bury his fingers in her hair, or down to cup her bottom and hold her tightly to him ...
Dr. Lovejoy murmured something low and hungry sounding, and Allison felt her insides stir.
"Another time, perhaps," Scott said. "Let's get you upstairs and into bed?"
"I don't wanna go to bed. I wanna go skinny-dipping."
"Up we go." Shoes scraped on the stone steps. "Whoa, let's wait until we get upstairs before you undress, okay?"
"Okay."
She heard the opening and closing of the front door, the light tapping of Linda's shoes, the heavier thud of Scott's boots, then the sounds faded. Would they go to his room, or hers?
Images flashed through Allison's mind of naked bodies moving together on tangled sheets. She rolled to the side, pressing her thighs together to ease the aching in her loins. But the fantasies still came—Scott's hands on her own bare skin, his mouth moving over her breasts. Her hands touching every inch of him she could reach. She'd tried so hard to squelch such thoughts, to not think about sex, but there were times the act was so vivid in her mind she felt as if it were actually happening.
Did men honestly think she never had such thoughts? Never felt her insides turn hot and liquid as she imagined the feel of a man thrusting deep inside her? She would have to be abnormal to never think about it. Did they really believe her so pure of mind she'd be affronted if they mentioned such things in her presence? Or, heaven forbid, asked her to participate?
She was not pure of mind at all. She thought about sex a lot, yearned for it to the point of physically aching. But she'd never sought to relieve that yearning, because she'd feared the greater pain of a broken heart. She knew too well how it felt to lose someone she loved, or to trust and have that trust destroyed. She would rather do without love completely than ever risk that kind of devastation again.
But what if Scott and Adrian were right? What if a woman could detach herself emotionally to satisfy her physical longings for the sheer pleasure of it? What if she could ease the constant ache to feel a man's touch, without risking her heart?
She lay in the dark, considering the idea, and imagining herself upstairs in Scott Lawrence's bed.
Chapter 5
Gawd, Scott thought, thirty-two years old and already an old man. Lying on the beach towel, flat on his back, he didn't even care that the sun was burning through his eyelids in a red haze. If he lay there long enough, maybe the heat would burn away his hangover and the memory of last night
The hangover was mild, barely even noticeable now that he'd guzzled some coffee from the upstairs sideboard and taken a dip in the cove. Unfortunately he'd missed breakfast, but probably couldn't have faced Allison anyway after his rudeness yesterday. As for the memories ... He scrunched his face in an effort to block them. Sometimes he thought life should be like writing, so you could go back and edit a scene that didn't work the way you'd hoped. Or, better yet, delete the scene completely.
One of the first things he'd rewrite was everything he'd said to Allison when she'd come to his room. He'd spent half the evening distracted by thoughts of whether or not to apologize. He owed her one, no doubt, but in order to give it to her, he'd have to talk to her. Just the thought of being in the same room with her made his pulse pound, so not a good idea.
"Hey, there," someone called.
He snapped his head up, fearing it was Allison. Instead he saw Linda Lovejoy in a swimsuit cover-up coming down the azalea-lined path that led from the inn to the private cove. He stifled a groan. As much as he didn't want to see Allison, he wanted to see this woman even less, but for entirely different reasons.
Physically, Dr. Lovejoy was attractive enough, but as long as he was rewriting yesterday, the second thing he'd edit out were the tattooed dragons that covered the woman's upper back and shoulders. He'd seen enough of them last night when
Dr. Lovejoy murmured something low and hungry sounding, and Allison felt her insides stir.
"Another time, perhaps," Scott said. "Let's get you upstairs and into bed?"
"I don't wanna go to bed. I wanna go skinny-dipping."
"Up we go." Shoes scraped on the stone steps. "Whoa, let's wait until we get upstairs before you undress, okay?"
"Okay."
She heard the opening and closing of the front door, the light tapping of Linda's shoes, the heavier thud of Scott's boots, then the sounds faded. Would they go to his room, or hers?
Images flashed through Allison's mind of naked bodies moving together on tangled sheets. She rolled to the side, pressing her thighs together to ease the aching in her loins. But the fantasies still came—Scott's hands on her own bare skin, his mouth moving over her breasts. Her hands touching every inch of him she could reach. She'd tried so hard to squelch such thoughts, to not think about sex, but there were times the act was so vivid in her mind she felt as if it were actually happening.
Did men honestly think she never had such thoughts? Never felt her insides turn hot and liquid as she imagined the feel of a man thrusting deep inside her? She would have to be abnormal to never think about it. Did they really believe her so pure of mind she'd be affronted if they mentioned such things in her presence? Or, heaven forbid, asked her to participate?
She was not pure of mind at all. She thought about sex a lot, yearned for it to the point of physically aching. But she'd never sought to relieve that yearning, because she'd feared the greater pain of a broken heart. She knew too well how it felt to lose someone she loved, or to trust and have that trust destroyed. She would rather do without love completely than ever risk that kind of devastation again.
But what if Scott and Adrian were right? What if a woman could detach herself emotionally to satisfy her physical longings for the sheer pleasure of it? What if she could ease the constant ache to feel a man's touch, without risking her heart?
She lay in the dark, considering the idea, and imagining herself upstairs in Scott Lawrence's bed.
Chapter 5
Gawd, Scott thought, thirty-two years old and already an old man. Lying on the beach towel, flat on his back, he didn't even care that the sun was burning through his eyelids in a red haze. If he lay there long enough, maybe the heat would burn away his hangover and the memory of last night
The hangover was mild, barely even noticeable now that he'd guzzled some coffee from the upstairs sideboard and taken a dip in the cove. Unfortunately he'd missed breakfast, but probably couldn't have faced Allison anyway after his rudeness yesterday. As for the memories ... He scrunched his face in an effort to block them. Sometimes he thought life should be like writing, so you could go back and edit a scene that didn't work the way you'd hoped. Or, better yet, delete the scene completely.
One of the first things he'd rewrite was everything he'd said to Allison when she'd come to his room. He'd spent half the evening distracted by thoughts of whether or not to apologize. He owed her one, no doubt, but in order to give it to her, he'd have to talk to her. Just the thought of being in the same room with her made his pulse pound, so not a good idea.
"Hey, there," someone called.
He snapped his head up, fearing it was Allison. Instead he saw Linda Lovejoy in a swimsuit cover-up coming down the azalea-lined path that led from the inn to the private cove. He stifled a groan. As much as he didn't want to see Allison, he wanted to see this woman even less, but for entirely different reasons.
Physically, Dr. Lovejoy was attractive enough, but as long as he was rewriting yesterday, the second thing he'd edit out were the tattooed dragons that covered the woman's upper back and shoulders. He'd seen enough of them last night when
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