Page 47 of Every Rose

“Okay.”

She pulled back, took his hand and walked him back through the living room, down a short hall. “I don’t believe you’ve seen my bedroom.”

She flipped on the chandelier as she entered. While the rest of her apartment was sleek and modern, her bedroom was her private retreat. She’d worked with a designer and gone with a completely feminine room since she had no one to please but herself. Through her lust haze she imagined how her room looked through Matt’s eyes. The chandelier sparkled like something out of a fairy tale, casting soft light on the purple and silver bedspread. The soft gray walls were framed with white trim.

Since she liked to sit in bed and watch TV on the odd lazy evening at home, she had a heap of pillows on the bed. She kept the TV behind the doors of a white cabinet. Her artwork was a combination of an original sea scene she’d bought on holiday, and a couple of nudes she’d seen at a gallery opening for an up-and-coming artist.

“Nice,” he said, going to stand before one of the nudes, running a finger across the bottom of the frame. She felt as though he were running that fingertip across her skin. “I’d like to see you in that pose. With that look on your face.”

She crossed the hardwood floor to her bedside, flipping on one of the crystal lamps she’d purchased at an antique store. The soft light illuminated the designer bedside tables and the headboard.

Matt flipped off the overhead switch so the room became immediately more dimly lit.

For a moment she felt the grip of uncertainty. What had she done? Or, more to the point, what was she contemplating doing? Whatever happened tonight, they would still cross paths professionally. There were reasons she never dated anyone in the medical profession. Not that this was dating, of course. She didn’t know what it was.

As she turned to him, wondering if she should call the evening over, she found him already in front of her. The man moved like a panther.

He pulled her against him, so she bumped chest to chest, feeling his strength once more. All it took was one touch and she gave up thinking. He had enough sureness for both of them.

He tipped back her head, taking full advantage of her mouth, kissing her as though all he’d ever wanted in the entirety of his life was to kiss her lips, push his hands through the heavy weight of her hair. She was moving way too fast from zero tooh, yes, yes, YES!!She could hear her pulse pounding as he moved his mouth on hers, teasing her with his tongue. She could taste beer and hot, healthy male.

Too much clothing was between them. She helped him slip off his jacket and, slob that he was, he let it slide to the floor in a black heap. She threw her arms around him and rubbed her hands down his back enjoying the feel of his strong muscles enticing her beneath his shirt.

Before she could plunge her hands beneath the cotton to the hot skin, he eased the zipper of her bridesmaid dress slowly down her back. Her skin was so sensitive she felt the slide, the parting of fabric like a caress.

He kissed her again, and, with his clever surgeon’s hands, had her dress sliding off her shoulders before she noticed he was undressing her. As the navy fabric slid to pool in darkness at her feet, he held her away from him, his gaze devouring her breasts in the brand new lingerie she was so glad she’d worn. It had been a genius idea to have the hen party in a lingerie store. The gift certificate had been enough for Theresa to buy a stunning silk and lace nightgown for her wedding night, plus a few fun items to tease Harvey with on their honeymoon.

The woman who owned the store had offered all of them a twenty percent discount on anything they bought that night and as she’d poured them all wine, they’d bonded over corsets and camisoles, stockings and silks. As Rose had dithered between a sinful black creation that showcased her breasts and a much more practical bra and panties set, Theresa had said, “You know, women often decide whether they are going to have sex with a man when they pick out their underwear. I mean, before they go out.”

“What are you? A sex anthropologist?” Sarah had scoffed.

“No. A magazine junkie. If I’m not reading Modern Bride I’m reading those women’s magazines, you know the ones that tell you Top Ten Ways to Make Him Yell out Your Name in Bed. Complete with quizzes. The point is, if you wear sexy underwear you’re more likely to get laid.”

Even as she’d scoffed at Theresa’s magazine research, Rose had chosen the black set, all lace and silk and hot fantasy.

Now that Matt was looking at her as though he’d lost the ability to form words, she was happy she’d listened to Theresa. And the bride had been right. There was something about slipping into decadent lingerie that definitely put a girl in the mood.

It seemed to be working on Matt, too.

“You,” he kissed the top of one breast, “Are,” he kissed the top of the other, “Sensational.”

Then he pulled her against him, crushing her lips with his mouth, his hands going everywhere at once. His greed and impatience fired hers. She dragged at his shirt, wished he was wearing his usual sloppy scrubs rather than making her deal with the intricacies of a tux.

She almost growled in frustration as she fumbled with shirt studs until he pushed her hands away and did the job himself, though not very smoothly. He shoved the black dress slacks down his legs, kicking them off with impatience.

His skin had the permanent suntan darkness of his Greek blood, and he was hairy in all the places she liked a man to be hairy.

Pushing back the coverlet on the bed, he gently pushed her so she fell into the soft, luxurious sheets.

As she gazed her fill at that glorious man standing beside the bed, he bent and slipped out of his plaid boxers. Then he stared down at her.

“Who’d have thought,” he said, his voice a husky whisper, “that you owned underwear like that.”

“You like it?”

He reached out and stroked her chest, over her lace-covered nipple, and down to her belly. “I like what’s in it,” he said.

So the right answer.

---