The Heart of a Stranger by Sheri Whitefeather Page B

me?” he asked again.
    â€œYes.” Please, yes, she thought. She wanted him to do wicked things to her.
    He grinned, his lips tilting in a bad-boy smile. Maybe he did have a bit of a wild streak, but at the moment, so did she.
    â€œI’m not very good with these,” he said, tugging at her panty hose. “I might ruin them.”
    She removed her boots. “It doesn’t matter.” She didn’t care if her nylons ran.
    â€œGood.” Quite deliberately, he pulled them down. They snagged on his callused fingers, and he gave up and tore them from her body.
    When he scooped her up and carried her to his unmade bed, excitement rushed through her veins.
    The sheets were warm and inviting, soft and fluid against her skin. He opened her legs and pressed his mouth against her panties, kissing her through the wisp of cotton.
    Finally, he discarded her underwear, and she waited for his next move, her pulse skipping to an unsteady rhythm.
    â€œTouch yourself,” he said. “Open yourself up for me.”
    Stunned by his request, by the sheer raciness of it, she froze.
    He took her hand and encouraged her to do as he bid, to give him what he wanted.
    Feeling much too shy, she caught her breath.
    He flashed that bad-boy smile again and lowered his head. He licked through her fingers, teasing her, making her moan, making her desperate for more.
    For the wickedness, she thought. The forbidden.
    She whispered his name and lifted her hips, too aroused to think straight.
    He didn’t stop. Not once. Not for a second. He kept kissing, tasting, swirling his tongue.
    Lourdes slid her hands into his hair. Who was he? This man driving her crazy with need? This man who’d made a commitment to her? Who’d promised to secure their future?
    Was it an impossible dream?
    No, she told herself. It couldn’t be. They felt too right together, too—
    Her climax hit like a crack of thunder, like a bolt of electricity, like rain slashing through her body.
    He deepened each intimate kiss, and her mind spun. Color blurred before her eyes, a prism, a kaleidoscope, a spiraling rainbow.
    When it ended, she reached for him, and he held her in his arms. Strong, protective arms. The embrace of a lover. Of someone who cared.
    Juan brushed his mouth over hers. He wanted her to taste her own desire, the aftermath of her orgasm.
    Her lips parted under his, and he closed his eyes. She was everything he’d imagined. Everything and more.
    She cuddled against him and made a soft, mewling sound. He opened his eyes and smiled.
    â€œSweet cream lady,” he said.
    She moved even closer. “What?”
    â€œ Sweet Cream Ladies. It’s an old song. From the late sixties, I think. I’m not sure what it means.” But she was sweet and creamy and it seemed to fit. He could barely wait to slip inside her, to feel her caress his loins.
    He shifted to straddle her, and she looked up at him.
    â€œYou’re still wearing your jeans, Juan.”
    â€œI know.” He glanced down. “But I’m nearly busting out of them.”
    â€œSo I see.” She toyed with his zipper. “I can do to you what you did to me.”
    â€œNot this time.” He would never survive her mouth on his—
    â€œNext time?”
    â€œYeah.” His body pulsed. “Next time.” He removed the condom from his pocket, and she unzipped his pants. Together they stripped off his jeans and boxers, leaving him hard and thick and eagerly aroused.
    So damn ready.
    She closed her hand around him, and he kissed her. He liked the idea of her being the first woman he could remember, the first sexual encounter that truly mattered.
    He nudged her thighs apart, and they both went a little mad.
    As she scraped her nails down his back, he fumbled with the foil packet, secured the protection and battled to sheath himself.
    He knew this would happen fast, but he didn’t care. For now, he wanted it fast and