Page 28 of Prime Time

Lifting his head, he saw that his mouth had added a glossiness to her already glowing skin. He smiled. His arms went around her and drew her closer, until, as they both watched, the tips of her breasts pressed into the curling mat on his chest.

Lifting their eyes, aware that their heartbeats were resonating with each other, they smiled. “You’re cream and”—he lowered his lips to hers—“honey.”

His mouth fastened on hers possessively and cohesively. His tongue scoured her mouth repeatedly as though he truly were gathering honey.

She strained upward and forward until she was molded to him as closely as their bodies would allow. Not believing that skin could feel so satiny, time and again his palms made the journey from her shoulder to her waist. For heart-stopping moments his hands lingered at that curving indentation. Then, emboldened, they slipped below the nightgown gathered at her waist and cradled her hips, lifting her up.

Together they stood. The nightgown floated unheeded to the floor. He lifted her free of it as he picked her up and carried her into the deeper shadows of the room where the unmade bed was an open invitation.

He lay her down and followed with his own body. It was heavy and hard and rough compared to her soft smoothness. She loved it, yet she fought the explosive desire that flooded her. “This is wrong, Lyon.”

“God, don’t you think I know that?” He kissed her hungrily. Impatiently he groped for the buttons on his jeans. He tore his mouth free. “But do you want to stop it? Can you stop it?”

His hands roved over her flesh, finding erogenous places she didn’t know were there. No, I can’t stop it, she thought vaguely with what mental capacity was left to her. She surrendered to the intuitive caresses of his hands that swirled her into a maelstrom of longing. “We didn’t plan it, did we?” she asked, arching against him. “We didn’t … ah, Lyon, Lyon.”

He lifted his head only long enough to look at what he touched. “Soft. So soft. Such a golden girl,” he whispered hoarsely. “A beautiful golden girl.”

It was tormenting to wait while he grappled again with the fly on the jeans. They were laughing quietly about their shared frustration when an insistent tapping rattled the door.

The laughter broke off abruptly and all motion on the bed ceased.

“Andy?” Gracie’s voice was muffled—fortunately the panels of the door were thick. “Andy, are you awake yet, honey?”

Andy cleared her throat and tried to sound as though she had just been awakened. “Yes, Gracie. What is it?” Her eyes never left Lyon’s as he remained poised above her. His chest expanded like a bellows with his uneven, harsh breathing.

“Your boys are here. Four of them just arrived in a van.

I’ve given them coffee and told them to wait for you downstairs.”

Lyon’s soft, but expansive curse scorched her ears. “I’ll be down shortly,” Andy said.

“Take your time,” Gracie called back. “I’ll feed them breakfast.”

“Thank you,” Andy said miserably.

For long moments neither of them moved, then Lyon eased away from her. He levered himself off the bed and deftly fastened the buttons that had been so contrary only moments ago. Andy reached for the sheet to cover herself.

“Modesty at this late date, Ms. Malone?”

His sarcasm banished any lingering passion or regret over their being interrupted. “No.” Disdaining the sheet, she jumped off the bed, walked across the bedroom, and pulled on a light robe.

He eyed her with derision. “So you are ashamed.”

She faced him defensively. “All right. Yes! Yes, I am I should never have let you touch me.”

“I thought as much,” he said scornfully. “You’d hate to be accused of consorting with the enemy. Or are you afraid Les will find out about your close call with dalliance?”

“I’ve told you that Les and I—Oh, it doesn’t matter. You’re only going to believe what you’ve already made up your mind to. Why are you angry with me? I’m no more to blame than you are. I didn’t know the crew would arrive at just this moment. Do you think I arranged this to humiliate you?”

“I think that you, Ms. Malone, are relieved that you were rescued in the nick of time.”

“I think you are, too,” she flung back.

“Damn right. This was the height of stupidity,” he said, slamming the fist of one hand into the opposite palm. “I knew better, know better, than to …”

He paced, talking to himself, not to her, but each word was like a wound in her heart. He whirled around to face her again. “Why do you have to look like a damn goddess if you’re untouchable? Huh?” His anger was fearsome, and she shrank from it. “You’ve driven me crazy since the first time I laid eyes on you, but stay away from me from now on.”

“What!” she exclaimed, pushing away from the security of the wall where she had been cowering. Her fists ground into her hips. “Me? Stay away from you? How dare you insinuate that I initiated this. I didn’t exactly chase you around this bedroom this morning.”

---