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“Melinda—”
“Remember,” she said smoothly. “I can’t hear you. I’ve put a divider between us and I’m listening to all my favorite songs, so loud that you might go deaf.”
Grant winced.
Her footsteps traced the couch behind him. Vivid color flashed before him as she yanked the hat from his head. He craned his neck to find her.
“But I think...” she continued from over his shoulder. “I think there’s more you need to understand. Wait here,” she said. “I have to get something.”
“What? No you don’t. Get back here!” Grant called as she disappeared into the kitchen. He heard her rummaging in Paul’s bedroom and for a split second he thought of the revolver, but he refused to believe it. Someone who named their snowman Stanley wasn’t the type to punish a guy by making him dinner and then shooting him. Yeah, well, you trapped her in the car for three hours. Grant struggled to his knees.
He levered himself upward, his bound hands a wedge against the armrest behind him. Melinda returned then and he froze.
She wasn’t carrying the gun. She was carrying a small foil packet. She’d changed from her Michelin Man ensemble into a man’s black t-shirt and nothing else. He gulped, more helpless now than he’d been without his sight.
“Is that Paul’s shirt?” Was that high-pitched warble his voice? Had she zip-tied his hands or his balls?
“Yes,” she whispered. Grant watched her pulse race at her throat. “It’s all I could find.”
“He’s not getting it back,” he growled.
She laughed lightly and moved closer.
“I’m cold again, Samson,” she breathed.
“Holy hell.”
She could have knocked him over with a feather. And then she did, or at least the next best thing. Fingertips against his chest, she pushed ever so slightly, eyes on his as he dropped hard onto the couch. She stood above him, bare feet, bare legs, bare...What the hell was she doing?
Grant’s eyes found the erotic angles of her feet and ankles—how were her ankles sexy?—and moved up the swell of her calves to the beginnings of her thighs. Melinda’s warm brown skin glowed amber in the firelight. She was shapely, like a cello, and strong. His eyes glided up her legs to the place where her thighs joined beneath the t-shirt.
No, women hated that, right? He should be respectful. And keep going. He followed the stretch of the shirt over the breadth of her hip bones, up the smooth lines of her abdomen, over the soft swell of her breasts—her bra was gone, where the hell was her bra?—to her clavicles. His eyes found her jaw and then her mouth.
“What do you want?” he rasped.
“To be warm,” she said, honeyed voice turned molasses. She tossed the condom to the other end of the couch, and he watched it, a silent firework in honor of his powerlessness. “It’ll keep,” she said.
She draped first one leg and then the other across his lap until she straddled his bent knees, planting her palms on his chest for support.
Panties. There’s a layer of panties, he thought fervently. Thank God. Why he needed that extra scrap between them, he wasn’t sure. He only knew that if she’d touched him with her bare sex while he was incapacitated he would have wept.
“How does it feel to be powerless, Grant?”
Grant could think of not a single answer. No word, no phrase, no glib reply. His brain had stopped working. He might well be drooling.
“I’d never fully understood it, before that night.” Her hands slinked past his shoulders to tease and grip the back of his neck. “Oh, I thought I had, but I’d never felt that way so thoroughly.”
Her ass swiveled against his knees. He didn’t much mind, but he didn’t understand. Melinda squeezed his neck and slid down an inch. Ah. She was sliding down his legs to his groin. Without thinking, he leaned back into the cushions to give her access.
Slide.
“Like the situation was so utterly wrong it couldn’t be real.”
Slide.
“Like it wasn’t the way it was supposed to be. You had the wrong person. I was supposed to be anywhere but there.” She pinned him with her eyes. “I don’t need you to feel that fear, but I want you to understand what I went through.”
Her fingers wove into his hair and Grant stared at her, a lot aroused and a little afraid. He grunted as she used his hair as a pulley and sank herself fully into the V between his legs and torso, her face millimeters from his. His shoulders screamed from their awkward angle and he didn’t care.
