Temptation & Surrender by Stephanie Laurens

Author:Stephanie Laurens
Language: ron
Format: mobi
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

13

Em stirred—and wondered why the sheets were so scratchy.

Eyes still closed, she frowned—unable to remember why she’d gone to bed naked, without her nightgown—indeed, without a stitch on.

Then she registered the heat—and the body from which it was emanating—wrapped all around her.

It wasn’t the sheets that were lightly abrading her suddenly sensitive skin.

Awareness, then memories, flooded her. On a stifled gasp she opened her eyes—and confirmed the conclusion of her senses.

Those memories weren’t dreams.

She was lying on her back with Jonas slumped facedown beside her. She stared at the heavily muscled, hairy arm lying across her breasts, then shifted her gaze to stare at the long, large frame—decently screened beneath her coverlet—stretched alongside her, one heavy naked thigh anchoring one of hers.

Had she really…?

Yes, she had. She’d invited Jonas Tallent into her bed, into her body. He’d followed her up to her room under his own steam—arguing about something as she recalled. She couldn’t remember what—could remember very little of what had transpired before she’d thrown her cap over the proverbial windmill. She could remember all that had followed—all her explorations, all she’d learned, all the incredible sensations—in remarkable detail…

Distracting detail.

Blinking, she realized long minutes had ticked by while she wallowed in what had been—on what their this had encompassed.

Understandable enough, but…what now?

Having invited him in, how did she get him to leave?

She wasn’t sure of the etiquette, but assumed she should, somehow, see him out. Certainly he couldn’t still be in her room come morning.

What was the time? A small clock stood on a chest of drawers against the wall alongside the bed; she squinted at it, couldn’t quite make out the hands…

“It’s just after midnight.”

The low words rumbled past her ear, making her start. Making her nerves, her skin, sizzle with awareness. Making her turn her head toward him.

He’d turned his head on the pillow to watch her. He lay close; enough moonlight washed across the bed for her to see his features, but his eyes remained dark pools—she couldn’t read their expression.

She could see his lips, saw them curve in what appeared to be a richly self-satisfied smile. One that bordered on the smug.

She would have frowned—intended to—but he moved his arm, and his hand, his long fingers, brushed the side of her breast. A start of a different sort lanced through her, memory rendering anticipation that much sharper. Her gaze on his face, her attention—every last bit of it—locked on his hand, on his questing fingers as they found, stroked, weighed, caressed…she nearly squirmed with remembered delight, with damning, building, expectation.

She licked her lips. Saw his gaze fall to them. Forced herself to say, “Shouldn’t you…leave?”

His gaze rose to her eyes, held hers for an instant, then his lips curved more definitely. He shook his head; his gaze lowered to where, beneath the covers, his hand continued to caress—to reclaim—her breast. “I’m precisely where I want to be.”

And he had no intention of leaving, not until consideration for her reputation drove him out at dawn. Jonas couldn’t remember ever feeling so content, so satisfied.

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