Take My Breath Away.... Cara Summers

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       Keep your eyes on the shirt. On his face. But not on his mouth. That was a definite danger zone.

      By the time she’d pushed the T-shirt up to his armpits, Nicola was aware of two things. She had some control over her eyes, but none over what she was feeling as her fingers brushed against that smooth skin stretched taut over rock-hard muscles. The little flame of lust this man had ignited in her was being fanned brighter and stronger with each contact.

      She kept her eyes steady on his face, on the dark slash of brows, the shadow of a beard on that strong angled chin as she moved behind him. But her mind wandered, wondered. So far the touching had been purely clinical. Almost. And one-sided. Definitely. Still, her throat had gone dry and her pulse was racing. What would happen if she ran her hands over him with the intent of arousing him, pleasuring him? And what if he touched her back?

       Whoa.

      Just thinking about it stopped her teeth from chattering and made her heart pound so loudly that she was amazed the noise didn’t wake him up. She carefully maneuvered the T-shirt off one arm, then the other before she eased it carefully around the wound on his forehead.

      Then her gaze slid to where it had wanted to be from the beginning. She sat back on her heels and simply stared, letting her eyes feast on what her hands had already gotten more than a hint of. The muscles in his shoulders and upper arms were well-defined; his chest was broad with a triangle of thick black hair that tapered down over equally defined abs. The man was built like a Greek god. She could imagine him in bronze or sculpted in marble.

      She shivered then and shook her head. She had to get a grip. He wasn’t a god. He was a man who might be in shock, who was in danger of slipping into hypothermia.

      Moving quickly, she grabbed one of the robes, opened it up and tucked it along the length of him from shoulders to boots on one side. Then she did the same on the other side. A part of him would still be lying on the cold marble, but there was no way she was going to be able to roll him over.

      The man was so tall she had to use two of the shorter robes to fully cover him. After she’d arranged them, she leaned down and patted his cheek again.

      “It’s going to be all right,” she said.

      His lashes fluttered. “C … c … old.”

      “I know. You’ll be warm soon. I promise.”

      How soon? That was the crucial question. There were only two robes left. She’d had some idea of using them for herself.

      She glanced at her coat. It was damp on the outside. And she was going to have to get out of her wet slacks and boots.

      And then what?

      Nicola very carefully avoided looking at the man. Because the answer was obvious. And it had been there lurking in the back of her mind ever since she’d started undressing him.

      She was an FBI agent. She’d been trained in survival tactics, and the quickest, most efficient way to keep both of them warm—for the time being—was to share everything. Including body heat.

      And the only reason she was stalling was because of the effect this man—this complete stranger—had on her senses. Annoyed—no, angry at herself, Nicola arranged the last two robes. They were both adults. And she was the only fully conscious one. What was her problem?

      She tugged off her boots. If he tried anything, she could handle herself. Shrugging out of her holster, she placed it next to her gun and the flashlight.

      But what if you try something?

      “Not happening,” Nicola muttered as she wiggled out of her wet trousers. A little fantasizing, a little lust. She could handle it.

      But she didn’t look at him as she joined him beneath the pile of robes.

      Every muscle in her body tensed when his arm snaked around her and pulled her close. Suddenly she was wrapped around him as intimately as a lover—her thigh across his, her head nestled into the crook of his shoulder. She might have objected if she hadn’t felt a blast of warmth at each and every contact point.

      Or if he’d moved another muscle.

      But he didn’t.

      She waited, counting the seconds … five … ten … fifteen … twenty.

      But the only thing that moved was the rise and fall of his chest beneath her palm. Still, she kept her eyes open, her mind alert as the seconds stretched into minutes.

      But he lay there, still as a stone. And all the while the warmth spread, slowly, deliciously until she was certain she could feel it penetrate her muscles and even her bones. The instant she could feel her toes again and wiggle them, she considered moving. It would be the prudent thing to do.

      And she’d always figured herself for a practical kind of woman.

      He was warm now. She could feel the heat of his skin beneath her palm and along her stomach where her jacket had pulled open. It was probably safe to move away. It was probably safer to move away.

      The yawn took her by surprise. Even more surprising was the realization that at some point she’d relaxed fully against him. And she didn’t want to move.

      Not the most practical decision. She’d reconsider it in a minute. Just one more minute …

       4

      GABE SURFACED QUICKLY this time and began to orient himself. There was still pain thrumming at the back of his head and near his temple.

      The fight.

      The details were there, but he pushed them away for now, along with the pain. Both were secondary.

      Primary was the flood of sensations storming through his system because of the woman. He was surrounded by them, trapped by them. The pressure of each one of the fingers splayed across his chest might have been a brand. The leg she’d thrown across him imprisoned his thighs and ignited an almost uncontrollable fire in his loins. His whole body was aroused, throbbing.

      Who?

      Opening his eyes, he shifted slowly until their positions were reversed. Her head lay in the crook of his arm, and it was his leg that held her prisoner now. Even as her eyelashes fluttered and then stilled, recognition streamed through him.

      Nicola Guthrie.

      What the hell was she doing here? He gave his head a shake, hoping to clear the fog. Pain stabbed. He shut his eyes against it and gritted his teeth as he willed details into place.

      He remembered Father Mike’s phone call about the note, the long drive through the storm. He’d arrived at the church, hoping to surprise the thief. Instead, he’d been the one surprised. He recalled the open window that had lured him into the choir room and the blow to his head. But it hadn’t taken him out. He’d managed that on his own. The last thing he could dredge up was his feet flying out from beneath him. That’s when the fireworks had exploded in his brain.

      Moving more carefully this time, he glanced around the room. A flashlight and candles provided СКАЧАТЬ