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He wished he’d gone and found some clothes before he’d engaged with her. Even the grotty ones he’d been wearing to clean the old storerooms.
‘Morgan?’ She circled him, staring at his bare skin like he was some kind of zoo animal. ‘Is this why you had to come home from Africa?’
She halted in front of him, her hand reaching to brush against one of the lesions on his chest. Almost healed, but still red against his pale skin. Her touch burned and for a moment a twitch in his groin distracted him. Now it happens. With only a towel keeping him from humiliation.
Her eyes behind her glasses searched his body. ‘I don’t think I’ve seen atopic dermatitis like this in an adult.’
‘I was run down. I’ve always been prone to eczema and the conditions over there exacerbated it. I was already scheduled to ship out when I caught pneumonia. It knocked me around.’
‘At least it isn’t contagious. The rumour mill had you with HIV or dengue fever at the very least.’
‘Not contagious.’ He lifted his hands. ‘It’s why I can only do limited surgery. The scrub chemicals are too harsh on my skin and I can’t wear latex.’
‘Gabby had some trouble when she was a toddler but it’s cleared up. We still have to watch what soaps and shampoos we use.’
‘Sorry. My bad.’
She smiled up at him. ‘Edward has asthma from my side of the family. I guess we should have compared medical histories before we bred.’
The image of the two of them all those years ago hit him fair and square and a stirring in his crotch pulled his mind back to the present. Maybe she was remembering too because her eyes darkened. Her hand came out tentatively and stroked his chest, his nipple tightening under the cool touch. Like dry ice, so cold it burned. Not only his nipple. He held his breath, feeling the other reaction he hadn’t expected.
A crease appeared between her brows as she explored his body, touching the damaged skin with gentle fingers. Small bursts of hot sensation sparked with each press of her fingertips, zipping through his body and settling low in his gut.
‘Do you have a cream to treat it?’
He nodded, indicating the tube lying on the bedside table. ‘That’s why I’m not dressed. I was planning on putting the cream on first.’
She twisted around to look at his back, her fingers gentle on his arm. ‘Do you need a hand with applying it?’
Morgan shut his eyes. The fact that her touch in this situation was triggering a sexual reaction was all kinds of weird. He couldn’t decide if it were good or bad. Her hands vanished, along with the heat they generated and he opened his eyes. Becca was studying the cream with her usual intense concentration for things medical.
She looked up, catching his eye and then away again. ‘I’ll do it. It won’t take more than a couple of minutes.’
He subsided onto the stool in front of the antique dressing table, folding his hands across his lap. He could see her in the round mirror, carefully squeezing a fat slither of cream onto her forefinger. She focused on what she was doing and he was free to watch her, her pink tongue protruding from the corner of her mouth as she dabbed and spread in an ordered fashion from the nape of his neck, working down to the top edge of the towel. Very much the nurse.
It was the most sensual experience he’d had in years, her hands warm on his back. He couldn’t remember when he’d last been touched like this. Been touched at all.
‘Turn around.’
He obeyed her, spinning on the stool and parting his knees to allow her access to his chest, the towel drooping between his thighs. He could almost taste the scent of her, faintly floral with a hint of perspiration from the fleecy tracksuit. It was overlaid with the chemical smell of the cream, but he was used to that, hardly noticing it when more enticing flavours were feeding his soul. With his eyes shut, he could imagine this was about intimacy, her hands exploring his body, brushing his nipples into stiff peaks.
‘Is that all?’
Her query broke into his daydream and heat flowed from his chest up his throat to blaze over his cheekbones. Opening his eyes, he met her gaze, soft and a little hazy, as if she’d maybe been dreaming too.
She blinked and indicated the towel. ‘Are there some lower?’
He nodded, still confused by the sudden awakening. She started tugging at the towel and he was suddenly alert. ‘No. No. I can deal with those.’
She reached past him to place the tube of cream on the dressing table, her breasts brushing his shoulder. Straightening, she picked up one corner of the bath sheet from close to his crotch, cleaning her hands on the thick towelling. Her gaze was on his face, but she had to have seen his body’s reaction to what amounted to a massage. ‘I guess that’s it.’
But she didn’t move. Her mouth wasn’t far away with him seated and her slight build. Her tongue darted out again and his own mouth went dry. His body strained forward while the sane part of his mind told the other, more physical side, it would end badly.
He didn’t care. After all these years, he needed, wanted to taste her.
He reached out and gripped her hips, bringing her closer. There was no resistance, only a speculative gleam in her eyes which were fixed on his face. She made first contact, leaning down to touch her mouth to his, sweeping lightly from side to side before settling it over his bottom lip.
Heat bloomed in his chest, firing his system into renewed life and he opened his mouth to taste her. He wanted to feed on her sweetness. Revel in her strength. Like some doomed vampire sucking life, drawing hope from her. She was everything he dreamed, warm and moist, tasting of mint, sweet tea and her own unique flavour.
