Her Enemy Protector by Cindy Dees Page B

shoulder width apart to allow him better access.
    His hand closed over her wet heat and she all but flung herself at him as lust roared through her. This man would make love to her like an adult. No adolescent fumbling around. No self-centered performances that treated her like a blowup doll. This man would take them both to the stars and back.
    He stepped backward and she followed, chasing his body heat and addictive mouth shamelessly. He laughed as his thighs bumped into something. Then he grabbed her with both arms and fell backward. She started as they bounced onto the bed.
    And she froze.
    “You’re not lying on the bed, baby,” he murmured. “You’re lying on me. Focus on my mouth.”
    And then his hands were on either side of her face, drawing her down, down into a sweet void where nothing existed but his body cushioning hers, his arms holding her close, his mouth sliding across hers, sipping at her like a fine brandy.
    She moaned her pleasure shamelessly.
    And he laughed in return, a sound of exultation. Of possession. Of soul-deep pleasure. “Come here, princess. I want more of you.”
    “I don’t think there’s another inch of me that can get into more contact with you than it already is,” she protested.
    His hips rolled ever so slightly against hers. Oh.
    “Well, there is that,” she laughed.
    He rolled over, pinning her for a moment against the mattress. And before she could finish the tensing that rippled across her shoulders, he bounded to his feet, pulling her with him.
    “More,” she demanded, stalking him like a tigress.
    “Patience, love,” he murmured. “We’ve got all night.”
    Oh, my. She liked the sound of that.
    “Stay right here. I have to get something.”
    She looked around. “Here” was right in front of the French doors, all the way across the room from her bed. How had they gotten over here? Damn, that man did crazy things to her head. She shouldn’t be having these feelings for him. But for crying out loud, the man kissed like a god.
    And then there was a giant heave on the other side of the room. Her entire bed moved, the covers went flying and the top mattress slid sideways. What in the world?
    She watched, bemused, as Joe grabbed an armload of blankets and pillows and carried them over to where she stood. He dumped them on the floor at her feet.
    He murmured in a low voice that barely carried to where she stood only a foot away, “For what it’s worth, that’s a new mattress. It’s not the same one as—well, the same one. There’s no way to remove a bloodstain like that from a mattress, and yours is pristine.”
    She all but sobbed in relief at that revelation.
    Joe went back to the bed and dragged the heavy queen-size mattress across to her. He dropped it with a heavy whump to the floor.
    A voice called through the hallway door, “Everything all right in there?”
    Joe glared over his shoulder and called out loudly, “It’s our wedding night, for God’s sake. We’re not exactly sleeping in here, you moron!”
    Cari slapped a hand over her mouth and burst into giggles.
    Grinning and rolling his eyes, Joe positioned the mattress in front of the French doors and efficiently remade the bed. Then, with a flourish, he presented her with the makeshift bed.
    That was possibly the sweetest thing anyone had ever done for her. She smiled up shyly at his image swimming in her tears, then whirled and headed for the dresser in the corner. She dug around, found what she was looking for and headed for the bathroom.
    “I’ll be right out,” she called over her shoulder.
    She changed quickly into a filmy, white negligee she’d ordered from Paris a few months back. It was made of silk so fine it was nearly transparent, and it weighed hardly more than a magician’s handkerchief. She’d never worn it before. She hadn’t been consciously saving it for a special occasion, especially since lately her love life was more monkish than not. But as she slipped it over her head and