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She laughed. Driven by an impulse he could not resist, Connor reached out a shaky finger and outlined the full, wide, laughing curse. Her mirth died away, and the pink tip of her tongue came out and touched his finger.
“You undo me, woman,” he said hoarsely, “with one little flick of your tongue.”
“Then what about this?” She trailed a tantalizing finger down his chest, across his stomach, before halting an inch above his belt.
“Tease,” he groaned.
“Your skin is so silken,” whispered Victoria.
His erection leapt. “That’s my line,” he growled, yanking her to him and bending his head forward to ravenously plant a row of kisses along the tempting arch of her throat. Under his lips he felt her throat contract as she gasped. His mouth opened, and he tongued the silky skin. His open mouth slid down, over the narrow slip of black satin that joined the cups of her bra covering her breasts…down farther…savoring the sweetness of her flesh.
Grasping her hips between his hands, he lifted her up and kissed the smooth skin of her belly.
“Connor!” The sound was guttural, full of need and desire.
“Be patient.” His erection strained again his pants, rigid with desperation. He wasn’t so sure that he was capable of following his own command.
She pulled away and settled back astride his lap.
Connor’s back arched instinctively at the contact. “My God, woman.”
He felt the buckle of his belt give under the persuasion of her nimble fingers. His heart skipped a beat as she undid the button below. The sound of his breathing filled the room, hoarse and jagged.
Light danced across his eyelids as he squeezed his eyes shut. Sliding his hands up her sleek back, he reached the catch of her bra and fumbled, his fingers suddenly clumsy.
A cry filled the air.
Victoria’s hands stilled. “Dylan.”
She scrambled off his lap, tugging the clinging black dress over her breasts, and ran to the other side of the room. Lifting the baby out of the infant seat, she turned her head, and Connor’s throat closed up as he read the turbulent confusion in her eyes.
Bewilderment. Guilt. Shame.
And, underneath it all, the heat of desire, too.
Connor rose slowly to his feet.
“Put your shirt back on.” Her voice was a thready croak.
“It’s damp.”
“Please,” she implored.
“Okay.” He pulled it on and watched as she tried to juggle the baby while trying to push her arms back into the wet sleeves of her dress. “Give Dylan here—I’ll entertain him while you change.”
Without meeting his gaze, she thrust the baby into his arms and fled.
How could he have allowed—no, encouraged—that to happen?
Victoria couldn’t believe that she’d almost ended up having sex with Connor. She fastened her jeans and reached for a lambs wool sweater. If Dylan hadn’t woken up…
Oh, God!
How could she have been so foolish? And now she had to leave her bedroom to go back downstairs. She groaned in dismay. It would take all her courage to face Connor after what had happened. And to demand that he never touch her again. They both had a duty to Dylan. As his guardians. Passion couldn’t be allowed to interfere with their responsibilities.
As Dylan’s mother, she couldn’t afford to risk alienating Connor. It would be the height of irresponsibility to let passion rule her—and make her no better than her parents had been.
By the time she entered the living room, she’d pulled herself together, making sure that none of her trepidation showed. The man who’d kissed her to distraction was sitting on the carpet, and the contents of the baby’s diaper bag were strewn around the room.
Connor looked up at her entrance and gave her a sheepish grin. “I figured out how to change his diaper.”
Victoria yanked her gaze away from the chest she’d run her fingers over. Thankfully he’d covered the glorious muscles up with a shirt as she’d requested.
“Congratulations,” she managed and searched for the words to tell him that she did not want him to ever kiss her again—that it was a dereliction of their duties as Dylan’s guardians.
Dylan chose that moment to flap his arms and, gazing at her accusingly, he started to cry. Victoria picked him up, taking care not to brush against Connor’s legs.
“He’s hungry.” Forcing herself to glance at Connor, she said, “There’s a bottle ready in the fridge. Won’t you fetch it please?”
To Victoria’s surprise, Connor went without demur.
As the minutes passed, Dylan grew increasingly fractious. Victoria jiggled him up and down, hushing him, but to no avail, so she started to sing.
