Cheryl Holt Read Free Page B

obvious—that she was undressed—but she couldn’t speak the word
naked
to this unknown scoundrel, and she blushed bright red, the flush originating somewhere in the vicinity of her stomach and sweeping up her breasts to her cheeks. Unduly warm, she resisted the impulse to fan herself lest she drop the towel.
    “I demand that you go.”
    “God, you’re pretty.” He reached behind her head and tugged at a comb that had helped to restrain her abundant locks, and the velvety mass cascaded down her back and hung to her waist. “I love your hair. It shimmers like fire.”
    For one, mad instant, she thought he planned to kiss her, but instead, he ducked under her chin and nuzzled against her shoulder at the site where her pulse pounded so furiously. A shiver of excitement tore through her, and she swallowed a baffled squeal that could have been either delight or indignation.
    His lips were heated and soft, and he tenderly kissed against her nape then, to her astonishment, he licked across her skin. She jumped then twirled away, only to end up facing the mirror, with him behind her, and she assessed the two of them, evaluating the differences: his tall to her short, bronzed to fair, brawn to lean.
    Boldly, he settled his hands on her hips and snuggled her backside against him, and she was assailed by an array of unique anatomical impressions. As though she’d been searching for this man all her life and had finally found him, she ignited with sensation, every pore alert and animated, and her nipples tightened painfully, poking at the towel.
    The knave immediately noticed how they’d peaked. “I can’t wait to have my mouth on you.”
    The declaration kindled cryptic images, and restlessly, she scrambled to flee—from the unusual fleshly perturbation and from him—but because of their positions, he merely nestled her close and flexed against her. His groin stroked across her bottom in a manner she’d never presumed a man might attempt with a woman. There was a solid ridge along his abdomen that dug into her buttocks, and her traitorous body reacted by squirming to get nearer to it. He appreciated her participation and gripped her firmly, flexing again.
    “Your breasts are so beautiful,” he murmured. “Just the size I like on a woman. Not too big. Not too small.” Before she knew what he was about, he’d pushed the towel aside, revealing one to his torrid gaze. He cupped it, weighing it with his palm, then he pinched the nipple, twirling and manipulating it back and forth.
    The swirl of agony he instigated was like nothing she’d ever previously experienced. The torment blazed a trail that commenced at her bosom, then rushed out across her torso, to the roots of her hair and the tips of her toes, and she curled them into the rug.
    “Please,” she begged, but whether she was beseeching him to continue or cease was impossible to surmise. On some secret level, she surreptitiously craved what he was vigorously inflicting.
    “Look at us,” was his rejoinder. There was a gleam in his eye that made him appear wicked and beyond redemption. “Look at how exquisite we are with my hands on you.”
    His gaze met hers in the mirror, and she could only conclude that he was correct. Mesmerized, she was beguiled by the incongruous perception that she was magnificent in his arms: curvaceous, feminine, alluring. Their bodies were flawlessly reconciled, perfectly attuned, and the display titillated and disturbed. Much as she wanted to, she couldn’t quit staring.
    He could read her thoughts, and he smiled insolently. “You see it, too, don’t you?”
    “You’re mistaken,” she pointlessly asserted.
    “Am I?”
    Determined to prove her wrong, he unveiled her other breast, and she desperately grasped the towel around her waist, so it wouldn’t fall to the floor and leave her uncovered. As she battled with her nude condition, he petted and fondled, squeezing the mounds and tweaking the nipples until they spasmed