Читать книгу Rachel And The M.d. - Donna Clayton, Donna Clayton - Страница 12

Heaven couldn’t be more wonderful than this. Cradled in Sloan’s strong, protective arms, Rachel felt as if she were in paradise. The slow music wrapped around them, enfolded them in the most sensuous rhythm imaginable.

She’d known Sloan for years, so it wasn’t as if they’d never had the opportunity to be close. She was the godmother of his daughters. His deceased wife’s best friend. She’d helped him nurse Olivia until the bitter end. And she worked with him daily as she managed his medical office. She supposed he considered her his friend—although she’d always wanted to be so much more than that. However, being friends meant they celebrated nearly every holiday together. There were birthday hugs and Christmas kisses, quick displays of friendly affection that always took place in the blink of an eye. The number of times that the two of them had slow-danced together could be counted on one of Rachel’s hands.

At Sloan’s wedding—oh-so-many years ago—Rachel had found herself in his arms…and it had been the most awkward moment she’d ever lived through. The circumstances had been tense. For everyone concerned. Rachel could close her eyes right now and easily remember the strain visible on Sloan’s handsome face on the day he had wed Olivia. Rachel’s heart had ached for him, and she’d been furious with Olivia and her conniving ways. No one deserved the treatment she had inflicted on—

Sloan’s hand slid down the length of Rachel’s back, nestling lightly on the curve of her spine, causing her heart to flutter, and knocking her out of the awful reverie of the past. Rachel hated the silly, schoolgirl reaction that overwhelmed her each and every time she was near Sloan. You’d think her physical response to him would have diminished with time, especially since he didn’t seem to be affected by her—attracted to her—in the least. However, the emotions that stirred in her when she was near him hadn’t abated one bit over the years. Not one tiny bit.

Defeating the silly feelings had been impossible. She’d tried hard to do just that. By ignoring them. Mentally stomping on them. Ranting and raving against them when she was all alone in her apartment, among other things. Nothing had worked. Nothing. So she’d simply decided to suffer them in silence.

Again, his fingers played over the small of her back. She was so conscious of his touch. It was rare that she felt his hands on her.

The warmth of his skin through the fabric of her dress made her pulse heat. Her stomach seemed to twist and turn in somersaults, but she did her best to keep her gaze averted, focusing on moving smoothly across the floor and not stepping on his toes. That would be embarrassing.

Something stirred her consciousness. He was staring at her, willing her to lift her gaze to his. She could sense it. Strongly. Excitement skittered across her nerve endings like so many pinpricks. She tried to tamp it down, but it was a fruitless effort.