Chapter One
The warmth of his hand spiralled through her body, sending a buzz of expectancy to every nerve ending as she held her breath, not daring to move, not daring to murmur; just letting the sensual strokes from hip to knee stir the want deep inside her.
Hayley Tring loved this moment between sleep and wakefulness, when the dream was real, when she could feel it, savour it, her whole body floating effortlessly along poised on the edge of orgasm. When sensuality took over from the harsh reality of urgency and want, and time seemed to be suspended.
A sigh escaped her body and she shifted her hips slightly, anticipating the heat of his hand drifting up between her thighs, of his knowing fingers …
‘Hey, sleeping beauty, I knew you’d wake eventually.’
Shit. Every iota of dreamy want shot straight from her body as she went from slumber to wide awake. That “eyes-wide-open” kind of wide awake. And all she could see was a broad chest with a sprinkle of damp, curly hairs. A broad chest that smelled of male, of sweat, of sex; a broad chest that she was close enough to taste. All she had to do was open her mouth, reach out with the tip of her tongue …
Or there again maybe not, because it wasn’t a wonderful dream – every mind-blowing memory of last night flooded back with crystal clarity. It was reality, going under the name of Tom.
Hayley groaned inwardly. Tom, maybe not the most gorgeous man she had ever set eyes on, but definitely a man she hadn’t been able to take her eyes off. A man she had undressed with her mind a million times before he’d introduced himself, which was probably why her brain had assigned him dream status. She knew what moth to the flame meant now. And it was the wrong time to get burnt, so completely and utterly the wrong time. Which was why he shouldn’t be here now, however knee-tremblingly gorgeous he was. Why she should have said no. And why, once she worked out how to speak again, she had to tell him to go.
Oh God. She froze a bit more, if that was possible. It wasn’t just that she had her hand on him, she was practically hanging on. And her leg was wrapped round his long, hard thigh in a loving death grip. Shit. And what made him 100 per cent, no room for doubt, flesh and blood real was the twitching erection that seemed to be growing by the second, nudging against her crotch. Which could be partly because she’d been rubbing against him like some sex-starved nympho when she’d thought he was her imaginary friend from the land of nod. And could be partly, oh hell, because of the way she’d begged him for more last night. When she’d let excitement and need take over from common sense. Please, if there’s a God, let the ground open up and swallow me whole.
Shit. She wanted to move, and not in a seductive way, but how the hell did she do that without disturbing him, without making it all even more real? And awkward.
His chuckle reverberated through her. ‘Something we did must have worn you out.’ She could feel the gentle tug, a tug of tingling awareness that was running over her scalp, trickling through her body as he twirled a lock of her hair round his finger. The heat of his other hand on her hip completed the glowing circle of need he was creating in her body. ‘How about I make us a nice fry-up, Miss Sexy?’
‘No.’ She hadn’t meant to shout, it just came out. But at least she’d remembered how to speak. She ran her tongue over suddenly dry lips.
‘No? You don’t do fry-ups?’
‘No. I mean, yes, I mean, I do fry-ups but I’ve got work to do. Lots of work.’ Which was almost true. ‘Sorry.’ Trying to wriggle away didn’t seem like a good idea; maybe a quick leap was the answer before her body decided it had its own agenda and her best intentions leapt out of the window. Again.
‘Jug of coffee, then?’
‘No.’ Yes. Boy, she could kill for a good, strong shot of uncomplicated caffeine; it might even straighten her befuddled brain
The warmth of his hand spiralled through her body, sending a buzz of expectancy to every nerve ending as she held her breath, not daring to move, not daring to murmur; just letting the sensual strokes from hip to knee stir the want deep inside her.
Hayley Tring loved this moment between sleep and wakefulness, when the dream was real, when she could feel it, savour it, her whole body floating effortlessly along poised on the edge of orgasm. When sensuality took over from the harsh reality of urgency and want, and time seemed to be suspended.
A sigh escaped her body and she shifted her hips slightly, anticipating the heat of his hand drifting up between her thighs, of his knowing fingers …
‘Hey, sleeping beauty, I knew you’d wake eventually.’
Shit. Every iota of dreamy want shot straight from her body as she went from slumber to wide awake. That “eyes-wide-open” kind of wide awake. And all she could see was a broad chest with a sprinkle of damp, curly hairs. A broad chest that smelled of male, of sweat, of sex; a broad chest that she was close enough to taste. All she had to do was open her mouth, reach out with the tip of her tongue …
Or there again maybe not, because it wasn’t a wonderful dream – every mind-blowing memory of last night flooded back with crystal clarity. It was reality, going under the name of Tom.
Hayley groaned inwardly. Tom, maybe not the most gorgeous man she had ever set eyes on, but definitely a man she hadn’t been able to take her eyes off. A man she had undressed with her mind a million times before he’d introduced himself, which was probably why her brain had assigned him dream status. She knew what moth to the flame meant now. And it was the wrong time to get burnt, so completely and utterly the wrong time. Which was why he shouldn’t be here now, however knee-tremblingly gorgeous he was. Why she should have said no. And why, once she worked out how to speak again, she had to tell him to go.
Oh God. She froze a bit more, if that was possible. It wasn’t just that she had her hand on him, she was practically hanging on. And her leg was wrapped round his long, hard thigh in a loving death grip. Shit. And what made him 100 per cent, no room for doubt, flesh and blood real was the twitching erection that seemed to be growing by the second, nudging against her crotch. Which could be partly because she’d been rubbing against him like some sex-starved nympho when she’d thought he was her imaginary friend from the land of nod. And could be partly, oh hell, because of the way she’d begged him for more last night. When she’d let excitement and need take over from common sense. Please, if there’s a God, let the ground open up and swallow me whole.
Shit. She wanted to move, and not in a seductive way, but how the hell did she do that without disturbing him, without making it all even more real? And awkward.
His chuckle reverberated through her. ‘Something we did must have worn you out.’ She could feel the gentle tug, a tug of tingling awareness that was running over her scalp, trickling through her body as he twirled a lock of her hair round his finger. The heat of his other hand on her hip completed the glowing circle of need he was creating in her body. ‘How about I make us a nice fry-up, Miss Sexy?’
‘No.’ She hadn’t meant to shout, it just came out. But at least she’d remembered how to speak. She ran her tongue over suddenly dry lips.
‘No? You don’t do fry-ups?’
‘No. I mean, yes, I mean, I do fry-ups but I’ve got work to do. Lots of work.’ Which was almost true. ‘Sorry.’ Trying to wriggle away didn’t seem like a good idea; maybe a quick leap was the answer before her body decided it had its own agenda and her best intentions leapt out of the window. Again.
‘Jug of coffee, then?’
‘No.’ Yes. Boy, she could kill for a good, strong shot of uncomplicated caffeine; it might even straighten her befuddled brain
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