him back onto the mattress and tumbled down with him.
She reached for the small lamp on the night table, but he caught her hand and brought it to his lips. He kissed her palm, nibbled on her fingers, and sent sparks of heat zinging through her system.
Oh, yes, there was heat. And Molly gloried in this confirmation that she wasn’t unresponsive or dispassionate, she’d just needed a man who knew how to touch her the right way. And Eric definitely knew how to touch a woman the right way.
She wanted to touch him—was desperate to touch him—too. With limited experience to fall back on, she allowed her instincts to guide her. She ran her hands up his chest, over his shoulders, down his arms. She reveled in the feel of all those hard, tight muscles bunching and flexing in response to her eager touch. His skin was warm and smooth and taut; his body exquisitely carved and sculpted. Everywhere she touched, he was hard and strong, so completely and perfectly male. And for now—for the next few hours that remained of the night—he was hers.
Her fingertips paused in their exploration, hovering over the puckered ridge of skin she’d discovered beneath his lowest rib.
She felt him tense as she slowly traced the diagonal line of the scar toward his hip bone. Her fingers moved lower, finding a wider, longer scar on his upper thigh, and she instinctively knew this was the reason he hadn’t wanted the light.
His perfect body wasn’t quite perfect after all. And yet, the physical scars on his body somehow enhanced rather than detracted from his appeal.
“A recent injury?” she asked softly.
“Not so recent,” he said, but offered nothing more.
She traced her fingertips over the scars again, as if her touch could ease the strain she heard in his voice, the tension in his muscles. “What happened?”
“A naval training exercise went wrong.”
His simplistic explanation was a clear indication that this wasn’t something he wanted to talk about. But his response had given her another valuable insight about this man. “So you’re a sailor.”
“Was,” he corrected.
“With a woman in every port?” she teased to lighten the moment.
“Never more than one at a time.”
“Good to know.” She kissed him then, deeply, hungrily.
She kissed his lips, his throat, his chest. Her hair spilled over his shoulders, providing a curtain behind which she continued her exploration. She’d never been so aroused, so tempted, so bold. But she let her instincts, and his throaty groans of appreciation, guide her. She nibbled her way down his belly, savored the salty masculine flavor of his skin. Then her lips found the ridge of scar tissue her fingers had recently discovered, and her avid mouth gently feathered soft kisses along the puckered skin.
“If you’re trying to kiss away the pain, where I’m really hurting is just a little bit lower,” he told her huskily.
She chuckled, letting her tongue taste, tempt, tease. She heard the sharp intake of his breath, and knew her bold acceptance of his challenge had surprised and aroused him.
She heard the crinkle of plastic as he unwrapped the condom he’d snagged from his pocket before discarding his pants somewhere in the hall, and was grateful he’d had the foresight to think of protection. She let him sheath himself, then kissed her way back up his body, her taut nipples grazing his chest, her hips rocking against his. His hands skimmed over her thighs, his fingers curled around her buttocks, pressing her closer.
She waited for him to press into her, to take control in search of his own pleasure. But he didn’t seem to be in any big rush to the finish line. In fact, he seemed more than content just to touch her, tease her, taste her.
Molly endured the exquisite torture for as long as she could, then she straddled his hips, positioning herself so that the tip of his erection was at the juncture of her thighs.
Slowly she lowered herself, moving just the tiniest bit, taking only a fraction of an inch inside of her. Then a little more.
His hands were on her hips, his fingers biting into her flesh. She could feel the tension in him and knew he was fighting against the instinct to drive into her. He was bigger than her, stronger, and they both knew she was only in control at the moment because he wanted her to be, but still, the sense of power was exhilarating.
She continued to tease him, taking him a little bit deeper inside, then drawing back again. His eyes were so dark they were almost black, and they were intently focused on her. Watching her as she watched him.
Watching her as his hands skimmed up her sides to her breasts, as his fingers toyed with her nipples, circling, stroking, squeezing.
Desire curled like a fist deep in her belly, tight, tighter, until she cried out with her release.
It was the signal he’d been waiting for, and his hips jerked off the mattress and he buried himself deep inside of her in one powerful thrust that had her crying out again at the shock of the next climax that ripped through her, leaving her weak and breathless and shattered.
But Eric wasn’t finished with her. He held himself perfectly still until her body had stopped shuddering, then he flipped her over, so that she was on her back and he was stretched out on top of her, pressing deep inside of her.
He whispered to her, speaking softly in Spanish. She didn’t understand all of the words, but his tone was as sensual as a caress, and just as arousing. He began to move. Slow and deep strokes that touched her very core. Then hard and fast thrusts. Harder. Faster.
She’d thought she was sated. He’d made certain she was satisfied before he’d pursued his own pleasure, and yet, she could feel the desperate, achy need building inside of her again. Her heels dug into the mattress, her nails bit into his shoulders, and her hips matched his frantic rhythm as her desire escalated again until the world dropped away and there was nothing to hold on to but each other.
He collapsed with his head on her pillow, his arm wrapped around her, and his heart beating against hers.
They made love twice more before exhaustion finally overrode passion, and Molly fell into a deep and blissful sleep in the warm comfort of his arms.
She woke up in the morning, cold and alone, and found herself regretting not the hours she’d spent with Eric but that he was already gone.
“Pregnant?”
Molly stared at the doctor for a minute, then laughed as she shook her head.
“I think you’re going to want to run that test again.”
Dr. Morgan looked at her with both understanding and compassion in her deep green eyes. She’d been Molly’s doctor for more than twenty years, long before her dark hair had become so liberally streaked with grey and the faint lines around her eyes and mouth had multiplied.
“I’ll rerun the test,” she told her. “If you can look me in the eye and honestly tell
