right thing to do?
Just because they desired each other?
And what about the gossip? Did she want to be the laughing stock of the hospital? The resident cradle-snatcher? ‘I’m not really into casual.’
Nash chuckled. ‘What’s wrong with casual, Maggie May?’
His laugh was full of humour and sin and licked flames deep inside her, and she suddenly felt old. The differences between them were stark. He didn’t have a problem with keeping it light, casual. Whereas she’d reached a stage in her life that craved the security of a relationship. Of waking up together every day with someone.
Maggie knew from experience how good it could be, how fulfilling. It wasn’t that she was out there actively looking for it but she knew she was too old to play games.
After her divorce she hadn’t thought she’d ever feel like this again, and she was surprised to discover she did now that Nash had forced her hand. She didn’t want to invest too much emotional energy in someone who wasn’t sticking around. Who wasn’t a keeper.
Because, as she’d already told him, she got too involved.
Nash was still trying out all the rides in the playground. And that was fine. But he could keep the swings and roundabouts. ‘Nothing, I guess,’ she murmured. ‘Just not my style.’
‘You have a style?’
Maggie smiled. ‘I do now.’ She finished her dessert and pushed the bowl onto the bedside table, easing herself down until she was on her back again, the pillow behind her head, the sheet pulled up.
‘So we just stay...?’
Maggie wasn’t quite sure how to define it. ‘Friends?’
Nash eased back too, rolling on his side, propped on one elbow, while his other hand held the bowl. ‘With benefits?’
All the air sucked from Maggie’s lungs. God, he was beautiful, looking at her with the promise of an unrivalled sexual adventure. Could she really pass that up? ‘Maybe. Occasionally. I don’t know.’
It wasn’t much of a concession but Nash grinned. He was so addicted to Maggie he’d take whatever crumb she threw him at the moment. And then he’d make her so crazed with passion she’d be begging him to take up residence in her bed.
Until January anyway.
‘Maybe I could help to persuade you,’ he murmured.
Placing his nearly empty bowl on the bed, Nash slowly pulled the sheet away. He watched her watching him, desire making her eyes glazed and fluttering her eyelids to half-mast. Scooping his spoon into the bowl, he filled it with soft ice cream.
She was still watching him with those slumberous eyes and Nash felt a fist turn in his groin.
‘I’ve been wanting to do this for ages,’ he murmured as he held the spoon above her chest and watched the cold, gooey ice cream slide off and land dead centre. It practically sizzled.
Maggie gasped. ‘That’s freezing.’
Nash smiled as her nipples turned to engorged dusky icicles before his eyes. ‘Not for long.’ Already a brown puddle was gathering at the base of the cold glob.
‘I hate being cold.’
But Nash could hear the desire trembling in her voice and watched as she stared at the melting ice cream, her bottom lip caught between her teeth.
‘Are you just going to leave it there?’ she demanded in a voice husky with need.
Mash dropped his head and kissed a creamy shoulder. ‘Until it melts, and then I’m going to lick it all off.’
A rivulet escaped then and slowly trekked down the slope of her left breast. It was like warmed mud found in expensive spas and Nash watched its torturously slow trip, salivating. Finally, it pooled at the base of her puckered nipple.
Grinning at her, he dropped his head again to suck the melted ice cream from her nipple. Her back arched forcing the sweet, hard, elongated contours deeper into his mouth and Nash groaned. When he’d removed the chocolate coating he shifted slightly, trailing the flat of his tongue back up the muddy pathway that had traversed her breast.
Nash lifted his head, satisfied he’d lapped up every last morsel, only to find tributaries of warmed chocolate oozing everywhere now. Over both breasts, towards her neck and down her ribcage like a sweet sticky web.
He glanced at her, seeking her eyes but they were shut now. Her mouth was open though, her breathing rough and her hands were fisted into the sheets. ‘Now, this is the only way to eat ice cream,’ he murmured.
Maggie was seeing stars behind her closed lids as the cool trickle felt like hundreds of fingers caressing her skin. Wherever his tongue trailed it seared