The Thunderbolt - Lori Wilde Page 0,24
He handed them to her.
“Fresh tea to wash these down with?”
“This is fine.” She picked up her stone-cold tea from the coffee table and washed back the tablets.
Bennett eyed her.
Lacy was the cutest-looking thing he’d ever seen, propped up on the couch. Too cute. Her sweet, incredible scent pushed him beyond distraction, and he couldn’t stop staring at those creamy legs.
He should get out of here. Leave this minute. Instead, he found himself saying, “Maybe I should stay the night, just to make sure you’re all right.”
“That’s really not necessary.”
“What if you need to get up in the night? You might fall on your injured ankle and make the sprain worse.”
She studied him a moment. “All right.”
“Can I get you anything?” he asked. “Something to drink? A snack?”
“Well...”
“What?”
“I would like to get out of this dress and into my pj’s.”
“Your pajamas, right.” He was talking lickety-split, and he knew it, but he couldn’t seem to slow down. The thought of sliding a silky nightshirt over her head had him popping out in a cold sweat.
“Where are your clothes?”
“In the bedroom.” She pointed down the hall. “In the bureau.”
“Be right back.” Bennett disappeared down the hall, wondering how he had gotten himself into this sticky-but-not-unpleasant situation and how he was going to get himself out again.
He flicked on the light in the small bedroom. This place reminded him of the Lacy he knew from the hospital. Old-fashioned. Shy. Sweet.
A queen-size bed sat in the middle of the room, adorned with a patchwork quilt. His Nanna had made quilts, and he recognized the pattern. Double wedding ring, it was called, or something like that.
Lacy’s bedroom was impeccable. Nothing out of place. No dust or cobwebs or litter in the wicker wastepaper basket beside her computer desk.
Bennett stepped to the antique bureau in the corner. He pulled open the top drawer, dumbstruck by what he saw.
Panties. Dozens and dozens of panties. Thongs. G-strings. Garters. Scarlet lace. Black satin. Purple silk.
Drawn by an irresistible power, Bennett scooped up a handful and held them against his nose.
They smelled of laundry soap and rose-scented potpourri. He inhaled deeply.
The Lacy who owned these garments was not the Lacy he knew from the hospital. This was the Lacy who wore skimpy dresses and spike heels to go dancing with cowboys at the Recovery Room.
Then Bennett caught a glimpse of himself in her mirror, a half dozen pairs of thong undies dangling from his hand, an I’ve-died-and-gone-to-lingerie-heaven expression on his face. Unnerved, he jammed the panties into the drawer and yanked open the second one, his breath coming in hard, short gasps.
All he could think about was Lacy wearing these delicate things.
He was dead meat.
She’d sent him into her bedroom. Alone. To rummage through her underwear drawer.
Lacy’s face flamed. What had she been thinking? What if he opened the top drawer and saw all her sexy lingerie? What would be his impression of her?
The painkillers were starting to take effect. Not only had the pain in her ankle decreased measurably, but a giddy, light-headed feeling wrapped warm fuzzy fingers around her.
“Is this all right?” Bennett appeared in the doorway, holding a pink satin teddy edged with crimson lace.
Yikes!
The mere thought of lounging on the couch in front of him wearing that scanty number was more than she could fathom.
“Those aren’t pajamas,” she blurted.
His face fell. “Oh.”
“But it’ll do,” she found herself saying for absolutely no other reason than to see him smile.
He crossed the room toward her.
Lacy’s heart began to pound so loudly she heard her blood strumming through her ears.
He sat beside her on the couch, his body angled toward her head, his trousered leg resting against her hip. All her senses strummed with awareness while at the same time a heady warmth loosened her limbs and her tongue. She floated free, untethered, buoyed by pain pills and the giddiness of his nearness.
Her vision narrowed. She noticed everything about Dr. Bennett Sheridan, from the faint laugh lines etched into the corners of his eyes to the beard stubble gracing his manly jaw.
She also noticed that he looked uncertain and uncomfortable.
“Whaz wrong?” She giggled when she realized she’d slurred her words.
“The pain pills are making you a little punchy.”
She nodded. It seemed her head bobbed on a string yanked by an invisible puppeteer. “Uh-huh.”
Helplessly, he held her pink satin teddy in front of him. “How are we going to do this? Would you like me to leave you alone while you, um, get undressed?”
This time, she shook her head.