomach.”
“Not my stomach,” Bridget said, giving Liz’s hair a playful tweak. “Yours.”
Liz shook her head, even as she tried to picture herself decked out like a queen. “No way. I don’t want to have to explain to Nick Raines why I’m not you.”
“Nick won’t come anywhere near you. He can hardly stand to be around me as it is.”
Liz saw the hurt in Bridget’s eyes and felt a pang of pity for her sister. Bridget had never been able to hide her feelings very well, and it was obvious from the way she talked about Nick that she had a thing for him, despite her protestations. Unfortunately, the guy was apparently a closed-minded jerk.
“I’ll try on the costume,” Liz finally said. “Just for fun, though. I’m not going to any party.”
SEVERAL HOURS LATER, Liz found herself swathed in the most ridiculous brocade gown. The thing squashed her breasts so that they nearly spilled out of the stiff square neckline, and the skirt was so heavy she could barely walk. No wonder women were repressed back in the fifteenth century. They couldn’t move.
Liz had been right about one thing. She could be ready to deliver a full-term baby under all that fabric and no one would know it.
She’d put a red rinse on her hair for a touch of authenticity. Then she’d added some pale makeup and painted on heavily arched brows. Even people who knew her wouldn’t recognize her.
“Remember, introduce yourself to Geraldine Statler first,” Bridget said, pressing the invitation into Liz’s hand. “You won’t have to do much more than say hi to her. She’ll be much too busy for a long gabfest. I heard Nick is going dressed as a highwayman, so you can steer clear of him.”
“I don’t suppose you know what sort of costume Eric Statler will be wearing? He’s the one I need to avoid.”
Bridget shrugged. “I didn’t ask.”
“I can’t believe you talked me into this. If you hadn’t hit me with, ‘The baby needs to rest…”’
“You’ll have a blast. There are bound to be loads of eligible bachelors there. We’re talking about the future father of my niece or nephew. I want you to choose wisely, and a larger sample of men can’t hurt.”
“Yeah, like I had a say in the father of your baby.”
Bridget narrowed her eyes. “At least my baby’s father won’t be around to make my life miserable. What if Ted got you pregnant, then wanted to stick around? What if he wanted to marry you? Or, even worse, what if he sued you for custody?”
Liz’s stomach took a sudden lurch. “Gee, I hadn’t thought of that. If Ted got me pregnant, I could never tell him.”
Bridget started hyperventilating. “Elizabeth Ann Van Zandt, you cannot steal a man’s sperm without his consent. Whoever you pick as your ‘donor,’ you have to tell him about it. How would you like it if someone stole one of your eggs and made a baby without telling you? DNA is private property—”
“Okay, okay, put a hold on the rant. I wasn’t really planning to get pregnant without telling the guy, whoever he might turn out to be. I just haven’t gotten that far. I have to find a good candidate first. Then I’ll come up with a strategy.”
“This isn’t a game, Liz. These are lives we’re playing with. Don’t do it lightly. Please.”
Liz was taken aback by her sister’s vehemence. Bridget had become much more emotional since her pregnancy, and Liz knew hormones were at least partly to blame. But something else was afoot.
“Bridget,” she said, broaching the subject as cautiously as she knew how, “you’re not regretting your pregnancy, are you?”
Bridget’s face went all soft. “No, of course not. I love this baby so much it hurts, and I can’t wait till I can hold him or her in my arms. But knowing that I’ve committed this kid to live without a father…I just want you to be fully aware of all the consequences, not just the good ones. Don’t lose sight of the big picture.”
Liz gave Bridget a careful hug so as not to smear her makeup or ruin her hair. “Don’t worry—I won’t.”
A horn tooted outside. Liz hadn’t wanted to drive wearing the costume, so she’d called a cab. “Wish me good hunting,” she said as she grabbed her tiny evening bag and whisked out the door.
FOR ONCE IN HER LIFE, Liz felt completely out of place at a party. She didn’t know a soul here at this huge, gaudy mansion. Normally that wouldn’t have bothered her, but her ghastly performance at the Oilman’s Ball was still fresh on her mind. The last thing she wanted to do was something embarrassing that would reflect badly on Bridget, who had shown extraordinary confidence in her by allowing her to come here at all.
She’d been looking everywhere for the party’s hostess, to introduce herself, as Bridget had instructed. But Geraldine Statler was proving elusive.
Maybe if she just found an unobtrusive spot and watched the other guests cavort while she sipped the excellent champagne…which was exactly what Bridget would have done, except for the champagne part. For once, Liz decided, she was going to behave the way her more circumspect sister would have. She was not going to get herself in trouble.
“Would you like to dance, Elizabeth?” a voice asked from behind her.
Liz’s first panicked thought was that her deception had been uncovered. Then sanity returned, and she remembered the costume. She whirled around and found herself staring at a rather delicious-looking pirate. Long, curly dark hair cascaded out from under a red bandanna wrapped around his head like a football player’s do-rag. Unfortunately, she couldn’t tell much about his face. Though he didn’t wear a mask, a thick black beard covered his cheeks and chin, and an eye patch left only one dark-brown eye visible.
It was the rest of him, though, that really caught her attention. He wore a leather vest over a bare, muscular torso. Baggy, striped pants, cut off at the knee, rode low on his lean hips. And he was barefoot.
“I’m not sure I can dance in this fifty-pound dress,” she finally answered him.
“Sure you can, Your Highness,” he said. “Just follow me.”
