Strangely, he did, too.
She shrugged out of her gown, letting it drop to her hips.
His body went still, and his mind went blank.
Her hands dropped to her sides. Although her face flamed, she held his eyes in challenge, daring him to find her flaws.
There were none.
She was a goddess with her fiery hair. Her skin was creamy smooth — not porcelain, or even deep tan, like so many women he’d known, but the peach-tinted hue of a pure redhead. Her slender neck led down to the most magnificent breasts he’d ever seen. Vargas breasts. Perfect globes of ivory capped with puffy aureoles and pebble tips of a raspberry tint. Champagne breasts, as he’d told her one time.
And that wasn’t all. She had a narrow waist that flared out to curvy hips. Her flat stomach framed an indented navel that he longed to explore with his tongue. Her gown hid the rest, but he could wait. This was enough for now. Almost too much.
He started toward her. He couldn’t wait.
She held up a halting hand. “Do you remember… do you remember what you asked me to do earlier?”
He frowned. Hell, he couldn’t remember his own name, let alone something he might have asked her to do before. “When?”
“Tonight. Earlier tonight.” She raised her hands slowly.
And he remembered. Hot damn!
She placed both palms under her breasts and lifted them a little, creating a more voluptuous cleavage. Then she moved her hands upward, past her breasts, and… oh, my God!… she licked first one forefinger, then the other. And touched her own nipples.
She closed her eyes and moaned.
He closed his eyes and moaned.
In three quick strides, he was in front of her, pulling her into his arms. She almost collapsed, grabbing for his shoulders.
His mouth covered hers ravenously, forcing her lips open with his thrusting tongue.
She returned the kiss with equal hunger, drawing him deeper.
He wanted to be gentle, but he forgot how. She deserved a masterful lover. He was out of control.
His brain said, Time for a speed bump. His brain-dead body said, Shut up. We’re off to Indianapolis.
His hands swept over her back, from shoulder to buttocks. Pressing. Kneading. Exploring.
Her fingers gripped his shoulders, convulsively.
Slow down.
He plunged his tongue into her mouth again, then withdrew.
Slow down.
Her foolish tongue followed his into his mouth.
Slow down.
He stroked in, and she followed back.
Slow down.
Her mouth, his tongue. His mouth, her tongue. The deep, incredible kiss never ended. It became one fluid motion of sliding intimacy. A joining.
Slow down, or this will be over before it begins.
Finally, his brain got through to his other organ. Either that, or his arteries were clogged with testosterone.
He leaned away slightly. Cupping her face with both hands, he braced his forehead against hers, panting for breath.
Helen’s hands still clutched and unclutched his shoulders, spasmodically, until she calmed down. Only her heaving chest and a small whimper betrayed her continuing turmoil. If he was in a testosterone tailspin, she was surely in hormone heaven.
When he was able to speak above a croak, Rafe brushed his lips against hers. “Lady, you know how to make a man lose control.”
“Me?” she asked skeptically. “I’m the one out of control.”
“You are?” He grinned. “Good.”
“I don’t want to wait anymore.”
“I don’t either, baby.” He inhaled deeply. “But we will.” He took both her hands in his, kissing each of the fingertips, then held her arms out from her sides. He stepped back to get a better view, then groaned. “I knew three times wouldn’t be enough.”
“Enough for what?” she squeaked as he undid her last three buttons and whisked the gown off her hips to billow at her feet.
“To satisfy this wild need I have for you.” He skimmed the knuckles of one hand over her red curls for emphasis.
She sighed.
The soft silk, and her sigh, beckoned him to do more, but he exercised restraint. It wasn’t easy. “Lie down,” he choked out and stumbled over to his pile of wet clothing. Eventually, despite his clumsiness, he found his wallet and took out the three foil-wrapped packets.