AFTERGLOW (15 page)

He pulled her jeans down, her panties with them. He looked up the length of her body. Her legs were as white as the rest of her, long and straight, and sleekly muscled from jogging. He realized that his own heart was pounding.

"What are you looking at?" Chelsea asked, feeling nervous, embarrassed and exhilarated all at the same time. "You've already looked at every inch of me."

"It wasn't the same thing," David said. He traced the small scar on her belly. "Any more pain?"

"No, just an occasional pulling feeling."

"That will continue for a couple months more. Dr. Madson did an excellent job."

Chelsea didn't care a bit about Dr. Madson. She realized that she was lying naked, and David, the wretched man, was fully dressed. Very unfair, she thought.

"No, don't move, let me enjoy you just a bit more, Chelsea," he said, his eyes caressing her face.

"As I said, you've already seen me," Chelsea said, her voice sharp and breathless.

"Understand, Chelsea," he said, his eyes on the small triangle of black curls, "that when I first saw you in the emergency room I was scared out of my mind. I was completely in my doctor mode until I was certain you weren't dying. Then my reaction was very natural. I did look at you—in a subliminal sort of way, of course. You're very beautiful, you know." He lightly pressed his palm over her, his fingers searching, and Chelsea lurched up, gasping.

She said rather wildly, "I refuse to lie here any longer being examined. I would like to see you, and there's nothing at all subliminal about it!"

He grinned at her and rose. Never before had a man stripped for
her.
Her heroes did for her heroines, of course, but that wasn't anything like this, like real life. She loved it. He unbuttoned his shirt and shrugged out of it. "Very nice," she said, wanting to ape him, but she couldn't quite bring it off. His chest was muscular, but not muscle-bound, and she couldn't wait to sift her fingers through the tufts of chestnut hair. She discovered that she was holding her breath when he unzipped his jeans and pulled them off. His shorts and sneakers quickly followed. Then he simply stood in front of her, beautifully naked. Chelsea gulped. "You look like one of my heroes," she said.

"Do I now?"

Her eyes moved lower, and she felt her face begin to warm and flush. He was large, thrusting outward… She unconsciously licked her lower lip.

David couldn't stand it anymore. He moaned at that very sensuous gesture and moved down onto the bed beside her.

"Let's neck," he said, and pulled her against him.

"Do I have to be serious?"

"Not a bit, just moan to let me know what you're feeling."

"You're a good kisser," she managed after several minutes.

He muttered something, and she felt his large hand cup her bottom. "This has got to be heaven," he said.

"Close to it," Chelsea said, her own hand stroking down his back to knead his buttocks.

David was in bad shape, and he knew it. It had been a long time, and he wanted to enter her, but, he thought, grinning to himself, despite his own state he wasn't a selfish pig, and the thought of bringing Chelsea pleasure, watching her face while she experienced pleasure with him, was a heady feeling. A powerful feeling.

When his fingers found her, she was moist and delightfully soft. "Heaven, indeed," he whispered, pressing more closely against her.

Chelsea forgot the wager, forgot everything but him and his deft fingers. "It's been a very long time," she said.

"How long, sweetheart?" he asked, moving above her and looking down into her eyes. His fingers continued their gentle foraging.

"About four years. I think I've atrophied."

"Four years!"
He simply couldn't imagine such a thing.

"Yes, I really thought that I wouldn't be able … ah, David, that feels
so …
please!"

Her hand closed over him, and he winced at her enthusiasm. It was probably just as well, for it gave him a bit more control.

He slipped his finger inside her and gasped at her incredible warmth. "No, not at all atrophied," he said. "Chels, hold still, all right?"

But she couldn't, and it surprised her. "David," she whispered, and felt his fingers deepen their pressure. She whimpered at the taut, convulsive feelings rampaging through her body. "I don't believe this!" Then she threw back her head and cried out.

David watched her face, watched her eyes blink with astonishment, then close, watched the arch of her throat as she threw her head back.

"That's it," he said, his voice harsh and raw in his own ears.

When he eased down Chelsea wanted nothing more than to experience him, all of him. She heard him moan, felt him thrust into her, very carefully and slowly, and clasped her arms about his back.

"Chelsea," David said, and that was his last word. It was her turn, and her pleasure to watch his face at the moment of his climax.

"You feel so good," she said when he was pressed full-length against her.

David concentrated on returning to life as he knew it. Damn. That had been unbelievable, but over with too quickly. She was so soft and small and yielding to him. He felt like shouting with pleasure, so he kissed her, deeply.

"If you dare to move," she said with great conviction, "I will never speak to you again."

He didn't. "The light," he said.

"Just don't move," Chelsea said, and reached out to switch off the lamp beside her bed. There was only the faint light coming from the living room.

"I'm too heavy for you, Chelsea. I don't want to hurt you."

"Move and I'll do something awful to you."

"Tell you what," he began, and before she could protest he brought her with him onto her side.

"I don't believe this," Chelsea said, and fell asleep, her face nestled against his chest, her leg wedged between his, her fingers splayed in his hair.

