Lightning Strikes. Colleen Collins

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СКАЧАТЬ leg brushed against another, feminine one.

      Yeah, let me dream of a lady.

      In the dark haze of his mind, he imagined his fingers touching warm skin. Soft. Supple. As he explored the feminine curve of a back, he was vaguely aware of other sensations.

      Warm, dewy skin.

      Smooth, taut muscle.

      Scented breezes, imbued with a hint of almonds, swirled around them, enveloped them.

      Oh, yeah, let the dream come on.

      He willingly let his mind slip over the edge of reality into a haze.

      The woman liquefied in his arms, her shape conforming to his. He stretched to his full length, relishing the fluidity of curves and bends that molded against his primed body.

      Breasts, soft and full, pressed against him. The puckered tips of nipples tightened, grew hard.

      Feeling her arousal was like an aphrodisiac.

      His fingers explored the terrain. He ran a palm, fingers spread wide, down a taut tummy, played briefly with a navel, then reversed course and crept back up to the soft, round base of a breast.

      He stretched open his fingers even wider, sliding them on either side of a pebbled nipple. With a groan, he rolled the nub between his fingers, tugging it gently.

      A feminine moan. Ragged, breathy. And when her hips ground a little against him, desire shot through him like a bolt of lightning.

      His hand slipped down, instinctively seeking that spot of heat and gratification…

      In her dream, Blaine sat on a chair, staring across the cruise deck at Mount McKinley, which rose like a fore-boding monolith to a sky filled with pristine white clouds. So white, it pained her eyes to stare at it.

      Cool sea breezes ruffled her hair.

      No, fingers ruffled her hair.

      She blinked, groggily aware that the sunlight had faded to black. Hazily aware that the wild and rugged Alaskan terrain had disappeared.

      The dream had shifted, changed.

      She was naked, in the arms of a man.

      She felt mesmerized by his warmth and masculine scent. His solid body crushed her close. So close, she couldn’t tell where her skin ended, where his began. It was as though they were one warm, pulsating body.

      She shuddered a breath, falling further into the dream. Relinquishing herself to it.

      As their bodies shifted, her skin burned and tingled at points where they touched.

      She moaned.

      A deep, throaty groan responded.

      A soothing breeze swept over them. The scent of pine. A dream took shape. Instead of a cruise ship, she lay beneath a tree, the swaying branches sweeping a blue sky. Sweeping, stroking her skin…

      …no, the man’s hand stroked her skin. Down, down…brushing the bend of her waist, inching up her torso and sliding over her breast.

      She gasped and pressed herself into his warm palm. Flames fanned higher as his fingers played lazily around her breast, circling the nipple. Rough, yet sensuous hands. And oh, so sweet the way they moved magically over her skin. Stroking, caressing, teasing…

      Heat swept over her body, then sank through her skin, flooding every cell with a primitive need.

      The hand slipped away.

      The dream suspended. Savage disappointment shot through her.

      His hand wedged between her legs.

      Then he touched her there.

      The world shrank to a focal point of fiery need where his fingers circled and stroked her sex. She tensed, arching her back, aching for release.

      Hot, wet lips suckled her breast and she emitted a soft, guttural cry.

      Wave after wave of heat rushed through her. She needed…more. Maneuvering her pelvis just so, she sank herself onto those skilled fingers.

      Sizzling need coiled within Donovan as velvety heat enveloped his fingers, which mimicked what other parts of him wanted to do.

      Against his chest, he felt feathery shudders of breath.

      And where he touched her. God, that was the sweetest. Her hips thrust against him with a small yearning movement that spread fire through his body.

      Need skyrocketed through him. Unbearable, exquisite need.

      Shadows, like flames, leapt and danced in the periphery of his dream.

      He tugged her snug against him, took his hardened member and slid it into her. God…so…tight. She was so wet, so ready. He shifted his hips, inching farther into silky, feminine folds.

      She moaned, the sound sweet and anxious.

      He slipped deeper until he was fully inside, his desire straining as he fought the urge to explode…to tumble over the edge…

      Her body stiffened. A strangled gasp escalated to a cry as her insides contracted, tighter, tighter…

      He stilled, holding her against him, as though they were poised on the edge of the world.

      And as her insides suddenly convulsed, he buried himself into her, exploding his release.

      BLAINE BLINKED. Sunshine, bright and hot, fell across her face. Hundreds of dust particles swayed and danced in the shaft of dazzling light. She sucked in a breath and coughed.

      Damn allergies. She sniffed. Double damn. She was hopelessly clogged up.

      And hopelessly groggy.

      After rubbing her watery eyes, she again squinted into the sunshine. Above her head, a window was open.

      No wonder she could hardly breathe—all the pollens in Manitou Springs had probably found their way through that opening last night. Two months ago, when she’d rented this room, her dad had warned her about living in a stranger’s house. People will use your things without asking. People won’t respect the ten-to-six rule. The latter being one of her dad’s favorites as long as she could remember—the “ten-to-six” rule being that you turned down the noise from 10:00 p.m. to 6:00 a.m. so people could sleep.

      But she’d just chalked up his warnings to his worrisome nature.

      Except for this morning. Somebody had sneaked into her room and opened her window. That went far beyond simply breaking the ten-to-six rule. That was breaking her fundamental, I need-to-breathe-it’s-allergy-season rule.

      Although which of her roommates would open her window was a mystery. Georgio, who’s real name was George but “Georgio” better fit his flamboyant hair-dresser persona, owned the house. But his master bedroom and bath were at the far end of the house and he never entered her room СКАЧАТЬ