Dance Away with Me(81)

“I don’t remember which underpants I put on this morning,” she said primly, “but I’m pretty sure they’re not my sexy ones.”

“See, that’s the thing. Sexy is in the eye of the beholder.”

“Is that so?”

“I’m surprised you don’t know that,” he said oh-so-earnestly. “What you have to do now is take off your jeans so I can give you my impartial opinion. Unless you think I might hurt your feelings.”

Laughter and arousal formed a deliciously melting jumble inside her. She came to her feet. “I’ll risk it.” Her hands flicked open the snap on her jeans and went to the zipper tab.

“Hold on. You’re not doing that right.”

“I’m not unfastening my jeans right? You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“I told you this might hurt your feelings, but I’m kind of shocked that an experienced nurse like yourself doesn’t know about the injuries a person can get from a zipper.”

“Really? I had no idea.”

“I can see that. Medical professionals like yourself should know more of the basic safety rules.”

“Such as?”

“Such as . . . It’s better for men to take over unzipping. Our fingers are stronger.”

Could this be happening? Could sex with Ian North be both hot and fun? She pretended to think it over. “I suppose you have a point.”

“I’m very intelligent.” He went to his knees in front of her, slipped the tips of his fingers inside her waistband, and tugged on the zipper tag. But he pulled it down only halfway before he paused to trace his fingers across the fleshy curve of her abdomen. She automatically tightened it and then thought what-the-hell and let it go.

He pressed his lips to the V of skin he’d exposed. His mouth trailed lower, right along with the zipper, until he arrived at the top edge of her underpants. He nuzzled there, his breath warm on her skin. “Now this,” he whispered, “is what I call a good time.”

And she’d done nothing. Nothing except stand here with knees that were starting to wobble.

He took her jeans lower. To her knees. His hands slipped around her thighs.

She’d lied about her underpants. These were a cheeky little lavender number a friend had given her in hopes of cheering her up. And by cheeky, she meant . . . exposed cheeks.

Which Ian North had already discovered. “You lied.” He held her bare bottom in his palms. “These might be the most glorious pair of panties a man could ever hope to see.”

He nuzzled again.

Her knees weren’t going to hold her up much longer. Maybe he felt them tremble because he clasped her wrists and drew her to the blanket. Within seconds, her sandals were gone and so were her jeans. She lay before him in her serviceable bra and enticing underpants. He knelt above her, his head and shoulders outlined against a melted gummy bears sky.

Despite the ferocious bulge in the front of his jeans, he didn’t seem in any hurry.

“Don’t take this as a criticism,” he said, “but it’s a shame about that bra of yours. Maybe I should take it off.”

She came up on one elbow. “I could do it. Or is that another safety hazard?”

“You’re a fast learner. It’s one of the qualities I most appreciate about you.”

She was going to incinerate, and she wasn’t even naked. “Dangerous bra clasps?”

“Sends women to the ER all the time.” He nuzzled her shoulder with his lips as he reached around her back. “But not this woman.” He unclasped the bra and freed her breasts.

He gazed at her. Took her in. Seeing the details. The shape of her nipples, the fact that one of her breasts was a bit larger than the other. He pressed gently on her shoulders, sending her back on the blanket. “It’s a crime against humanity,” he murmured, “to keep these covered up.”

His words— His gaze— She’d never felt more abundant in her womanhood. He cupped her, his breath warm against her skin, taking in the slope of her breasts, their weight, celebrating her body. He brushed his jaw lightly over one nipple, gently chafing it. And then the other. Her back arched. She had to make him stop before she climaxed. “Get rid of the shirt.”

He did. Taking all the time in the world. Acting as if undoing each button required all his concentration. But when she rose on her knees to make short work of what should have been an easy task, he stilled her hands.

And that’s when she understood. She was being seduced.

She, Tess Hartsong, the Queen of Seduction, was now the object of an exquisite, calculated, over-the-top . . . seduction.

With his shirt finally off, his jeans unsnapped but still in place, he propped himself next to her and explored her body. He returned to her breasts. At first his hands and then his mouth. Doing the most delicious things to her, making her writhe beneath him even as her silly lavender underpants stayed firmly in place. She couldn’t hold back her entreaties.

“Please . . . Please . . .”

He touched her stomach. Touched her through the lace of her underpants. The lightest brush. And that was enough.

Her neck arched. Her body went rigid. She soared, flew through the air, suspended in space, and finally shattered.

Seconds, hours, days passed before she could settle back to earth even as the sky spun above her. This was the second time he’d done this to her, and she hadn’t done a thing to reciprocate.