Dangerous Race by Dee J. Adams Page A

move might find her backing away again. Of course, she couldn’t run if she wasn’t on her feet. He lifted her in his arms and continued to her bedroom, then set her down next to the bed.
    Matthew couldn’t remember the last time he’d anticipated being with a woman this much. He eased one red strap over her shoulder, along her smooth skin. “You are so soft,” he murmured.
    Her goose bumps returned.
    That his simple touch affected her so plainly aroused him as much as her kiss. “I like when you do that,” he said, his voice husky.
    “Do what?”
    Testing his theory, he traced a finger across her collarbone. “That,” he said, when he got the same reaction.
    A nervous giggle bubbled from her lips. “I don’t really have a choice,” she replied. “It happens when you touch me, or say something nice.”
    He moved the other strap and more goose bumps rose under his touch. His gaze shifted back to her eyes before his lips brushed against hers. Slowly, he pulled down the zipper of her dress. His fingers grazed her spine and a low, throaty moan vibrated in her throat.
    He trailed his mouth to her neck and collarbone, kissing and tasting. “You are amazing,” he murmured against her skin. He took a gentle bite of her shoulder, and she gasped. Matthew lifted his head. Her gaze skittered around the room before she looked at him.
    “I’m a little nervous,” she breathed.
    Smiling, he grazed his thumb across her jaw. “So am I.” And he didn’t know why. Something about her just blew him away. He moved closer and brushed his lips across hers again. Maybe he needed to start over. Move a little slower. He caressed her silky bare shoulders and arms until the anticipation of more sent all the blood downstairs and he couldn’t wait any longer. He eased her dress apart from the back.
    Chelsea pulled back a fraction. “Wait a minute,” she whispered.
    He stopped. Didn’t want to rush her. They had all night, and he had no problem taking it slow.
    “Can I look at you first?” she asked.
    She wanted to see the goods. Okay, he could do that. He smiled, nodded, then pulled his T-shirt over his head and unbuttoned his jeans.
    “Stop,” she blurted. He glanced up and her cheeks turned red. “I mean slow down. I want to go slow. I think I need to go slow.”
    “Slow is good. Slow is very good,” he murmured.
    She licked her lips and swallowed, and it took everything Matthew had to stay rooted to the spot. He’d never wanted a woman this badly before.
     
    A whole new wave of chills traveled over Chelsea’s body as she looked at Matthew. He was gorgeous. Dark curly hair couldn’t hide the muscled planes of his chest. She ached to touch the ridges of his abdomen. A line of dark hair narrowed and disappeared under the loosened waistband of his black jeans.
    “Touch me, Chels.”
    His soft-spoken words were more of a plea than a demand. Tentatively, she reached out and touched the solid wall of skin and hair. His muscles danced under her fingers, a sure sign that he wasn’t unaffected by her touch. It gave her the nerve to continue. She placed a second hand on him, smoothed it down and followed the lines of his stomach.
    His clenched jaw and blazing eyes empowered her. Courage swelled and she stepped back, eased her dress off the rest of the way. The silky red material pooled at her feet, leaving her bare-breasted. A scrap of thong barely covered the rest of her. Goose bumps rose as Matthew’s gaze took her in. Contrary to his opinion, she didn’t think they were sexy at all.
    On second thought, the way he was looking at her made her feel absolutely sexy. And the bulge in his jeans, oh God, the gigantic bulge in his jeans made her feel…well…totally desirable.
    “I can either take off these damn jeans or touch you. Which?”
    Chelsea didn’t know what struck her as funny. The way he posed the question or the voice in which he posed it. Try as she might, she couldn’t hold in the burst of laughter that