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Fabric pulled tight across the cheeks of her bottom, surprisingly, deliciously tight.
And he found his own pants becoming surprisingly tight in response….
Getting hard over prickly Ms Purman?
The jet lag was getting to him. It had to be.
But her rear end was still there wriggling backwards, a peach wrapped in boring khaki but a peach nonetheless, and the heat was still right there, keeping him hard. Keeping his gaze fixed on her.
He put his hand to his head. He wanted to be in bed. In bed and asleep as opposed to being awake and fantasising about the world’s least likely conquest.
‘Lost something?’ he asked, and the woman hauled herself out in a flurry of movement and the back of her head smacked into the iron frame with a loud thunk.
‘Ow!’
And he was sorry he’d said anything. Not because she’d hit her head, but because she’d immediately rocked forward on her knees, her hands cradling the back of her head, poking her bottom even higher, the fabric stretched even tighter, and he had the insane desire to peel those khaki work pants off to see if her behind was anywhere near as perfect as it looked.
If it was any other woman, in any other circumstance, he might even give in to temptation.
But this prickly hostile woman?
He must be mad to even think it.
‘I didn’t lose anything,’ she snarled as finally she rocked upright, using the bed to support her as gingerly she got to her feet, one hand still nursing the crash site as she turned around. ‘I was turning on the hot water system.’
‘Down there?’
‘The electrician thought it would be a funny place to put it.’ She winced as her fingers found a tender spot. ‘Oh, God, can this day get any worse?’
And he couldn’t help but smile as she put voice to her frustration, frustration he’d not only shared, but caused. But then he could afford to smile now, because he’d got what he wanted.
Unlike her.
‘Here,’ he said, taking her by the shoulders and spinning her around, not really feeling guilty even though he had taken her by surprise. ‘Let me see.’
She tensed even before he touched her, but he had her turned around before she could tell him not to. ‘Where does it hurt?’ he asked, his hands still resting warm and heavy on her shoulders while he waited. While her heart thudded so loud in her chest he must surely hear it.
She pointed, eager to distract him before he felt that crazy drumbeat—’Somewhere there’—and held her breath as she felt the slide of his fingers under her ponytail, searching, probing her skull.
‘This has to go,’ he said, sliding down her hair tie, the tug of it pulling at her hair and making her scalp tingle.
And her hair fell in a thick curtain around her face as his fingers returned, sliding under the weight of it until her breathing grew shallow.
‘Ow,’ she said, flinching a little as a fingertip grazed the site, ‘just there.’
‘Let me see,’ he said, parting the hair around the spot, tilting her head in his hands so he could see in the dim light cast by the fringed light shade.
She didn’t dare breathe. It was enough to feel. It was enough to trace the path of nerves connecting with nerves until she tingled from her head down to her toes and all the places in between. And she wondered about the touch of a man who could make her feel so much with just his fingers to her scalp—and how it would feel if he slid those fingers anywhere near the places where she really tingled—over the nub of her rock-hard nipples, or near the pulsing heat between her thighs.
‘It’s only a graze but you’re going to have a bump,’ he said, and she stirred, his breath puffing at her hair, and that sent a new wave of sensation rolling through her, pooling down low and hot in the pit of her belly. ‘You might want to ice that when you get back.’
And suddenly his hands were gone and she swayed backwards before she remembered.
Oh, yes. ‘Back,’ as in home, where she’d been in such a rush to get to a scant minute or two ago, before this man had laced his fingers through her hair and set her scalp alight and made her forget who he was.
A Chatsfield.
A man no doubt used to snapping his fingers and having women line up to share his bed.
And she’d felt his fingers in her hair and imagined …
She had to get out of there! She spun around but he was still there. Instead of being right behind her though, now he was right in front of her and she was trapped between two walls and a bed and a man that stood between her and freedom and so she did the only thing she could do.
She snapped.
‘So now you’re a doctor?’
Those cool grey eyes merely blinked down at her before he shook his head and sat down on the bed. Which would have been fine except his damned legs were so long she was still trapped. ‘What?’ he said, reefing off first one and then the other of his expensive shoes.
