Dance Away with Me - Susan Elizabeth Phillips Page 0,95
her to ash. She needed to stop thinking so much and rely on her instincts to restoke that fire. But her instincts wanted her to get off him, climb down the ladder, and hurry to the house in a haze of disappointment.
He spoke against her barely parted lips. “Where are you?”
She pulled her head back. “What do you mean? I’m right here.”
“Are you?”
She reared back on his hips. “Are you going to critique me?”
He smiled, but she wanted to cry. She scrambled off him, determined to get to the ladder before she completely humiliated herself. He reached up and caught her by her wrist. “Hold on.”
“Let go,” she said.
He didn’t.
“I told you to let go!”
He came to his knees, still clasping her wrist. “I will. I promise. But can you give me thirty seconds leeway?”
“To do what?”
“I don’t know. Mess around. Tell a knock-knock joke. Do my Thomas Edison imitation.” He released her wrist. “I need to think about it.”
Her urge to cry disappeared, but she refused to let herself smile. “Nobody does a Thomas Edison imitation, and your thirty seconds are already up.”
He looked offended. “It’s my understanding that the timer doesn’t start ticking until I’m done thinking.”
The heaviness in her chest had disappeared, and she managed a surly growl. “I guess.”
“Great.” He sat back on the blanket, one leg extended, the other knee bent, and pretended to go into deep thought only to shake his head. “This isn’t working. I need some inspiration. Would you mind taking off your shirt while I think? No harm in that, right?”
Where was the grim-faced stranger she knew so well? This man seemed to have given up hiding behind grunts and snarls. Was she going to play his game? She was.
“I s’pose not.” She went to her knees at the edge of the blanket and crossed her arms over her chest. “You might want to prepare yourself. I’m not wearing my sexy bra.” She pulled her shirt over her head to reveal a plain white underwire with an edge of limp lace spilling over the tops of her breasts.
He regarded her bra so uncritically. “That’s a problem for sure. How am I supposed to get turned on when you’re not wearing your sexy bra?” His gaze didn’t wander from her breasts. “Before you answer that, I need to know— Are you wearing your sexy panties?”
“I don’t remember which underpants I put on this morning,” she said primly, “but I’m pretty sure they’re not my sexy ones.”
“See, that’s the thing. Sexy is in the eye of the beholder.”
“Is that so?”
“I’m surprised you don’t know that,” he said oh-so-earnestly. “What you have to do now is take off your jeans so I can give you my impartial opinion. Unless you think I might hurt your feelings.”
Laughter and arousal formed a deliciously melting jumble inside her. She came to her feet. “I’ll risk it.” Her hands flicked open the snap on her jeans and went to the zipper tab.
“Hold on. You’re not doing that right.”
“I’m not unfastening my jeans right? You’ve got to be kidding me.”
“I told you this might hurt your feelings, but I’m kind of shocked that an experienced nurse like yourself doesn’t know about the injuries a person can get from a zipper.”
“Really? I had no idea.”
“I can see that. Medical professionals like yourself should know more of the basic safety rules.”
“Such as?”
“Such as . . . It’s better for men to take over unzipping. Our fingers are stronger.”
Could this be happening? Could sex with Ian North be both hot and fun? She pretended to think it over. “I suppose you have a point.”
“I’m very intelligent.” He went to his knees in front of her, slipped the tips of his fingers inside her waistband, and tugged on the zipper tag. But he pulled it down only halfway before he paused to trace his fingers across the fleshy curve of her abdomen. She automatically tightened it and then thought what-the-hell and let it go.
He pressed his lips to the V of skin he’d exposed. His mouth trailed lower, right along with the zipper, until he arrived at the top edge of her underpants. He nuzzled there, his breath warm on her skin. “Now this,” he whispered, “is what I call a good time.”
And she’d done nothing. Nothing except stand here with knees that were starting to wobble.
He took her jeans lower. To her knees. His hands slipped around her thighs.
She’d lied about her underpants. These were a cheeky little lavender number a friend