Mac's Angels: The Last Dance: A Loveswept Classic Romance by Sandra Chastain Page B

back to her lap.
    “Please, Sterling, let me?” He swung her around, reached up, and, before she could protest, caught the zipper at the back of her neck and gave ita jerk. The dress slipped down and puddled at her feet.
    “Mac!”
    “Don’t panic, Sterling, I’ve seen women undressed before. I’m in the rescue business, remember?” He caught the half-slip and peeled it down, then lowered her to the bed and covered her with the robe lying at the edge of the mattress. “I’ll get your nightgown.”
    From the time Sterling had looked into the eyes of the man who’d shot her, she’d felt as if she were in a bad dream. But never had her dreams—even the good ones—taken her to a bedroom in a mountain fortress where a man like Mac took off her clothing as if he did it every day.
    She felt as if she were standing outside herself, watching, as he returned with a long-sleeved flannel garment.
    “Well,” Mac said, “I’ll have to speak with Elizabeth. Betty Rubble might sleep in something like this, but not Moneypenny. I have it on good authority that 007’s Moneypenny wears nothing at all.”
    “You do?”
    “Of course,” he said as he gently threaded the nightgown over her head. “Why do you think Bond is the perennial bachelor. He may play, but he always goes home, doesn’t he? I think I’m going to have to update your wardrobe.” Beneath the gown, he deftly unhooked her bra.
    She managed to slide the bra off her shoulders, but her attempt to put her arms in the sleeves was anexercise in futility. At a time like this her spinal cord failed her, pinching off the muscles and nerves that controlled her movements. Mac watched for a moment, then took one arm at a time and inserted it into the proper sleeve.
    “Shall I remove your stockings?” he asked.
    “No! No, I’ll … I’ll do it.” But when she leaned forward, her spine creaked a protest louder than her own choked-back moan.
    “What you’ll do, Sterling, is lie down.” He removed her shoes and lifted her, placing her head on the pillow and her legs on the bed. He sat down beside her and reached for the hem of her gown.
    “Please, Mac. Don’t.”
    “Close your eyes, Sterling. Just this once don’t try to be Superwoman. This is simply one individual caring for another. That’s what I’ll expect from you at some point. That’s what angels do. Will you let me?”
    She closed her eyes, trying desperately to breathe evenly so that Mac wouldn’t know the wild desire that his touch caused her to feel. Since she’d been released from the hospital, the only man who’d touched her so intimately had been her therapist and that had lasted only as long as it took for her to find a woman to replace him.
    Until she’d been shot, she’d considered her body physically desirable. That’s what her fiancé had said, and she’d believed him. She’d lain in his arms after they’d made love and planned a future of togetherness. He really had tried to feel the same after herinjury, but he hadn’t. There came a time when he couldn’t touch her anymore and they’d both known that whatever they’d shared was over.
    Mac’s fingertips moved lightly up her legs, to her hips, following the seam of her panty hose. He peeled them down, lifting one hip, then the other to remove the dark filmy hose. She tightened her muscles, trying to conceal the trembling that his touch set off.
    What was happening here was wrong. Mac had deliberately not mentioned this Jessie he spoke of earlier, and she’d delayed asking about her. She couldn’t justify this deliberate oversight, nor could she deny the strong desire to wrap her arms around this man, hold him close as he—
    She swallowed hard. “Mac?” Her voice sounded shaky. She tried again. “Mac, thank you. I know you’ve gone out of your way to make me feel safe. But I think it’s time for you to go.”
    He picked up her feet and completed his task of removing the hose, which he then rubbed between his thumb