Hotshot Doc(77)

I should do that…I’m going to do that…I have every intention of doing that, except I don’t.

I tiptoe to the very end of the hallway, careful to be extra quiet as I pass Josie’s room, then I press myself flat against the wall and peek my head around the corner.

Matt’s sitting on the edge of the couch, head in his hands. The Hunger Games is forgotten on the coffee table in front of him.

His shirt is off, but his pillow and blankets are still right where I put them, untouched. He’s been sitting there, dragging his hands through his hair like he’s doing now. He looks agitated, and I’m not surprised. He’s probably annoyed that our night got derailed by hot cocoa and Elf. Not exactly a sexy night in…

I study the contours of his smooth, tan skin, the bunched muscles of his shoulders and biceps. He’s too big for that couch—for this house, really.

He shakes his head as if deciding something and then looks up. I freeze as his gaze clashes with mine.

I’ve been caught.

Snooping.

I press my lips together to keep from speaking. Neither of us says a word. Josie will hear us if we do.

He’s still leaning forward with his elbows propped on his knees. He doesn’t move as he stares up at me. I want him to give me some signal that he’s glad to see me standing here, but the only guidance I have to go on is the storm brewing in his eyes. Those are not the eyes of a man who wants to lie down and go to sleep.

I take a hesitant step out from behind the wall and he sits up straight.

I hug my middle and take another step toward him. Then another.

He doesn’t move and he doesn’t meet me halfway.

I start to shake a little as I keep walking, nerves racking through me. I could be reading the situation wrong, but it’s too late to turn back now. I’m already too close and the moment I step within reach, Matt’s hand shoots out and tugs me forcefully between his legs. His warm palms grip the backs of my knees, and I’m so out of my league it’s not even funny. His face is level with my chest. My fingers weave through his thick hair, disappearing into the dark strands. I bend down an inch and he tilts his head back. Our lips brush together and it’s gentle at first, a teasing, could-be-more-if-we-want-it-to-be kiss. His hands skim up the backs of my thighs and then his fingers knead into my soft flesh. It’s the first sign of his impatience, followed swiftly by a low groan. He tilts his head and deepens our kiss; his tongue touches mine, and I’d press my thighs together if he weren’t currently prying them apart. He leans back so I can climb on top of his lap, and I do just as he wants me to. My nightgown bunches at my waist and I hook my knees on either side of his hips. His suit pants brush against my panties and I can’t help but roll my hips reflexively. The way his hands squeeze my hips lets me know he likes it. He rocks me back and forth against his length as his mouth teases mine. We’re grinding together and finding a rhythm.

I’m losing my mind.

He’s impossibly hard.

His hands are everywhere: in my hair, on my hips, cradling my head so he can tilt my chin up and sweep kisses down my neck. It’s so heady when his fingers tease the top button on my nightgown. YES, I think. I’m more than ready to feel his hands on my bare skin, to have him touch me in places I’ve only imagined, but thankfully my brain catches up before we get too carried away.

My little sister is still awake, like ten feet away from where we’re currently mauling each other. If we’re going to do anything in this house, it has to be in my room, with the door locked and (preferably) a loud marching band performing out in the hallway.

I jerk back and break our kiss.

Matt’s gaze meets mine, his brows tugged together in confusion.

He thinks I’m pumping the brakes.

No, you fool.

I’m changing locations.

I scramble up off the couch, reach down for his hand, and tug him after me. We cross that living room in half a second. We’re down the hall, pressing fingers to our mouths and stifling laughter before I shove him into my bedroom, close the door, and freeze.

I listen for any sound of Josie stirring in her room or the subtle pad of footsteps on the carpet.

Blissful silence greets me.

I grin and turn to Matt.

We just might be able to get away with this.

I stand in front of him, half a room away as my hands find the buttons of my nightgown.

Am I really going to do this? I ask myself even as my fingers start to move of their own volition. My stomach quivers as the first button is undone. Then the next. Cool air hits my chest and a shiver racks my spine as I work the third button free. His eyes slash down to where my hands are working and the cool air is replaced with searing heat. My hands start to shake and that fourth button proves especially tricky.

He stays right where he is, watching me as I undress for him. He’s still wearing his suit pants, but his feet are bare. His hair is in disarray, but his features are as sharp and calculating as ever. Without his shirt, he’s a wall of tan skin and hard muscle. My mouth waters and I swallow, in awe of the effect he has on me. No words, no touching—just him, standing in my room, shadowed by the moonlight.

“Keep going,” he urges, his voice husky and low, and I realize then that I’ve paused, too preoccupied with staring at him.

I force my attention down to my nightgown and find the fifth button. The two sides of the dress sag open just enough to reveal a hint of cleavage. My skin glows like porcelain in the dark room and when I work the sixth button free, Matt growls and steps toward me.