Not giving her much chance to object, he led her through a doorway and into a ballroom—the Statlers had their own ballroom!—and onto a parquet floor, crowded with costumed revelers enjoying the country band.
Liz had always been a good dancer, but with the pirate she fairly floated across the floor. The brocade gown didn’t hamper her at all, though she did catch herself glancing down at her neckline from time to time to be sure no more was showing than she intended.
“What’s your name, queenie?” the pirate asked.
“Elizabeth, of course. Don’t be cheeky to your betters.”
“You’re the cheeky one.” With that he pulled her a bit closer than was entirely proper. Liz didn’t care. His touch sent shivers coursing through her body. She wasn’t accustomed to having her arms around a half-naked man.
“What’s your name?” she countered.
“Big Benny Blodgett.”
“That’s a car dealer in Dallas.”
“Right, right.” Then he murmured, “Knew I’d heard it somewhere. Are you having a good time?”
“Yes, delightful.” She was about to tell him how she was attending the party in her sister’s stead when the ballroom was plunged into complete darkness. The guitar amplifiers abruptly quit, too, and the band grated to a halt. Surprised, excited and frightened murmurs rose among the guests.
Liz instinctively grabbed on more tightly to her pirate. He hugged her to him.
“You’re not afraid of the dark, are you?”
“Yes,” she admitted, trying not to whimper. She was fearless when it came to just about anything—except this. When she was six, a neighborhood bully had locked her in a storm cellar and left her for two hours. In the inky blackness she’d imagined all sorts of horrible creatures crawling on her. She’d screamed herself hoarse until Bridget, wondering where Liz had gotten to, discovered her. Liz hadn’t been able to abide the darkness ever since.
The pirate stroked her arm. “It’s okay. Just a blown fuse. Happens all the time in this old house. I happen to know where the fuse box is. Wait right here for me.”
“No!” Liz was ashamed by the neediness in her voice, but she couldn’t abide being left alone. “I’ll come with you.”
“Okay.” Deftly he led her through the milling crowd, murmuring, “Excuse me, excuse me,” while she clung to his arm. Flashlights and a candle or two had appeared, so the darkness wasn’t as total as it had been.
Liz was completely disoriented, but her dance partner was heading unerringly for some destination.
“How do you know this place so well?” she asked, wondering if he worked here or something. Wouldn’t Bridget get a kick out of the fact that Liz had come to the party to find herself a well-bred DNA donor, and instead she’d snagged the maintenance man?
“I lived here most of my life,” he replied.
Liz decided not to press him further. If he was a servant, or the son of a maid or groundskeeper, perhaps it was better not to harp on it. He might be feeling a tad out of place among all these blue-blood swells—as she was.
She wondered what it would have been like growing up with Eric Statler. One thing for sure, the dark pirate might be good looking, but he was the opposite of blond Eric. He had a sense of humor.
They were walking on a tile floor now, Liz noted. A tiny bit of ambient light coming through a window reflected off a large, white surface. A refrigerator. They were in the kitchen.
The pirate opened another door, and Liz found herself in what felt like a closet of some kind. The door, on a spring hinge, closed behind them.
“Where are we?”
“Pantry.” He fumbled around a moment until he found a small, metal door, then opened it. “There should be a flashlight in here somewhere…ah, here.” He flipped a switch, and a small flashlight came to life.
Liz took a deep breath. She was about to release her iron grip on the pirate when she noticed the light was fading. The flashlight’s bulb grew dimmer by the second.
“Damn, most be old batteries,” the pirate said.
Liz grabbed the flashlight. “No, no, no. You stay on!” She thumped it against the heel of her hand. Suddenly they were plunged into darkness again.
“Now you’ve done it,” he said, just as she let out a little shriek and grabbed on to him again.
“I’m sorry,” she said breathlessly. “I just hate the dark, I hate it, I hate it…” Liz realized she was damn close to hysteria. Yet the pirate’s warm, virile presence eased her fears somewhat. He was so solid, and he smelled so good, like leather and beeswax.
“It’s all right, Elizabeth,” he crooned, stroking her shoulder, then her neck. “Nothing’s going to happen to you. At least nothing bad.”
She loved the sound of her name on his lips, even though he didn’t know it was her real name. “I’m sorry,” she murmured. “I’m such a baby.”
“You feel all grown up to me.” He wrapped his arm around her shoulders. Then he kissed her.
Amazing. One minute he’d been offering comfort, and the next he was kissing the daylights out of her. Her fear receded completely, and all she could think about was the feel of his mouth on hers, the way his hands felt hot even through the heavy brocade gown.
She had kissed her share of guys in her day, but no kiss had ever affected her like this. Her blood turned to warm wine rushing through her veins, intoxicating her, making her head spin. Her knees were tingling, and she knew if he let her go, she wouldn’t be able to stand on her own.
“That is one crazy kiss you got there, Lizzy,” he murmured against her hair. “You know, the whole time we were dancing, I kept looking at your mouth, wondering how it would taste.”
“I was looking at your chest hair,” Liz admitted, running her hands across his lightly furred pecs. Whatever she’d done, she’d inflamed him to action. He kissed her again, harder, and his hand somehow found its way to her breasts. It didn’t take much effort to free one from her scandalous décolletage.
Was she out of her mind? Making out with a stranger in a pantry? She supposed she was, because she had no intention of stopping. Not yet, anyway. She’d connected with this man on some elemental level. Their cells were speaking to one another. She was hungry, starving for this man. It was like her body had recognized what it had been looking for her whole life.
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