Her fingers were small and cool against his bare skin. Slowly, she reached out and touched her fingertips to his chest. She tilted her head up, as if she could see him. “I-” She tapped her chest, and then stopped. “J-a-s-o-n,” she signed, then she swallowed hard. He intended to guide her back to the bed, but somehow, his fingers made a side trip to slip a stray curl behind her ear. It didn’t matter, though, since he couldn’t tell her much of anything right now.
Like most women, Lauren probably wouldn’t believe him if he told her how pretty she looked. The other night in her office seemed like years ago. The simple nightgown scooped low on her chest, clinging to curves he’d barely had the chance to explore. Her hair hung to her hips in thick copper waves that had his fingers itching to touch. So why did he feel like a voyeur?Įven sleep-mussed, without all the trappings of makeup and done-up hair, she was beautiful. It was a bit disconcerting to watch her this way. He waited patiently, watching her, enjoying the view.Įven hindered with the cast, and unable to see, her movements were smooth and graceful. He touched her arm, and she let him guide her to the sink. He hustled, barefoot, his shirt hanging open, and met her in the doorway. She’d be covered in bruises if she hit any more walls. She’d never find her way back without help. He was pulling his shirt on when she opened the door.
He had just enough time to grab clothes from the closet and cover the important parts.
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