Gently he touched one of her curls, picking it up and stretching it out, marveling at its length. Straightened, her hair would reach over halfway down her back. He released the tension on the strand and it wrapped around his finger like a loose spring.
The chill she’d had worried him. The apartment’s heat, added to the warmth of both her and the blanket draped over him, had sweat running down his face. Her face had been pale, her skin clammy. She had looked shocky, as if she had lost a lot of blood. Since that obviously wasn’t the case, something else was wrong. Glancing down at her now, though, he saw a tinge of delicate color in her cheeks, and her face had lost the drawn look of hypothermia.
One unrestrained breast pressed against his rib cage. She was definitely braless, a detail he had immediately noted, with her chill pinching her nipples into tight little points. They had plumped out now, though, because he couldn’t feel them pushing at him.
Not today, but one day soon, he would hold her naked breasts in his hands and rub his thumbs over her nipples and watch them pucker. He closed his eyes as he let himself imagine how it would feel to hold her beneath him and push deep into her. Making love to Sweeney would be a challenge; despite the startled awareness in her eyes, she was resisting doing anything about it. Part of it was scruples, yes; he understood that. But part of it was sheer stubbornness, an unwillingness to open herself up to him. She wanted her life just the way it was, without a man around to distract her. She was good at keeping it that way, too, because judging from the comments Candra had dropped over the years, Sweeney was practically a nun.
Not for much longer, though.
He closed his eyes and forced himself to relax, but as he began to doze, he remembered her charge—he would demand time and sex and things like that, he thought was the way she’d put it. She was right on the money. He went to sleep with a slight smile on his face.
In the army, he had trained himself to sleep for a specified length of time, no matter how brief, and wake up when he wanted. Now they were called power naps, but then he had called it staying alive. He shut out of his mind the uncomfortable heat, ignored it as if it didn’t exist, another trick he had learned in training. When he woke half an hour later, he felt rested despite the fact that his shirt was wet with sweat. Sweeney was warm, too; she had pushed the blanket down from around her face, and her fingertips were pink. As he had expected, she began stirring just a few moments later, rather than the hour and a half she had given herself; sleep was the body’s reaction to cold, and once warmth was restored, the sleepiness was gone.
He was looking down at her, so he saw her eyes pop open. Like flashes of lightning, her expression was startled, then flickered to alarm. She sat up suddenly, catching his balls beneath her and pinning them. He barely restrained a yelp and swiftly shifted her weight in his lap.
“Oh, God, I can’t believe I did that,” she muttered, scrambling off his lap in a tangle of blanket and coat.
“I can.” Wincing, he eased into a different position.
She looked down, and her eyes widened. “I didn’t mean that,” she blurted. “I was talking about going to sleep in your lap. I’m so sorry.” She bit her lip. ‘Are you all right?”
A chuckle burst through his clenched teeth. Gingerly he moved again, and the pain began to fade. “I don’t know,” he said, deliberately pitching his voice high.
She threw herself back against the couch, shrieking with laughter.
Richard bent over her, framed her face with his hands, and kissed her laughing mouth.
She went still, like a small animal trying to hide from a predator. Her hands came up to clasp his wrists, clever hands, the skin soft and sensitive over delicate bones. He wanted to crush her mouth with his, but he gentled his kiss, treasuring rather than taking. Her lips trembled, just a little. He opened them and sought her tongue with his. Heat roared through him, white-hot and urgent. His entire body tightened with the need to cover and enter. Ruthlessly he restrained himself, knowing she was far from acceptance.
Then she kissed him back. The movement of her lips and tongue were tentative, almost shy at first, and then a low moan vibrated in her throat and her grip tightened on his wrists. He felt tension invade her body, felt her strain upward even though she never left her seat beside him. He deepened the kiss, his tongue slow and sure, both taking and inviting.
She tore away from him, launching herself to her feet and stomping several feet away. When she whirled to face him, her expression was tight with anger. “No,” she said, voice clipped. “You’re married.”
He got to his feet, gaze locked on her face. “Not for much longer.”
She made an abrupt motion. “You’re married now, and that’s what counts. You’re in the middle of an unfriendly divorce—”
“Is there any other kind?” he interrupted, tone as mild as if he were asking the time.
“You know what I mean. Candra’s my business associate, and on top of that I like her.”
“Most people do.”
“Getting involved with you would be messy It wouldn’t be right.”
His dark eyes narrowed. “Okay.”
Her eyebrows arched in surprise. “Okay?”
“For now. Until the divorce is final. Then ...” He shrugged, letting the word trail off, but from the way he still watched her, she could figure out what “then” entailed. “One question: What’s your first name?”
She gaped at him. “What?”
“Your first name. What is it? I refuse to call a woman I’ve slept with by her last name.”