In Dreams. Patricia Rosemoor

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СКАЧАТЬ you don’t make any noise until they’re gone.”

      His breath laved her ear, pebbling the flesh along her spine. She nodded her agreement and true to his word, he released her. It took her a minute to breathe normally again, to stand steadily on her own as she heard the car start and the wheels spin away.

      That’s when, to thank the man who’d saved her life, she turned and triggered the microlight on her key-chain so that she could see her rescuer’s face.

      Sharp features…inky hair…bedroom eyes…

      “Oh, no,” Lucy moaned. “Not you!”

      And then she passed out.

      2

      HE PULSED BEHIND HER as she clung to the iron bedstead on her knees, her bottom pressed into his groin.

      He ran his hands over every inch of her body as if he were trying to memorize her, as if he might be tested as to the fullness of her hips or the firmness of her belly or the sensitivity of her breasts. Mmm, her breasts…he paid special attention to detail there, his clever fingers rolling and tugging the nipples into hard, sensitive points until she cried out in pleasure-pain. Keeping one hand busy tweaking them, he used the other to feather the auburn curls of her pubis with a light touch before dipping into her well.

      “There,” she murmured as he slid a single finger laden with her cream along her clit. “Oh, yes, sweet heaven…”

      She’d never been so wet. Or so deliciously hot.

      She glanced up across to the dresser with its antique mirror where she caught a reflection of their sexual dance. His bedroom eyes glittered at her via the mirror, and their gazes locked.

      Slowly, he rocked into her…buried himself…pulled back so only his tip teased her.

      No, no, fuck me deep and hard.

      She mouthed the words she couldn’t say. Had been raised not to say. She was too much of a lady. Though at the moment, she looked anything but. Wanton. A lust-filled, flushed-face wanton, her red hair wild and radiant. Her lust for him had transformed her into this creature of seduction.

      She could tell he read her lips via the mirror, because his features went taut and his gaze dropped so that he could see what his fingers were doing to her nipple. He squeezed hard and when she sighed, squeezed a little harder until she moaned.

      Licking her lips, she rubbed her breast against his hand and lifted her tush and pushed back so they smacked together with an electric wallop.

      He was doing what she wanted, doing her fast and hard. His slick cock plunged in and out of her. And his finger, oh, his finger was equally delicious, rubbing her with the same speed and intensity.

      For a moment, she closed her eyes and became pure sensation. When she opened them, she caught him watching her again, his eyes narrowed into slits, his mouth open as he gasped harder and faster in perfect rhythm with his actions.

      Letting go of the bedstead, she reached back with one hand through the vee of her thighs and let his cock slide her juices against her fingertips. Then she flexed her fingers and scraped her nails against his hard flesh, and the sensation seemed to undo him. He gave a low shout that unnerved her, and then plunged deep inside.

      Even as waves of pleasure rippled through her, she stared straight ahead at their reflection, fascinated by his expression of pure lust….

      Lucy blinked open her eyes to see the face she’d dreamed. Only rather than expressing lust, it reflected worry. Over her.

      “You’re awake.”

      She blinked and sniffed the air redolent with chicory coffee and andouille sausage. In response to the heavenly smells, her stomach growled.

      “Where am I?” she asked.

      “My family’s fishing camp.”

      Fishing…water splashed somewhere nearby…and the room with nothing but a bed and some pegs on the wall seemed to shift just a little.

      Confused, she murmured, “Feels like we’re moving.”

      “We’re on a houseboat tied to shore.”

      Lucy started to sit up until a sharp pain reminded her that she’d been shot. The breath whooshed out of her and she froze, her hands pressed to the mattress of the double bed.

      “Let me help you.”

      Help meant he had to put his hands on her again. Hands about which she’d dreamed. Erotic hands. Hands that could do more interesting things than help her to sit up.

      The thought made her blush.

      “Well, at least you’ve got some color,” he noted, which made her even warmer.

      When he got her into a sitting position, she realized the wound was bandaged, and that she was still fully clothed. Despite the odds, she was alive and had him to thank for it.

      “I don’t even know your name.”

      “Justin Guidry. Don’t worry about the wound. Flesh only.” He helped her stand. “It’ll smart for a while, but it’ll heal nice.”

      “Dr. Guidry?”

      He shook his head.

      “You’re an EMT?”

      “Nope, not a paramedic, either,” he said, heading for the doorway. “And you can call me Justin.”

      Now truly curious, Lucy followed him into a larger space that served both as kitchen and living room. There was a small couch and rocker set near the Franklin stove, plus a wooden table and a pair of mismatched chairs. The walls were of rough-hewn wood, relieved by a few framed photographs that looked like they’d been taken on family outings.

      The wound twitched and she frowned down at the bandage. Conveniently, the thug had caught her flesh on her side between her crop top and flood pants. There wasn’t even any blood on her clothing.

      “If you’re not a doctor or a medic, then how did you know what to do to take care of me?”

      “Call it instinct, not to mention too much experience tending to my own and brothers’ childhood injuries. Mama probably wished my brothers and I were dead many times over. Not that we used guns on each other. Well, maybe pretend ones.”

      His grin was self-effacing and contagious. Despite the circumstances, Lucy felt herself relax.

      “Thank you, Justin.”

      “That would mean more to me with a proper introduction, so I would know who was thanking me.”

      “Lucy Ryan.”

      His grin widened. “Lucille. Fits you, chère. I always loved that name.” As he took the coffee pot from the stove and filled a mug for her, he said, “Sit,” and began humming the song “Lucille.”

      She didn’t correct him. Didn’t want to admit she СКАЧАТЬ