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The sheer pleasure of his touch as his fingers slid surely under the woollen jumper she wore made her whimper and sag, weak-kneed, against him. His hand worked its way smoothly up the slender curve of her back. Darcy grabbed for support and then remembered his injuries.
‘I forgot.’
Reece’s mouth came crashing back down on hers and stole away the rest of her words.
Eyes closed, she gave a long, blissful sigh when his head eventually lifted. ‘I’ve hurt you.’ She made an agitated effort to pull back, but he had other ideas.
‘If I can’t cope I’ll tell you,’ he breathed into her mouth.
‘I don’t think I can cope with much more of this!’ she breathed back, touching her tongue to the fleshy inner part of his upper lip. She shuddered—they both did.
‘Cope with what?’
Darcy laid her hand flat against his chest, feeling his heart beat through the layers of clothing. She’d known him for less than forty-eight hours and already he’d taken over her thoughts. If she had any sense she’d call it a day now before things got any worse.
‘Cope with…wanting.’ She put all the aching longing in the one word.
What was happening to her—where had this wilful recklessness come from? After Michael she’d been cautious—pathologically so, Jennifer had said. Would Jennifer approve of the new Darcy? The one who saw the flare of fierce possession in his eyes and felt the heat melt her bones and didn’t even once contemplate running for cover? Hell, what did it matter? She needed action not analysis, and she needed Reece.
‘Does that mean you’ve stopped trying to push me away?’
‘I don’t recall doing much pushing.’ Grabbing, that was another matter.
‘Why fight…?’
‘My thought exactly.’
‘It’ll burn itself out soon enough.’ Wasn’t that the way with hot things? ‘And I can get back to normal.’
Though his own thoughts had been running much along the same lines, Reece found that her sentiments filled him with a sense of discontent. He was perfectly aware that for a man who had a policy of never spending the entire night with a woman this was a pretty perverse response. Knowing it made no sense didn’t lessen the gut feeling.
‘And normal is…?’ He slid his thumb down the soft curve of her cheek.
There was danger and raw, unrefined charisma in his smile. Without waiting for her to reply, he dipped his head and parted her lips with masterful ease.
‘This normal…?’ His tongue stabbed and she moaned low in her throat and pressed herself tight against his hips. She wondered vaguely if he was permanently aroused—not that she had any major objections if this should be the case. ‘Or this…?’ He withdrew.
Darcy gave a whimper of protest as he lifted his head.
‘I preferred the first,’ she admitted huskily.
‘That being the case, perhaps we should…’ He dangled the Land Rover keys in front of her. ‘Can you drive…?’
Darcy nodded her head vigorously. So fierce was her need that if flying had been the only way to get into bed with him she’d have sprouted wings!
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