antibiotics and painkillers to take down a horse, her body hadn’t responded yet. He’d watched helplessly as her pale skin had reddened, watched the numbers on the thermometer climb higher. When she’d started to sweat madly and pull at her clothes, he’d taken a deep breath, then done what had to be done.
Gently, he’d tugged off her baggy jeans, her oversized sweater. He’d been momentarily taken aback at the underwear that she had on under her shapeless, dark clothing. Lacy, revealing and dusky purple, the sex-kitten bra and panties were yet one more way that this woman surprised him. Unable to resist, he’d just stood over her for a few seconds, admiring her long, lean body.
And yeah, he had noticed that her legs were curvy and full, her small breasts shapely and pert, her stomach smooth and toned. He’d been as worried as hell about her, but he wasn’t blind, after all, and he’d found himself wondering just why the hell this woman would cover up this hot little body.
He returned to his bedroom now, grabbed a fresh cloth from the hall closet on the way. He stood in the doorway for a few seconds, just looking at the way that the flames from the bedroom fireplace danced over her tousled blonde hair, over her sleek curves. That was when she moaned and turned her head away from him.
The small sound jolted him back in to the moment, and he hurried over to sit next to her on the bed. He dipped the cloth in the cool water, touched it to her heated body. Slowly, carefully. Trying so damn hard to help her, any way that he could.
He started at her forehead, ran the rough-soft material over her flushed face. He traced the hollow of her throat, then down. Between her perfect breasts, back up and over her slim shoulders, the length of both arms. When he reached her wrists, he barely touched them – the bruising was an ugly, mottled purple now, and he dreaded the possibility of causing her any more pain.
He wrung out the cloth, refreshed the water, moved on to the curve of her hips, the groove of her stomach. He paused at the waistband of those fucking incredible lace panties, aching to see under them. He saw the outline of her sex through the tight material and to his horror, he hardened.
God , he was a bastard. The woman was helpless and unconscious, and here he was staring at the place where her pussy lips met. That honeyed line taunted him, tormented him, and he ached to slide those sexy-as-hell little panties down her endless legs, bury his tongue in her sweetness.
Yeah, she’d be sweet. He knew it.
“Get a hold of yourself, man,” he muttered aloud. “Don’t be an asshole here.”
Hearing his own voice steadied him, somehow, and he refreshed the cloth again. Then he moved down her legs, avoiding the wrap bandage around her wound. He stroked the cloth down all the way to her delicate ankles and slim feet, before working his way back up the whole length of her body.
Her astounding, astonishing, amazing body.
“Mind out of the gutter, dickhead,” he said to himself. “Jesus Christ.”
Shay sighed, murmured something. Warren leaned in, hoping that she’d open her eyes.
“Shay?” He touched her cheek, thought that she felt a bit cooler. “You awake, honey?”
She whimpered and twisted, then she surprised him by half-sitting up, and cuddling up to him. Without one second of thought, he tugged her in to his arms, pulled her in tight. Her skin was so soft, so smooth, and he was totally unable to stop himself from lowering his lips to her hair. He dropped a tiny kiss on the top of her head, inhaling the fragrance of vanilla and something else. Something sweet and strong.
Just like her.
“Shay?” he whispered in her ear. “Open your eyes if you can hear me.”
She made a sound in her throat, something hurt and lost. She was totally limp in his embrace, her whole body heavy on his chest. Slowly, not wanting to jostle her, he lay down, pulling her with him as he went. She stiffened, just for a
Gently, he’d tugged off her baggy jeans, her oversized sweater. He’d been momentarily taken aback at the underwear that she had on under her shapeless, dark clothing. Lacy, revealing and dusky purple, the sex-kitten bra and panties were yet one more way that this woman surprised him. Unable to resist, he’d just stood over her for a few seconds, admiring her long, lean body.
And yeah, he had noticed that her legs were curvy and full, her small breasts shapely and pert, her stomach smooth and toned. He’d been as worried as hell about her, but he wasn’t blind, after all, and he’d found himself wondering just why the hell this woman would cover up this hot little body.
He returned to his bedroom now, grabbed a fresh cloth from the hall closet on the way. He stood in the doorway for a few seconds, just looking at the way that the flames from the bedroom fireplace danced over her tousled blonde hair, over her sleek curves. That was when she moaned and turned her head away from him.
The small sound jolted him back in to the moment, and he hurried over to sit next to her on the bed. He dipped the cloth in the cool water, touched it to her heated body. Slowly, carefully. Trying so damn hard to help her, any way that he could.
He started at her forehead, ran the rough-soft material over her flushed face. He traced the hollow of her throat, then down. Between her perfect breasts, back up and over her slim shoulders, the length of both arms. When he reached her wrists, he barely touched them – the bruising was an ugly, mottled purple now, and he dreaded the possibility of causing her any more pain.
He wrung out the cloth, refreshed the water, moved on to the curve of her hips, the groove of her stomach. He paused at the waistband of those fucking incredible lace panties, aching to see under them. He saw the outline of her sex through the tight material and to his horror, he hardened.
God , he was a bastard. The woman was helpless and unconscious, and here he was staring at the place where her pussy lips met. That honeyed line taunted him, tormented him, and he ached to slide those sexy-as-hell little panties down her endless legs, bury his tongue in her sweetness.
Yeah, she’d be sweet. He knew it.
“Get a hold of yourself, man,” he muttered aloud. “Don’t be an asshole here.”
Hearing his own voice steadied him, somehow, and he refreshed the cloth again. Then he moved down her legs, avoiding the wrap bandage around her wound. He stroked the cloth down all the way to her delicate ankles and slim feet, before working his way back up the whole length of her body.
Her astounding, astonishing, amazing body.
“Mind out of the gutter, dickhead,” he said to himself. “Jesus Christ.”
Shay sighed, murmured something. Warren leaned in, hoping that she’d open her eyes.
“Shay?” He touched her cheek, thought that she felt a bit cooler. “You awake, honey?”
She whimpered and twisted, then she surprised him by half-sitting up, and cuddling up to him. Without one second of thought, he tugged her in to his arms, pulled her in tight. Her skin was so soft, so smooth, and he was totally unable to stop himself from lowering his lips to her hair. He dropped a tiny kiss on the top of her head, inhaling the fragrance of vanilla and something else. Something sweet and strong.
Just like her.
“Shay?” he whispered in her ear. “Open your eyes if you can hear me.”
She made a sound in her throat, something hurt and lost. She was totally limp in his embrace, her whole body heavy on his chest. Slowly, not wanting to jostle her, he lay down, pulling her with him as he went. She stiffened, just for a
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