Kiss an Angel(92)

She had an infection?

He slipped his hand just under her waistband and pressed her abdomen. “Does that hurt?”

“No.”

“Good.” He turned to reach for one of her ankles and moved it slightly apart from the other. “Lie still while I check an alternate pulse.”

She lay very still. Her forehead creased with worry. How could she have an infection? She felt fine. Then she remembered she’d had a slight headache the other morning, and sometimes she felt a little dizzy when she stood up too quickly. Maybe she was sick and didn’t even know it.

She regarded him with concern. “Is my pulse normal?”

“Shh.” He moved the other ankle so that her legs were separated and then gently clasped both her knees through her sweat suit. “Have you had any joint pain recently?”

Had she? “I don’t think so.”

“Usually, I’d expect joint pain.”

“You would?”

He flipped up her sweatshirt and touched her breast. “Any tenderness here?”

“No.”

His fingers brushed her nipple, and although his touch seemed impersonal, her eyes narrowed with suspicion. Then she relaxed as she noted the intense concentration on his face. He was being thoroughly professional; there wasn’t a hint of lechery in what he was doing.

He touched her other breast. “How about here?” he asked.

“No.”

He pulled down her sweatshirt, modestly covering her, and she was ashamed of herself for having doubted him.

He looked thoughtful. “I’m afraid . . .”

“What?”

He covered her hand with his and gave it a comforting pat. “Daisy, I’m not a gynecologist, and normally I wouldn’t do his, but I’d like to check you. Do you mind?”

“Mind?” She hesitated. “Well, no, I guess not I mean, we’re married, and you’ve seen—but what do you think is wrong?”

“I’m fairly certain it’s nothing, but glandular problems can be tricky, and I just want to make sure.” He slipped his thumbs into the elastic waistband of her sweatpants. She lifted her hips and let him remove the baggy bottoms, along with her panties.

As he tossed her clothing aside, her suspicions once again prickled, only to abate when she realized he wasn’t even looking at her. Instead, he seemed distracted, as if he were lost in thought. What if she had some rare disease, and he was trying to figure out how to tell her?

“Would you like me to drape you with the sheet?” he asked.

Her cheeks flamed. “You—uh—don’t have to. I mean, under the circumstances . . .”

“All right, then.” He pushed gently on her knees. “Tell me if I hurt.”

He didn’t hurt. Not one bit. As he examined her, her eyelids drifted shut, and she began to float. He had the most amazing touch. Gentle. Exquisite. A brush here. A tender probe there. Delicious. His fingers left a soft, moist trail. His mouth—mouth!

Her head shot up off the pillow. “You pervert!” she screeched.

He gave a roar of laughter and fell back on the bed, clutching his sides.

“You’re not a doctor!”

“I told you that! You’re so gullible.” He laughed harder. She threw herself at him, and he fended her off with one hand while he pulled down his zipper with the other. “You deserved it, you little faker, with your phony ear infection.”

Her eyes narrowed as he tugged at his jeans. “What are you doing?”

“There’s only one cure for what ails you, sweetheart. And I’m just the man to deliver it.”

His eyes sparkled with laughter, and he looked so pleased with himself that her irritation faded and she had to work hard at maintaining her scowl. “I’m going to kill you!”

“Not till I collect my fee.” His jeans made a soft whish as they hit the floor along with his briefs. With a wolfish grin, he covered her with his body and entered her in one smooth thrust.

“Deviant! You awful . . . ah . . . you . . . horrible . . . mmm . . .”

His smile stretched from one ear to the other. “You were saying?”

She fought against her rising excitement, determined not to give in to him too easily. “I thought there was something wrong with me, and—and all the time you were—ahh . . . you were copping a cheap feel!”

“Watch your language.”

She moaned and grasped his hips in her hands. “Coming from someone who just violated his Hippocratic oath . . .”

He gave a bark of laughter that sent vibrations of pleasure rippling deep within her. As she looked up into his face, she saw that the tense, dangerous stranger she had married had disappeared. In his place was a man she had never seen before—painfully young, joyously carefree. Her heart sang.

His eyes had begun to glaze. He tugged at her bottom lip with his own.

“Oh, Alex . . .”

“Quiet, love. Be quiet and let me love you.”

His words made her pulse leap. She matched his rhythm and clung to him while tears filled her eyes. In another few hours she would have to face him in the arena, but for now, there was no danger, only delight. It danced through her body, filled her heart, and exploded in a canopy of stars.

Afterward, as she stood in the bathroom fixing her makeup for the next performance, her feeling of well-being collapsed. No matter what she wanted to believe, there was no real intimacy between them as long as Alex had so many secrets.