Doing It Right by MaryJanice Davidson Page A

clip keeping her hair up. Suddenly the rich blond waves were tumbling past his hands. He groaned and buried his face in her hair.
    “Oh, we can’t,” she said in one breath, then nipped at his ear with her small teeth.
    “We hardly know each other,” he agreed with a groan, and kissed her throat. He brought his hands down to her waist, across her taut stomach, and up under her T-shirt. He closed his eyes and rubbed his face against her hair like a cat, for Jared Dean was a pure sensualist and nothing was more delightful to him than the feel and smell of a woman’s skin and hair.
    He explored her body as a blind man would, bringing his palms across the muscles in her abdomen, sliding up, marveling at the sleek power contained in her body. He found her bra and—hooray!—realized the clasp was in front; with one sure tug the fabric parted and her breasts were in his hands. He groaned again at the sheer joy of it, of her. Firm and sweet and fitting exactly into his palms, he caressed the tender undersides with his knuckles, then brought his thumbs to her nipples. She moaned and pressed against him as he stroked the stiff peaks, then kissed him so hard his lips flattened against his teeth. He had time for a dazed thought—
Did I ever think this woman was a cool one?
—before she was tugging at his shirt so hard, he could hear the buttons popping off and clattering on the bathroom tile.
    “That’s right, you’re strong, rip our clothes off, rip
all
of our clothes off,” he mumbled in delirious joy. “Take me, I’m yours.” Her soft laughter brought a silly, pleased grin to his face.
    She started to lean forward to kiss his now bare chest, but he stopped her long enough to pull her shirt over her head. Her bra straps were sliding off both shoulders but he couldn’t take the time to help her out of it; he was transfixed by the perfection of her upper body. Slim, yet sleekly muscled, with proud, high breasts, her nipples were the dark pink of prairie roses and he would have gladly traded his medical license for a taste. Praise all the gods who ever were, he didn’t have to. He kissed one, then licked, then sucked, pressing the nippleto the roof of his mouth and tightening his grip at her sigh.
    His arms were around her waist, then slid lower to cup her firm buttocks and pull her gently against his groin. She pushed back and he loosened his grip at once, but to his delight she wasn’t pulling away, just trying to get more room. It was then that he noticed his nimble-fingered Kara had gotten his fly unbuttoned and his zipper down without him noticing.
    And then her fingers were curving around his shaft, gripping him with cool and delicious friction, and he had time for one distracting thought—
God, don’t let this be another fantasy
—before gladly giving in to the sensation. Kara’s fingers, which slipped past locks and dealt blows hard enough to fell grown men, were the sweetest of dreams as she caressed, stroked, squeezed.
    “OhKaraGod,” he gasped, then brought her breasts together and ran his tongue along her cleavage as her breathing harshened and her fingers ran across his now slippery tip. He groaned and managed to stop himself from squeezing the pale globes until he marked her with his fingers. He wanted to mark her. He wanted to kiss and suck every inch of her body, leave a ring of hickeys around her throat like a necklace, wanted to write his name on her forehead with a laundry marker, wanted to marry her so she would be his forever, and he hers. Instead, he stopped himself from squeezing and attacked the button fly of her jeans. Being a fumble-fingered physician, his techniquewasn’t nearly as stealthy as hers. She didn’t, thank God, seem to mind.
    “More.”
    “Yes.”
    “I want—”
    “That’s so good—”
    “Yes, you—”
    “You—”
    “Oh yes—”
    He didn’t know who was saying what, didn’t care, it didn’t matter. The only things in the world were her breath, her skin, her