Page 48 of A Treasure Worth Seeking

“Hey, sleepyhead.”

Erin stirred against the warm body next to hers and mumbled a protest. She slid her thigh over the hairy leg beside her.

“We’d better get up,” Lance said close to her ear. His action belied his words as he nibbled her earlobe lazily.

“No,” Erin muttered into her pillow as she snuggled closer to him, brushing his chest with her breasts.

“Have you forgotten that I’m a very important man around here?” His hand couldn’t resist an inquisitive research of that soft cushion of flesh that came to life under his playful fingers. “My men are depending on me for leadership. I can’t lie in bed with an insatiable broad all day.”

She slapped him on his firm buttock. “Who’s insatiable?” she asked, raising her head slightly to nuzzle his neck. Her knee inched higher up his thigh and she got the expected response. He rolled her over and kissed her expansively, drinking her mouth like a man dying of thirst. Just when she was becoming liquid and pliable in his arms, he released her lips and rested his forehead against hers.

“You’d tempt a saint, Erin O’Shea, but dammit, I do have to get up. It’s almost eight o’clock.” He swung his legs over the side of the bed. They had moved to the guest bedroom sometime during the night. Lance pulled on a pair of daringly sexy underwear.

Erin, her skin naked and glowing with the aftermath of a night of love, scooted over to the edge of the bed and wrapped her arms around his waist, resting her cheek against his flat abdomen.

“Lance,” she whined, “do you have to get up so early?” Errantly, her hands smoothed over the taut muscles of his hips and d

own the backs of his legs. The sensitive skin inside his thighs was tormented by trailing fingertips. Her breasts pressed against him with a shocking intimacy.

“Erin—” he broke off with a startled intake of breath when he felt the tip of her tongue on his bare skin. Trying to regain some measure of his slipping control, he threatened in a severe voice, “Erin, you’re asking for it.”

She looked up at him triumphantly and nodded. “Um-hum.” Gradually she lowered the fragile cloth that was straining its limits.

He tried to suppress the smile that broke across his chiseled lips. “You know what my motto is?”

She shook her head, brushing him with her hair. “No. What?”

“Always give the people what they want.” The mattress sank under his weight as he fell across it and hungrily gathered her into his arms.

* * *

He left her drowsing in bed while he showered, shaved, and dressed. He leaned over and pecked her on the cheek. “I’ll go brew some coffee.”

Her eyes were filled with love as she nodded and said, “I’ll be down shortly.”

When he pulled the door closed behind him, Erin stretched like a contented feline and then burrowed her head into the pillow Lance had used, breathing deeply of his scent that still clung to the linens.

Was love always like this? Did everyone else in the whole world know about this exquisite thrill that rocketed through her veins and electrified each nerve of her body? Could her heart stand to swell any larger with love for this man?

Last night had gone beyond even her wildest fantasies of what loving a man could mean. Their physical intimacies had not been tainted by inhibition or shame. The tempo was varied, one time being fierce and ravenous, the next leisurely and tender, postponing the crescendo until it, of its own accord, crashed around them.

And in between those bouts of ecstasy, they shared their innermost fears, dreams, and philosophies. Childhoods were reminisced, and vignettes from adolescent years were laughed over. Trivia was made vastly important. Each was voracious for knowledge of the other.

In everything he did, Erin felt Lance’s love. Each look, each touch transmitted the emotion, though it hadn’t been spoken in so mundane a form as language.

As she hopped from the bed, her eagerness to see him again renewing her recently expended energy, she knew his declaration of love was only a matter of time. He wouldn’t let her sift out of his life now. Somehow they would manage two diverse lifestyles, two separate careers. They would work it out. They had to.

Lance. Lance Barrett. Lawrence Barrett. She loved the name and shouted it to the walls of the tile shower over the whishing sound of water.

She put on a pair of black wool slacks, but feeling utterly feminine and wanting to look it, topped them with a pink georgette blouse. Lace inserts flanked the collar and allowed a tantalizing glimpse of her creamy skin underneath. She dabbed a provocative fragrance behind her ears and down her throat, then impulsively scented the cleavage between her breasts. They were still tingling with remembered caresses.

Downstairs she spoke to Mike, who was helping a telephone company representative disconnect the red telephone. He looked at her and smiled, saying a cheerful good morning. Did he know where Lance had spent the night? Did she care if he knew? No! The aroma of fresh perked coffee led her toward the kitchen. Lance was standing at the counter buttering slices of toast.

She went up behind him and put her arms around his waist. “Good morning, Mr. Barrett,” she chimed primly. Her hand slipped under his belt.

“Good morning, Miss O’Shea. I trust you had a restful night.” He settled his bottom against her middle.

She giggled. “Not exactly restful, but most pleasant, thank you.” She added on a low, seductive note, “For everything.” Her hand separated the front of his shirt under his trousers and touched his warm vibrance with fingers not lacking in boldness.

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