Body Heat by Susan Fox Page B

leaned over and buried his face in her hair, then, finally, he kissed her lips. It was a quick kiss, only whetting her appetite.
    He took her hand, tugged it gently. “Lie down with me.”
    Vaguely, she wondered where their cat had gone, but then she and Jesse were sinking together to the grass and it was soft, so soft, under her. She sat, leaning back on one hand, reaching the other to touch his cheek. “Jesse . . .”
    He gathered a handful of pale pink petals from the grass and scattered them in her hair. “You look like a wood nymph. A princess. Titania.”
    She gave a blissful sigh. Who would have guessed that Jesse Blue knew A Midsummer Night’s Dream ? That he could be so poetic?
    He stretched out beside her and she leaned over him, petals drifting down from her hair. She took that sexy gold earring between her teeth and tugged gently.
    He chuckled.
    Then she nipped his earlobe and ran her tongue around the inside.
    He stopped chuckling and gave a soft groan.
    She trailed kisses down his neck and across his Adam’s apple. Today, she was the snake, tempting him—though he wasn’t putting up much of a fight. His hands were warm on her back, lifting her blouse, insinuating their way underneath. Caressing bare skin and moving up to the fastener of her bra.
    He was wearing a black T-shirt and she kissed her way around the neck of it. Then she said, in a seductive growl, “Take it off.”
    “Only if you do the same.”
    At that moment his fingers unfastened the clasp of her bra. “I’ll . . . think about it,” she murmured, suddenly nervous. “You first.”
    Breathless, she watched as he sat up to strip off the T-shirt. First, he tugged it free from his jeans, then he crossed his arms in front of him, each hand grabbing an edge of the bottom. He began to peel the cloth upward, and she saw a flat, bronzed stomach, then an arching rib cage, then firm muscles, dark curls of hair, small nipples. Everything was so foreign, so very male, so absolutely perfect.
    She leaned down to bury her face in his chest, but his hands gripped her shoulders. “Now you.”
    Her breasts, confined inside her blouse, inside her unhooked bra, were heavy. Aching. For his touch. She might be nervous, but yes, she wanted this. “Unbutton me,” she murmured.
    Those deft fingers went to the top button of her blouse and he slipped it free, then moved down, one by one. Her blouse separated slightly, and he made no effort to pull the sides apart. It was like he was drawing out the moment, the anticipation.
    Then he said, “Take it off, Maura.”
    With shaky hands she obeyed, easing her way out of the blouse, holding it bundled in front of her for a long moment, then finally tossing it to the floor. She realized they were in bed now, a huge bed with ivory sheets and pillowcases with embroidered edges. She was entranced by the sight of Jesse’s dark masculinity against the pristine sheets.
    “So beautiful,” he murmured.
    She glanced down at herself, startled to see that her bra, barely clinging to her breasts now, was a lacy peach-colored one. When had she acquired that? But that thought fled, too, as Jesse reached up to peel the fabric away from her, his hand so brown compared to her pale skin and the pastel fabric.
    Her nipples were hard, blatantly inviting him to touch them. And he accepted the invitation. He cupped her breasts in his hands, and she felt the roughness of his skin abrade delicate female flesh, a sensation the likes of which she’d never experienced before.
    His eyes were glazed with desire. He opened his mouth and said—
    “It’s seven o’clock and a beautiful sunny Sunday morning.”
    Maura jerked awake and slapped at the clock-radio beside her bed. Aagh! What the heck was she doing dreaming about Jesse Blue? Dreaming about things she’d never experienced—not even during intercourse—things she must have subconsciously absorbed from movies and books?
    And here she was, feeling all swollen and achy and . . .