locked on her breasts. “I might’ve been willing to climb a hedge or two,” he muttered. She noticed how rumpled he was then; the gray T-shirt he wore under his coat was wrinkled and not tucked in. His hair stuck up a little in back. He looked like a man who needed to get back to bed.
Heat from the stove began to creep closer and Molly shivered in response. His eyelids dropped to a sleepy, dangerous look. Encouraged, she started to move seductively toward him, but her bunny slippers slapped the floor and he blinked from his trance.
Muttering curses, she kicked the things under the bed. Sexy and fun, my ass.
“I’ll let you know what I find in the morning,” Ben said in a fast, too-loud voice as he edged toward the door.
“Thanks, Ben, but…”
He paused, one hand clutching the door frame.
“I’m sorry, I know it’s dumb, but…Could you…?” She scooted up onto the high bed and pointed her toes toward the floor. “Could you check under the bed before you go?”
His gaze moved to the space beneath her toes before it climbed slowly back up to her feet, then her legs, and finally paused on the fingers she’d spread wide over her bare thighs. “Sure.”
“Thanks.” She pulled her feet up to the mattress and tucked them under her so she could lean slightly forward. Ben approached warily, moving in a careful, fluid motion as he knelt down and ducked his head.
“Nothing under here but some slippers and, hmm, three socks and a shirt.”
Molly rocked forward on her hands and knees to watch. “Thank you.”
He straightened and said, “No problem,” but his body stuttered as he rose from his crouch.
Smiling up at him, she stayed on her hands and knees, confident that her gaping tank top would keep him still for a moment. Or maybe her hot-pink boy briefs. “Do you make it a habit to tuck your citizens in after a frightening incident? It’s very sweet.”
“Huh-uh.”
“Well, thank you for taking care of me. ” She wiggled her ass a little and watched his eyes darken to melted chocolate in response. “I’m sorry I dragged you out of bed in the middle of the night.”
“It’s my job.” His gaze trailed liquid heat over her hips and up her spine, then back down again. His hands clenched and unclenched at his sides, and Molly’s belly echoed the pulse of that tension as she pushed up to her knees. She inched closer, her mouth almost even with his.
“You’re not on duty,” she reminded him as she eased her palms up to slide them beneath his coat. His chest rose in a deep breath as she pushed the coat off his shoulders and let it slide down his arms with a little whoosh. “And I’m not sleepy.”
“Molly…”
Hot power licked through her as his breath came harder. Her breasts brushed his chest, and fire shot down her nerves, straight to her clit. God, she wanted this. Wanted him panting, unable to fight his need, all his logic swirling away like so many falling snowflakes.
Smoothing her palms down his T-shirt, she marveled at the impossible strength beneath the warm cotton. Greed swept through her, tangled with sharp lust. When her fingers reached the hem of his shirt, she didn’t bother with subtleties, she simply pushed it high and tugged it off his head. Ben helped her by raising his arms, but he still didn’t reach out to offer more.
Not that Molly cared. His bare chest was spread before her like a banquet of hot skin. And, God, he looked delicious. Just like she’d always pictured him. Tanned, muscled shoulders and big arms. A dusting of brown hair that led the way to his flat belly. The top button of his faded jeans was undone, likely due to his haste to get here, and they perched insecurely on his tight hips.
Hungry, starving, she licked her lips and squeezed her thighs tight against the hard pulse that pushed blood into every nerve between her legs. She wanted to be ravished. Wanted him to pick her up just like he’d done the night before. She wanted no choice in it, no
C. J. Cherryh
Learning to Kill: Stories
John O'Riley
Brenda Sinclair
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