-
[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
cushiony armchair upholstered in a large floral print of green, burgundy and
white; nearby stood a matching lounge chair. The overall effect was of
bright airiness and down-home New England charm. Jordanna knew Patrick
had stayed there before. He'd chosen well the site for a tryst.
With their packs deposited on a long, luggage rack and the bellhop gone,
they were somewhat ill- at-ease. Jordanna's eye skimmed the room again,
coming to rest on the bathroom door. Though the late-afternoon sun poured
into the room, the bellhop had switched on that light in his brief tour.
She dropped her gaze, focused on her muddy hiking shoes, took in the dirty
sheen of her pants, then her jacket. Whether it was the utter cleanness of the
room or the simple cumulative effect of five days with makeshift bathing, or
the fact that Patrick would be seeing her, truly seeing her for the first time,
she suddenly felt overwhelmingly grubby.
When she looked up, he was craning his neck against the collar of his
T-shirt, using a finger to separate it from his skin.
"I think John was right," she murmured awkwardly. "I feel like I've got half
the state's dirt under my clothes."
"Me too," he answered. With deft fingers he reached for the buttons of his
wool shirt, releasing one after the other until the shirt hit the floor as the first
of the must-wash pile.
With a nonchalance she was far from feeling, Jordanna began to undress in
turn. "They'll really wash all this stuff?" she asked, wondering, as she added
her once bright lime-hued jacket to the pile, who in his right mind would
want to touch it.
"They always have. I've stayed here several times before."
Nodding, she knelt and concentrated on unlacing her shoes. "These were
pretty good. I haven't got a blister."
Patrick's T-shirt hit the pile, then he was bending over to remove his own
dirt-encrusted boots. "Ah, but were they warm?"
"Pretty much so."
"And dry?"
She set one aside and went to work on its mate. "Except for the day it
rained."
He chuckled but said nothing. Standing, Jordanna reached for the Velcro
fastening of her pants, hesitated, then tugged it apart. The sound was
deafening to her senses. For a split second she wondered if she'd caught
some kind of madness that had been floating around in the woods that week.
What she was doing was crazy. It was truly dumb. But she couldn't stop her
fingers when they grasped the hem of her sweater and pulled it over her
head. Nor did she hesitate when Patrick's second boot hit the oak floor with
a thud.
Eyes still downcast, she slipped the pants from her legs. They no sooner
landed atop the pile when they were covered by Patrick's jeans. Pulse racing
against a wave of self-consciousness, she shimmied her long underwear
down, dropped the warm cloth and, before she lost her courage, dragged the
thermal shirt over her head.
It was then that her gaze met Patrick's. He stood before her wearing nothing
but his briefs. His chest was broad, lightly tanned, matted by the dark
curling hair she'd only felt before. His torso was lean, tapering to his hips.
Well-muscled thighs held him straight, while her own trembled mercilessly.
Mouth dry, she watched as his gaze fell.
"Do you never wear a bra?" he asked in a husky whisper. His eyes focused
with unhidden appreciation on her full breasts.
She raised her hands to her waist, started to wrap them around herself,
sheepishly dropped them. "I... I always do. Working, I mean. But on the
weekend when I'm alone.... And I thought it'd be an added restraint while I
was hiking....'
"It's okay," Patrick murmured, entranced as he took a step forward. His
fingers found the hollow of her throat and traced the lightest of lines
southward through the valley between her breasts, then up around one
swelling mound. "You're beautiful, Jordanna. Have I told you that?"
Her cheeks were pink and warm. "I think you said something of the sort at
one point."
"Well, I say it again. And this time I know what I'm talking about. ' His gaze
fell to the line where her panties began. He looked up once quickly, then, as
though unable to help himself, looked down again.
Her pulse racing, Jordanna watched his fingertips slip beneath the thin
elastic band. With unbelievable grace, he sank to his knees, drawing the
silken fabric down until, with a hand on his shoulder for the support she
badly needed, she stepped free.
"So beautiful," he murmured again. Sitting back on his haunches, he stared
at her. His large hands framed her hips, then slipped behind to gently caress
her bottom.
Jordanna's fingers sank into the hard flesh or his shoulders. "I want to be
clean for you," she whispered. "1 want to be fresh and "
"You couldn't be more beautiful than you are now. God, Jordanna!" Coming
up on his knees, he wrapped his arms around her back and pressed his face
into her stomach. "I want you so much I don't think I can stand it"
"You're not standing," she managed in a tremulous whisper. "I'm the one
who's standing and I don't think I can much longer." Her knees trembled
wildly in rhythm with every one of her nerve ends.
Patrick breathed deeply of her skin, then kissed her navel and forced himself
to rise. Against the straining fabric of his briefs, his desire was obvious. "If
we don't hurry, I'm apt'to take you here on the floor. But I want you soft and
comfortable. We've had enough of the ground for a while. And those sheets
are too clean and white to even imagine putting these trail-worn bodies on
them."
Taking her hand, he led her to the bathroom. There was no sign of a shower.
Rather, an ancient porcelain tub stood on its four clawed feet, as beckoning
as anything could have been at that moment. Anything, Jordanna mused,
except the hard strength of Patrick's body.
Patience, she told herself, though her trembling persisted. Patience.
Propping one arm on the lip of the tub, Patrick turned on the water, tested it,
adjusted the taps to ensure the right temperature, then waited for the tub to
fill.
Eyes glued to the rising water and hands on his hips, he was more
disciplined than Jordanna, who couldn't help but study his body in the bright
light. His back was smoother than his hair-spattered chest, his muscles that
much more boldly presented There was the scar that rounded his shoulder,
and a small birthmark to the left of his backbone. Helpless, she touched it,
then trailed her fingers down the hollow in the center of his back.
If she'd thought him momentarily preoccupied with the bath, she'd
miscalculated. Turning, he grabbed her, flattened her against him and began
to tickle. "You want it on the floor? Do ya? Hmm?"
"No...don't, Pat...I give! I give!" The words were forced out between laughs.
When she tried to evade the devastation of his fingers, he set her back. The
humor that had carried his voice moments before was gone.
"Do you, Jordanna?" he asked softly.
Stepping forward again, unwilling to forfeit one instant of his warmth, she
threaded her fingers into his hair. "Yes," she whispered. "For tonight,
anything...."
Their lips met in a kiss that began gently but escalated until finally Patrick [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ] - zanotowane.pl
- doc.pisz.pl
- pdf.pisz.pl
- matkadziecka.xlx.pl