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Carrie walked on very unsteady legs to Dana’s bedroom and tucked her daughter in. She stroked her fringe, staring down at her rosy cheeks, her mouth slack around her inserted thumb. Lying before her was her whole world. For just over four years nothing else but Dana had mattered. She had taken up Carrie’s whole emotional existence.
But outside in her lounge room was a man who was slowly pushing his way into her heart, too. Did she have room? And, as good as he was with Dana, would he have room in his heart for her daughter? The night he had run out when confronted with the reality of Dana was still fresh in her mind. They came as a package deal and she didn’t have the time or emotional strength to deal with another man who didn’t want them both.
She snapped on Dana’s bedside light and lingered for one last look at her beautiful girl. She looked so pure, so innocent. Carrie knew she couldn’t risk that on a man who was probably just looking for someone to break the drought with.
She straightened. He had to go. She doubted she’d be strong enough to resist him if he stayed any longer. All she had to do was turn around, march into the lounge room, thank him for the meal and show him the door. She could do that. She could do that.
Charlie felt as if time and reality had slowed right down. He felt as if his blood flowed sluggishly through his veins, his heart banged painfully at a snail’s pace, his breath shortened dramatically until he was light-headed from lack of oxygen. And he ached everywhere. His arms ached. His chest ached. His groin ached.
Carrie entered the room and she was talking about the meal and thanking him but nothing other than the bound of his blood and Kiss her could be heard through the goulash-type soup his brain had become. He stood as she approached.
‘And I really think it would be best if you—’
His kiss cut her off. His hands cradled her face as his hot lips ravished hers. His impatient tongue demanded entry into her mouth. She tasted like red wine and honey chicken and he couldn’t get enough of it. Of her. He heard her moan, felt her clutch at his shirt, heard her ragged breath.
He released her mouth but kept her body pressed against his. ‘I want you.’
Carrie could see the haze of lust in his grey gaze and, God help her, she wanted him, too. Wanted his shirt off so she could inhale the scent of his naked skin. Wanted all his clothes off. She wanted to smell him everywhere. Touch him everywhere. Kiss him everywhere. He was looking at her like he wanted to devour her and her internal muscles clenched at the almost savage desire she saw there. She didn’t have the willpower to turn him away.
But a tiny speck of good sense prevailed. ‘You have to be gone by morning,’ she croaked.
He thought about it for one second. ‘Done,’ he said, lowering his head swiftly to reclaim her mouth.
Carrie grabbed his shirt at the back and pulled it up. His skin. She had to touch his skin. He angled his head so she could yank it off, breaking their kiss. She pushed her face greedily against his chest. His skin was warm and it felt solid and smelt divine as she dropped kisses along the flat plane of his pectoral muscle.
Charlie dragged a breath in as her tongue darted out and moistened his nipple. He felt his groin respond immediately. ‘Enough,’ he growled, pulling away. He grasped the hem of her shirt and pulled it over her head in record time.
Carrie stared at the look of pure desire in his eyes as his gaze feasted on lace-covered breasts. ‘Bedroom,’ she demanded, knowing it would probably be her last coherent thought for the night.
Charlie didn’t have to be asked twice. He swung her up into his arms and strode with her through the apartment. About the only thing his lust-drugged brain remembered was the way to her bedroom.
Charlie kissed her as he lowered her feet to the floor, his hands burying themselves in her wavy auburn locks. He heard her moan and could feel her arms clinging around his neck and he wanted to take her on the spot. But he wanted to take his time also. To look at her. To touch her. To lick her all over.
His hands stroked down her near-naked back as his kiss deepened. Her skin was soft and warm and he took his time exploring every inch. He caressed the curve of her waist, his thumb running up and down the concave smoothness. He lingered in the hollow of her back, teasing the flesh, his fingers flirting with the waistband of her shorts. She moaned against his mouth and he could sense her barely restrained control in the huskiness of her breath and the tremble of her fingers as they splayed through his hair.
Charlie was holding her so close he could feel the squash of her breasts hot against him, the lace of her bra scraping against his chest. He lifted his head. He wanted to look at her. Touch her.
