“Gotta have help with this darned zipper.”
“Oh. Okay.” Still, he didn’t move. He sat there with his eyes fixed on her mouth.
“You can touch me,” she said, amazed at her own drug-induced audacity. “I won’t bite.”
Bennett leaned forward.
“At least not very hard.”
How on earth was he going to undress her without driving them both wild with desire? The painkillers had taken over. The gleam in her eye was too bright, the way she looked at him too bold.
Keep her talking, Sheridan, he told himself, and whatever happens do not kiss her.
“If Dr. Laramie could see you now.” Bennett shook his head. “He’s under the impression that you’re a sweet, old-fashioned girl.”
Lacy lifted a finger to her lips, which looked especially soft and pliant. “Shh. We’ll never tell.”
He smiled. “No. It’ll be our little secret.”
“We’ve got a secret,” she said in a singsong voice, then thrust her arms over her head. “Clothes off. Teddy on.”
What had he done to get himself in such a predicament?
Oh, yeah, he’d given her medicine for her sprained ankle, but his bungle had been leaving the nightclub with her in the first place. He was much too susceptible to her beguiling charms.
“Come on,” she urged, leaning forward and twisting her torso so he could see the zipper behind her.
Hesitantly, Bennett reached out a hand and took the zipper between his thumb and forefinger.
Slowly, he inched the zipper down bit by bit, exposing the narrow expanse of Lacy’s soft flesh beneath.
Heat swamped him. He bit the inside of his cheek to keep from groaning aloud.
Get yourself under control, Sheridan, pronto. Lacy’s in a vulnerable state.
Gently, he tugged the dress over her head, his fingertips accidentally grazing her upper arm.
Lacy moaned softly and closed her eyes.
“Are you all right?”
“Perfect.” She almost purred.
She was sitting on the couch, her legs propped on the pillow, wearing nothing but a black push-up bra and black lace undies. Her long apple-cider hair cascaded over her shoulders, descending to her waist like a golden curtain.
His fingers burned to touch her. His lips twitched to skate along her skin and taste the salt of her. His nose burned to burrow inside the fresh feminine fragrance of her cleavage.
Bennett swore he had died and zoomed straight to hell. Where else would he have such an exquisite creature at his fingertips and yet be unable to act on his very masculine desires for her?
His eyes ate her up, taking in the soft swell of her breasts, the luxurious curve of her hips.
Torture. Pure torture.
Cover her up. Quick.
Bennett stared at the tiny pink satin garment in his hand. As if it was going to do anything to cloak that magnificent body. Fervently, he wished for a floor-length flannel granny gown to toss over her.
Fumbling in his hurry, he threaded her arms through the teddy’s spaghetti straps, then pulled it over her head.
She homed those breath-stealing eyes on him. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
“I feel...kinda drunk.” She rubbed her forehead with her fingers.
“It’s okay. The feeling will pass.”
Without warning, she reached up and wrapped her arms around his neck. “Kiss me,” she whispered.
In an instant her lips were plastered against his. He wrapped his arms around her and held her close. His mouth came down with a fierceness that frightened yet thrilled him.
If anything, this kiss was even better than the one at the nightclub. Bennett dissolved like ice in a glass of hot water. He had no resistance to her. Whatever she wanted she could have.
Her hands roved over his body, gently exploring. She tasted of orange pekoe and smelled of rose petals. Her tongue teased, drawing him out, rousing myriad sensations inside him.
Her skin, her lips, her fingertips inflamed him. He tingled, burned, and ached.
Her breasts swelled against his chest. His pulse pounded in his groin as blood rushed to heat that area of his body. He reacted to her contact like a plant reaching for the sunlight. He awakened to the limitless possibilities of what could happen between them. Breathing heavily, he broke the kiss.
She grinned. “Hi, thunderbolt.”
“Thunderbolt?”
Chucking him under the chin with a finger, she giggled. “Don’t pretend you don’t know.”
“But I don’t.” What on earth was she talking about?
It’s just the pain pills. Humor her until they wear off—
“Admit it,” she whispered. “Admit you’re my thunderbolt.”
What the heck was thunderbolt? A horse? Anything to pacify her. “Okay, I admit it. I’m your thunderbolt.”
“I knew it,” she crowed and threw her arms around his neck. “Now take me to the bedroom and make love to me.”
“Listen,