Man of the Hour by Diana Palmer Read Free Book Online

eased it down, controlling her panicked movement with careless ease.
    “It’s been four years and you want it,” he said. “You want me.”
    She couldn’t believe that she was allowing him to do this! She felt like a zombie as he eased the fabric below the soft, lacy cup of her strapless bra and looked at her. His big, lean hand, darkly tanned, stroked her collarbone and down, smoothing over the swell of her breasts while he looked at her in the semidarkness.
    His mouth touched her forehead. His breath was a little unsteady. So was hers.
    “Let me unhook it, Meg. I want you in my mouth.”
    This had always been his sharpest weapon, this way of talking to her that made her body burn with dark, wicked desires. Herforehead rested against his chin while his fingers quickly disposed of three small hooks. She felt the cool air on her body even as he moved her back and looked down, his posture suddenly stiff and poised, controlled.
    “My God.” It was reverent, the way he spoke, the way he looked at her. His hands contracted on her shoulders as if he were afraid that she might vanish.
    “I let you look at me…that last night,” she whispered unsteadily. “And you went to her!”
    “No. No,” he whispered, bending his head. “No, Meg!”
    His mouth fastened on her taut nipple and he groaned as he lifted her, turned her, suckling her in a silence that blazed with tension and promise.
    Her fingers gripped his thick hair and held on while his mouth gave her the most intense pleasure she’d ever known. He’d tried to kiss her this way that long-ago night and she’d fought him. It had been too much for her already overloaded senses and, coupled with his raging arousal and the sudden determination of his weight on her body, she’d panicked. But she was older now, with four years of abstinence to heighten her need, strip her nerves raw. She was starved for him.
    His mouth fed on her while his fingers traced around the firm softness he was enjoying. She felt his tongue, his teeth, the slow suction that seemed to draw the heart right out of her body. She shuddered, helpless, anguished, as the ardent pressure of his mouth only made the hunger grow.
    He felt her tremble and slowly lifted his head.
    “Noo…!” She choked, clutching at him, trying to draw his mouth back to her body. “Steve…please…please!”
    He drew her face into his throat and held her, his arms punishing, his breath as ragged as her own.
    “Please!” she sobbed, clinging.
    “Here…!” He fought the buttons of his shirt open and dragged her inside it, pressing her close to him, so that her bare breasts were rubbing against the thick hair on his chest, teasing his tense muscles. “Meg,” he breathed tenderly. “Oh, Meg, Meg…!” His hands found their way around her, sweeping down her bare back in long, hungry caresses that made the intimacy even more dangerous, more threatening.
    Her mouth pressed soft kisses into his throat, his neck, his collarbone, and she felt the need like a knife.
    He turned her head and kissed her again, a long, slow, deep kiss that never seemed to end while around them the night darkened and the wind blew.
    Somewhere in the middle of it, she began to cry—great, broken sobs of guilt and grief and unappeased hunger. He held her, cradled her against him, his eyes as anguished as his unsatisfied body. But slowly, finally, the desire in both of them began to relax.
    “Don’t cry,” he whispered, kissing the tears from her eyes. “It was inevitable.”
    She turned her face so that he could kiss the other side of it, her eyes closed while she savored the rare, exquisite tenderness.
    When she felt his lips reluctantly draw away, she opened hereyes and looked into his. They were soft, just for her, just for the moment. Soft and hungry, and somehow violent.
    “You’re untouched,” he said huskily, his face setting into hard, familiar lines. “Even here.” His hand smoothed over her bare, swollen breast and as if the