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He laughed. ‘Is it working?’
Apparently. If the low-level buzz that was sensitising long-forgotten parts of her body was any indication. This was so not a conversation they should be having. She triumphantly pulled her keys out of her bag. ‘Thanks for the lift. My bed’s calling.’
Yes, it was. He could hear it loud and clear. He watched her shut her eyes briefly as she realised that she’d said something she shouldn’t have. Her bed was out there now. ‘Right.’ He swallowed. ‘I should go.’
Carrie looked into his eyes and nodded, trying to forget her gaffe. Hell. Why had she mentioned her bed? ‘Yes,’ she said.
Neither of them moved.
Put the key in the door and go inside. ‘Thanks again…for the…lift,’ she said. His intense stare made her trip and stumble over the words.
Turn around now and go back to the car. ‘My pleasure,’ he said, staring at her mouth beckoning him, bewitching him. How much pleasure could he find in those glistening, delectable lips?
Carrie didn’t move a muscle. She couldn’t—even her diaphragm was having trouble performing its usual function. She was conscious only of his eyes and the way he was looking at her mouth. Her breath was uneven and her heart fluttered madly.
He took a step closer to her. She felt suffocated by his nearness, by the intensity of his gaze, by the flare of hunger she could see in his grey eyes. Had anyone ever looked at her with such naked need? She took a step back. The door stopped her retreat.
An inner voice warned Charlie against the next step he took. But he was too far gone, too caught up in the pout of her mouth and the smell of her and the catch of her breath. ‘Tell me to leave,’ his husky voice requested.
‘Leave,’ she whispered, her whole body tingling in anticipation, her gaze fixed on his mouth. His eyes were hooded now as his tall, broad frame blocked out the ambient light.
He shook his head. ‘Mean it,’ he whispered back.
CHAPTER FOUR
THERE was a brief moment when meaning it was possible but it passed and Carrie knew she wasn’t strong enough to turn him away. The thought of his lips on hers, his hand on her body, his stubble grating erotically against her cheek was making a mockery of her self-control.
His head was moving closer to hers. All she needed to do was lean forward a little and their bodies would be in intimate contact. But only the slow passage of his mouth registered to her severely dysfunctional brain.
Her eyes fluttered closed at the first touch of his lips on hers and then everything imploded. It was no gentle, explorative press of flesh. It was hot and hard and frantic. Bordering on desperate. Carrie felt the heat instantly. Everywhere. All the way through to her centre and back out again.
He was everywhere. His breadth surrounded her, overwhelmed her, demanding and achieving entry into her most prized possession—her personal space. He pushed her harder and harder against the door, her back flattening against the wood as she pushed against him, inviting a deepening of the passion raging between them.
She couldn’t be passive—his lips demanded her to be an active participant. To thrust her tongue against his, to moan, to clutch the front of his shirt, to breathe hard like she’d run a marathon, to grind her hips into his. There was no time for thought or reflection, there was just feeling.
Like how good his mouth felt against hers, how her breasts ached to be touched, how hard he felt as he rocked his pelvis into her. And how long it had been since she’d done this. How ready she was. And how this kiss was never, ever going to be enough.
She wanted more. She wanted to see all of him. Touch all of him. Feel him deep inside her. There were no thoughts of tomorrow or Dana or her job. It had been four long years and his kisses were like sweet wine on parched lips. She couldn’t think straight. Just feel. Just experience. Just drink up every drop.
She dragged her mouth away. ‘Inside,’ she croaked.
‘Yes,’ he said, his breath coming in harsh gulps. He whisked the keys out of her fingers and made short work of the barrier to her bed. Hell, he’d have kicked it in if it had been required.
He swept her off her feet and cut off her startled yelp with his mouth as he nudged the door shut with his foot. She kissed like a fallen angel, sweet and sinful, and he wondered if she made love like one, too. He had to have her—now.
‘Which way?’ he demanded in a rough voice. She pointed and he strode quickly towards the indicated room, kissing her roughly before throwing her on the bed.
Light from a streetlamp outside entered through the high window above the bed. She looked utterly gorgeous, lying there, thoroughly kissed, on the mattress. Her mouth was swollen and moist, tendrils of her auburn hair had escaped the clasp and her skirt had ridden up her thighs. He needed to see her naked. Quickly.
