She needed to feel.
Between their frantic kisses, he muttered, “Down, Angie.”
The dog had reared up to greet her master.
She slinked off to the rug in front of the couch.
“Sorry,” he muttered to Sarah.
She didn’t care. She dragged him toward the bedroom.
She hadn’t been in there before but she knew the way.
The rest of his clothes hit the floor by the time they reached the bed.
He peeled off her dress, unsnapped her bra, and lifted her onto the bed. She couldn’t get enough of his taste ... of the feel of his skin. Her panties skimmed her legs, caught on her sneakers. She toed them off. Kicked free of the panties.
He burrowed between her legs and she sighed.
Fear trickled past the other sensations as she realized a cold, hard fact. Here ... now ... with him ... she felt right.
She felt safe.
Not smart, Sarah. So not smart.
Wednesday, March 4, 2:30 a.m.
The telephone clanged.
Sarah was dreaming. Sweet, hot dreams.
Her lips parted, lifted.
Skilled hands moved over her skin. Seeking lips tugged at hers.
Conner . . .
Another long, loud clang.
The dream faded. The arms holding her released her. The hot, hard body spooning hers rolled away.
“Hello.”
Her eyes drifted open at the rough, sexy sound of his voice.
Conner. She was with him ... in his bed.
Sex. Hot. Frantic. Life-reaffirming.
She was safe. With him. Her stomach knotted with uncertainty. If she got in any deeper—
“What?”
Conner rose up, dropped his feet to the floor. “When?”
Sarah pushed the hair out of her eyes as she sat up. She studied his rigid profile. What the hell had happened now?
“I’ll be right there.” He placed the handset back into its cradle. Sat stone still.
