wouldn't you?" She had intended her words to sound like an accusation, but to her dismay, they came out like a suggestion.
He took one step closer and she could feel his breath sweeping her upturn ed face, though the darkness ob scured his features. He continued to incline toward her until he trapped her between him and the wall. His body was as rigid and tense as hers. It was like being pressed by a statue.
But the statue came to life.
The clay had not yet been baked to its rock hardness.
Instead, it was still being molded—against her. It took shape by adjusting its form to hers until it was a perfect, complementing fit.
From the corner of her eye, she saw him raise his arm, and she thought that he was about to embrace her. But his outstretched hand flicked on the light switch in the bathroom behind her.
The sudden brightness dispelled the moment that
seemed to have lasted for a small eternity. She turned away quickly and maneuvered her bags through the door of the bathroom.
"Don't take too long or I'll come in there and get you."
"Aren't you going to leave?" she asked in horror as he leaned against the doorjamb.
"Un-huh," he said, shaking his head.
Her lips compressed in fury, and she deliberately slammed the door in his mocking face.
She dropped her luggage on the floor and supported herself against the lavatory with stiff arms. Drawing several deep breaths, she closed her eyes and tried to wipe out the vision of his face. It swam before her and she continued to tremble even as she turned on the cold water faucet.
He was a brute. Obnoxious. Unfeeling. Yet here she was, acting like an idiot, shaken and disoriented after one brief contact with him. She had actually wanted him to kiss her again. God forbid!
Still, she couldn't help but wonder what his lips would feel like in a tender kiss. The one he had given her earlier today had been a test. He had wanted to see how far she would carry her "brother" story. The kiss had been fierce and hard. But for one millesimal of a second, when his tongue had ceased to lash the hollows of her mouth, paused, and then merely touched the tip of her tongue, hadn't she discerned an instant of sweet tenderness?
No! she thought as she brushed her teeth with a vigor hopefully strong enough to rid her mouth of every lingering trace of him.
She creamed her face and brushed her hair. It was no small task to open out her larger suitcase in the small space, but she managed to open a narrow wedge wide enough for her hand to explore its contents.
By feel, she located a pair of jeans and a T-shirt. The jeans weren't the designer brand she usually wore starched and stiff. This pair was old and faded and laundered into softness. With much twisting and turning, she managed to get out of her wrinkled suit and pull on the jeans.
For a moment she deliberated about taking off her bra.
She hated to sleep in one all night, so she unclasped it quickly before she could change her mind and sighed in relief at the freedom. Even though she had crossed the c onfidence-shattering line from her twenties on her last birthday, she knew that her model's figure was still firm enough to forsake a bra now and then. Tonight it wouldn't matter.
When she pulled the T-shirt over her head, she saw that since its recent washing, it was slightly tighter. It did matter that she hadn't left on her bra. Her breasts looked far too impudent and eager to go without one. Sighing, she grasped the hem of the shirt and was about to take it off when Lance knocked on the door.
"Time's up," he said tersely.
"I'll be out in a minute. I'm almost fin—"
Before she could complete the sentence, he opened the door. For a moment, with her arms crossed over her chest and the bottom of her shirt raised, he caught a glimpse of the smooth expanse of her stomach and the merest hint of two crescents under soft pink cotton.
Erin pulled down the T-shirt. As though drawn by. a magnet, his eyes riveted on her breasts. She could feel
He took one step closer and she could feel his breath sweeping her upturn ed face, though the darkness ob scured his features. He continued to incline toward her until he trapped her between him and the wall. His body was as rigid and tense as hers. It was like being pressed by a statue.
But the statue came to life.
The clay had not yet been baked to its rock hardness.
Instead, it was still being molded—against her. It took shape by adjusting its form to hers until it was a perfect, complementing fit.
From the corner of her eye, she saw him raise his arm, and she thought that he was about to embrace her. But his outstretched hand flicked on the light switch in the bathroom behind her.
The sudden brightness dispelled the moment that
seemed to have lasted for a small eternity. She turned away quickly and maneuvered her bags through the door of the bathroom.
"Don't take too long or I'll come in there and get you."
"Aren't you going to leave?" she asked in horror as he leaned against the doorjamb.
"Un-huh," he said, shaking his head.
Her lips compressed in fury, and she deliberately slammed the door in his mocking face.
She dropped her luggage on the floor and supported herself against the lavatory with stiff arms. Drawing several deep breaths, she closed her eyes and tried to wipe out the vision of his face. It swam before her and she continued to tremble even as she turned on the cold water faucet.
He was a brute. Obnoxious. Unfeeling. Yet here she was, acting like an idiot, shaken and disoriented after one brief contact with him. She had actually wanted him to kiss her again. God forbid!
Still, she couldn't help but wonder what his lips would feel like in a tender kiss. The one he had given her earlier today had been a test. He had wanted to see how far she would carry her "brother" story. The kiss had been fierce and hard. But for one millesimal of a second, when his tongue had ceased to lash the hollows of her mouth, paused, and then merely touched the tip of her tongue, hadn't she discerned an instant of sweet tenderness?
No! she thought as she brushed her teeth with a vigor hopefully strong enough to rid her mouth of every lingering trace of him.
She creamed her face and brushed her hair. It was no small task to open out her larger suitcase in the small space, but she managed to open a narrow wedge wide enough for her hand to explore its contents.
By feel, she located a pair of jeans and a T-shirt. The jeans weren't the designer brand she usually wore starched and stiff. This pair was old and faded and laundered into softness. With much twisting and turning, she managed to get out of her wrinkled suit and pull on the jeans.
For a moment she deliberated about taking off her bra.
She hated to sleep in one all night, so she unclasped it quickly before she could change her mind and sighed in relief at the freedom. Even though she had crossed the c onfidence-shattering line from her twenties on her last birthday, she knew that her model's figure was still firm enough to forsake a bra now and then. Tonight it wouldn't matter.
When she pulled the T-shirt over her head, she saw that since its recent washing, it was slightly tighter. It did matter that she hadn't left on her bra. Her breasts looked far too impudent and eager to go without one. Sighing, she grasped the hem of the shirt and was about to take it off when Lance knocked on the door.
"Time's up," he said tersely.
"I'll be out in a minute. I'm almost fin—"
Before she could complete the sentence, he opened the door. For a moment, with her arms crossed over her chest and the bottom of her shirt raised, he caught a glimpse of the smooth expanse of her stomach and the merest hint of two crescents under soft pink cotton.
Erin pulled down the T-shirt. As though drawn by. a magnet, his eyes riveted on her breasts. She could feel
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