"I don't think I do, either," David said, feeling somewhat bewildered. He'd known that he would enjoy making love with her, but this overwhelming sense of well-being, of belonging, of warmth, shook him a bit. He fell asleep, too, his hand possessively on her bottom.

It was Chelsea who woke him during the night. She wanted him, and though she didn't understand it, she accepted it. "Hold still," she whispered into the darkness when he started to move over her. "I want to examine you."

He laughed, then moaned.

And when he rose over her, lifting her, and loved her with exquisite care, her protests died in her throat.

She could only stare into the darkness as the intense sensations swamped her, flinging her into a maelstrom of pleasure.

When Chelsea awoke the following morning she blinked at the sound of a rich baritone coming from the shower.

"Oh, dear," she observed to her empty bedroom, "I think I lost that damned wager of his." She began to laugh.

Chapter 9

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C
helsea looked up to see David standing in the bathroom doorway, one of her towels knotted low around his hips.

"Hi," she said, her laughter dying in her throat. What would one of her heroines do if the marauder came into the bedroom after a night of pleasure wearing only a lavender towel?

"I have good news for you, Chelsea," he said, coming toward the bed.

"What?" she asked, burrowing down under the covers.

"You don't have to worry about atrophy, not anymore, at least." He laughed deeply, a laugh rich with satisfaction. She threw a pillow at him.

"Weak, Chels, very weak. Didn't you tell me that you never resorted to physical violence? That you always used wit to carry you through?"

He picked up the pillow and strode to the bed. "I like the covers-to-the-chin bit," he said.

"I hope you didn't use all my hot water while you were butchering
Madame Butterfly."

David sat down beside her and very lightly laid his open hand on her cheek. "Are you sore?"

"David!"

"Make you speechless, do I? That's what happens when a poor, confused woman finally has a good man take over. Now about our wager…"

Chelsea gave him a brooding look. "It was an accident, a freak of nature, a mistake, an aberration, a—"

"All that?" David whistled. "My, I guess I'll just have to keep convincing you, then." He leaned down to kiss her. "You wouldn't say I'm—we're—the greatest thing since sliced bread?"

"That really pleases your male ego, doesn't it?"

"Forget ego. You pleased other things much more. Do you have any idea how astonished you looked when you, shall we say, let go? Or when I made you let go, I guess."

"An aberration," Chelsea said, eyeing him with deliberate dislike.

He sighed, his deft fingers gently stroking over her blanketed breast. "In that case, and in the interest of pure science—"

"I'm not using any birth control," Chelsea said.

David jerked back and frowned down at her. "I should have realized that, but I was too far gone on you last night. Do you want me to pay a visit to your friendly neighborhood pharmacy?"

Chelsea looked thoughtful. "I don't know. I remember overhearing one of my father's friends joking about wearing socks in the shower, and the guys he was talking to all groaned. Is it that bad?"

"No, not really, but I would prefer feeling you and just you, and me and just me."

His words evoked very specific images in her mind, and she was appalled to feel a spurt of warmth.

"I guess I would, too," she said in a low voice.

"Do you want me to go through the alternatives? With pros and cons?"

"No, I'll go see my gynecologist."

"Who is he?"

"He? No way. Maggie Smith is definitely a she. She's also George's doctor. Don't you remember? She delivered the Mallorys' perfect baby?"

"I remember. Forgive the brief short circuit." David arched a thick brow. "A woman doctor, huh? You mean you would have blown a fit in the emergency room if just any man had been there?"

"Probably not," she said honestly. "But you! That was very different, and you know it."

"Do you know that the gossip at the hospital is still rampant? I'll walk by doctors I barely know and they'll poke each other in the ribs and talk just loud enough for me to hear about The Lecher in the ER. You've made me a legend in my own time."

"Well, I think you proved it was true last night."

"As in a Mark I lecher?"

She felt his hand drift over her shoulders to stop just above her breast. "No," she said, smiling shyly up at him, "as in a David I lecher."

He felt absurdly pleased. "Will you describe my very manly technique in one of your novels?"

She tried to look uncertain, but couldn't quite manage it. She giggled. "Not until I'm certain it wasn't all a fluke."

He sighed deeply. "When can you get in to see Maggie?"

"Well, I suppose that if we must continue with the experiment, it had better be soon."

David sent devout thanks upward. "How about socks in the shower until then?"

"Do I have a choice?"

"Nope, not one. But you've got me."

"Did I ask for this?" Chelsea asked her bedroom.

"Well you did moan quite a bit, and make those cute little pleading sounds."

"Why don't you practice verbal abstinence for a bit?"

"Where's the nearest pharmacy?"

Chelsea moaned when his fingers finally stroked her. "You're a wretched tease," she gasped. "Men aren't supposed to tease."

"You're easy," David said, grinning even as he kissed her. "And here I thought men would be replaced by technology."

"Not yet," Chelsea said, and glided her own hand down over his stomach. When she felt his muscles tighten she said, "I might be easy, but I'm not simple."