Читать книгу A Perfect Hero - Caroline Anderson - Страница 6

‘I THOUGHT we were going to give this relationship time to flourish,’ Clare said sleepily, much later.

Beneath her ear Michael’s chest rumbled gently with suppressed laughter. ‘Yes, well, it flourished quicker than I dared to hope.’

He levered himself up on one elbow and looked down at her, his face gravely tender. ‘Are you all right?’

‘I’m fine. I’ve never felt so good in my life.’

‘I’m glad. Neither have I.’

‘Oh, come on,’ she laughed self-consciously. ‘I didn’t know what I was doing——’

‘Yes, you did. You were making love. It doesn’t require technical competence, darling.’ He kissed her gently, his voice roughened with emotion. ‘You were wonderful—warm, generous, funny—I love you, Clare.’

Her eyes filled with tears. ‘Oh, Michael, I love you too.’

She clung to him, her heart overflowing with happiness. She didn’t understand how it could have happened so soon, but it had, and it seemed so right loving him, as if she had been waiting all this time for him to come along and fill her life with sunshine and laughter.

He kissed her lingeringly, his hands tracing lazy patterns on her skin, and she tentatively laid her palms against his chest.

That feels good,’ he murmured.

‘Can I touch you?’ she asked hesitantly.

He flopped on to his back and spread his arms wide with a wicked grin. ‘Do whatever you want—I’m yours!’

His laugh turned to a groan as she ran her fingertips experimentally down the centre of his chest. His eyes closed, he lay rigid while she explored the changing textures and planes of hair and skin, tracing the smooth line of muscle and sinew, revelling in the feel of satin over steel. Fascinated by the contrast between vulnerability and strength, she dallied over the jut of his hipbones and the slight hollow of his pelvis above the taut, hard muscles of his thighs. His legs were strong and straight, well-muscled and smoothly tanned beneath the dense scatter of blond curls.

She knelt by his feet, her fingers tracing each toe in turn, smoothing the strong arch as her eyes trailed slowly up his body, absorbing his beauty like a drug.

‘You’re perfect,’ she said huskily, ‘so perfect. A perfect hero!’

He laughed self-consciously and reached down to pull her over him.

‘I’ve got scarry knees,’ he confessed.

‘So? All little boys have scarry knees. They probably aren’t any worse than mine.’