In Hot Water. Mary Baxter Lynn
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Название: In Hot Water
Автор: Mary Baxter Lynn
Издательство: HarperCollins
Жанр: Зарубежные любовные романы
isbn: 9781472046505
isbn:
Her eyes widened as she realized how large he was inside her.
He paused long enough to whisper, “Are you okay?”
“Yes, oh yes,” she said through gritted teeth, clutching at his back, beckoning him to come more fully inside her, to invade her, to fill her, to give her all to him.
Now.
As if he could read her mind, he ground into her and began pounding her with a force akin to the surf pounding against the beach. She wrapped her legs around his buttocks and felt the silent screams of pleasure bounce around her head as her heart begged for more. She wanted more.
He didn’t know when he’d been this tired. But then he’d worked hard at beating up on his body this morning.
First, he’d run five miles on the beach, which was like running in a straitjacket, then he’d lifted heavier weights than usual in the compact but ample sized gym onboard his sailboat.
Now as he made his way into the outdoor café at the luxury hotel, he realized that his stomach gnawed from lack of food. His overzealous workout had used up what energy he’d had stored.
Still, he shouldn’t be here. He should have already set sail. He hadn’t planned on hanging around the island another day, because he had other places to go, other fish to fry, and because a buddy of his had agreed to meet him in a couple of days for some deep-sea fishing. Yet here he was pulling out a chair in a crowded corner of a café.
So why was he lollygagging?
Her.
He was hoping that he would run into Mildred. He smirked at the thought of her name. It was no more Mildred than his was Stan. But he wasn’t complaining.
He’d take her any way he could get her and under any name, too.
She was a little hottie.
“May I take your order, sir?”
He’d ordered and the waitress hurried off. Holt perused his surroundings. Instantly, his stomach clenched and he sat up straighter. He couldn’t believe his luck. There she was, though not alone. She was with the same three women who had accompanied her to the party. His stomach tightened as he realized his luck had just ended.
What had he expected? A woman with her assets wouldn’t be alone. If she hadn’t been with other women, she would’ve been with a man. No matter. Who she was with or what she was doing was certainly none of his business.
He told himself that last night had been a one-time fling.
She had been lovely in every way imaginable with striking black hair, blue eyes and alabaster skin that was enhanced by a dusting of natural color on her cheeks. Of course, he’d been in the company of more beautiful women than he cared to name. Yet none had affected him like she had.
One look at her and he’d been down for the count.
Had it been her lush, tantalizing lips or her huge eyes that had danced with secrecy when she’d looked at him that had completely unsettled him? Or had it been the whiff of perfume he’d breathed when she’d first passed him? Or her traffic-stopping smile? He decided it had been her entire body, the way all her curves connected in just the right places.
“Can I get you anything else?”
The sound of the waitress’s voice brought him back to reality and after answering no he gazed back at the woman, leaving his breakfast untouched.
He’d never been married to anyone or anything except his work, but he’d slept with his share of women. He’d never quite had as cursory a one-nighter like last evening. But that woman had turned him on faster and more furiously than anyone he’d ever known.
She still did. Just looking at her made his insides burn. He shifted his position for fear someone might see his obvious hard-on.
Fearing, too, that she might spot him staring at her, he forced himself to eat a few bites of the omelet he’d craved moments ago. Now his craving lay elsewhere. His appetite for food gone, he again stared at her.
This morning she was dressed in another pair of shorts and a different halter top that exposed the lightly tanned cleavage between her well-endowed breasts. Remembering how it felt to touch and taste her, he could hardly remain in his seat.
So he stood up. Telling himself he had nothing to lose he took two steps toward her when his cell rang. Cursing, he reached for it at the same time she turned and spotted him. Their eyes locked and he sucked in his breath and held it, waiting for a sign of acknowledgement.
Nothing.
She looked straight through him as if she’d never laid eyes on him. His blood turned to ice. He had figured she was too good to be true. Now he knew it. His cell rang again and, turning away, he barked into the receiver.
One
Two years later
The disinfectant smell of the O.R. seemed more tainted than usual with the metallic odor of blood. Added to the normal tension surrounding a difficult surgical procedure was an almost tangible panic among the assistants to Seymour Ramsey, the tall, silver-haired doctor who alone appeared unaware of the frantic beeping of various monitoring devices. The only visible sign that he might be concerned was the profuse amount of perspiration that saturated his surgical cap and face.
“Doctor, are you all right?” A nurse’s voice broke the tense silence.
Seymour swore under his breath and turned a glassy-eyed look at her. “Yes, dammit. And don’t ask me that again.”
The nurse muttered, “Yes, sir.” But the rigid set of her jaw and the sudden flush in her cheeks revealed her desire to say much more, especially when she stole a glance at the other members of the surgical team.
No one responded to her silent plea. They all continued with their assigned jobs.
A few minutes passed before the anesthesiologist announced, “His blood pressure is dropping, Doctor. He can’t afford to lose much more blood.”
The assisting surgeon glared at Seymour, “What the hell—”
“Just shut up, Chastain.” Seymour’s tone was as harsh as his words. “I know what the fuck I’m doing.”
Silence once again reigned over the room as the nurse mopped Seymour’s wet brow. She jumped slightly when he growled, “I just need one more minute.”
“Better make it a fast minute,” the anesthesiologist countered as he watched the rapidly falling blood pressure of the man on the table. “I’m doing all I can here,” he added with a horrified look on his face.
Moments later, Seymour stepped back and jerked off his mask. “There. It’s done.” He cast a glance toward his fellow surgeon. “Sew him up.”
Seymour stalked out of the O.R. into the doctor’s lounge where he immediately leaned over the sink, turned on the faucet and splashed cold water on his face. He sensed rather than heard someone СКАЧАТЬ