Page 14 of The Rhino's Rose

“Always available to help if I’m needed.” With one last smile, and what I swear is a knowing nod in my direction, the good doctor sees herself out.

Then Cornelius and I are alone. And we’re touching.

Knowing he’s holding me so I don’t fall down or further injure myself doesn’t stop my body from responding to the closest contact we’ve ever shared. Squeezing my thighs together only makes things worse because the hint of pressure is a reminder of the orgasm I had in his bathtub. Something I shouldn’t have done but couldn’t resist.

I’ve always been intensely turned on by everything about Cornelius, and being in his house, naked in his tub, amplified my arousal to a will-not-be-ignored level. So I touched myself. And the riskiness of it, that he might hear, gave me a hair trigger. I don’t think I’ve ever come that fast. Definitely not without a vibrator.

Beside me, Cornelius clears his throat, and immediately, my face floods with heat. Not only have I ruined his evening, I’m standing here, leaning on him, rubbing my thighs against each other. And it’saudible, the sound of my slickness. Because I’m not wearing panties. I didn’t come over with expectations of anything other than a hot bath, but I also chose one of my shortest, slinkiest robes and a little slip of a nightie underneath—and nothing else.

None of which Dr. Schaefer questioned when she helped me get dressed. Since telepathy is among her enhanced senses, it’s safe to assume she knows everything I feel for Cornelius. Whether it was professionalismor simply kindness, she didn’t comment on my wardrobe choice—or its pointlessness, since her telepathy would also give her knowledge that Cornelius doesn’t share my feelings.

“I’m really sorry for everything that happened,” I say, attempting to extricate myself from his massive arm.

But he’s not having it. In fact, he pulls me closer. Tightens his grip on the dip of my waist. “No apology necessary, and what do you think you’re doing?”

“Hopping home.”

“Not on my watch.”

“Okay, I won’t argue if you want to help me hop home,” I say, trying not to show too much enjoyment of being cared for.

“That’s not happening either.”

“Then what—are you going to carry me?” The words are still exiting my mouth as heat rushes to my cheeks. “That was sarcasm. I wasn’t suggesting you carry me home. Just to be clear.”

“To be equally clear, I had no intention of carrying you home.”

Ouch.But after all my antics this evening, I had it coming.

“You’re staying here tonight.” Staring down at me, the corners of his mouth tick up ever so slightly when my bottom lip falls, leaving me gaping up at him.

All I can do is slow blink and make fish faces.

Now, he gives me an actual smile, along with a deep chuckle that might as well be his finger onmy clit. “Give me a list of things you need from next door to get you through the night.”

Probably shouldn’t put my vibrator at the top of that list, right? At least I didn’t sprain my wrist.

“While you’re thinking about it, let’s get you settled on the couch,” he says, then, without warning, scoops me off my foot—singular—and into his arms. “This okay? Don’t want you to make that injury any worse.”

“It’s fine, thank you.” Fine?Fine?I’ve only fantasized about him picking me up like this since the first time we met. Only, in the fantasies, he carries me to bed. Still, being snug against his chest and thick arms is heaven. Even if only for the seconds it takes to cross the living room.

Placed gently on his massive couch, I can’t help shivering at the absence of his warmth. The motion catches his eye as he straightens in front of me. “I’ll get you a blanket.”

“I don’t need one.”

His gaze travels over my minimally covered body, with brief yet noticeable pauses at my breasts, then again at my upper thighs, where the edge of my nightie sits only about a hand’s width from my pussy. “You’re shivering,” he says, when another shudder ripples through me.

“I’m not cold.” My hard nipples attempting to pierce the thin satin fabric of my nightgown might indicate otherwise, but I’m sure Cornelius is aware of the real reason my boobs are giving him the double point.

It doesn’t take a telepath to know what’s going on in my head.

“The back door key is under a small pot of mini roses on the patio table,” I say, changing the subject. “But I’ll be fine at home if you can help me limp over there. You really don’t have to put me up in your guest room tonight.”

“I wasn’t planning on it. You’ll sleep in my bed.”

Again, my mouth falls open. My cheeks feel as if they’re literally on fire, and the heat from the blush spreads down my neck and across my chest before I can snap my bottom lip closed.

“It’s closer to the bathroom,” he says, gripping the back of his neck with one big hand, an action that makes his massive biceps pop up deliciously.

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