Warm Hearts by Barbara Delinsky Read Free Book Online Page B

sheets of the bed. They’d be crisp cotton sheets, smelling of the fresh outdoors in a way no dryer could simulate. She’d stretch out and soon be asleep, but when she awoke in the morning, he’d be with her.
    And then … And then they’d make long, sweet, passionate love.
    She drew in a wispy breath at the thought, then held that breath in her lungs when the light in his apartment came on. His window was already wide open. Either he’d been home earlier or he was more trusting than she. Whatever the case, she could easily follow his movements, which she did with more fascination than guilt.
    He wore a body-molding tank top, a pair of running shorts and sneakers, and his skin glistened with sweat. He was tall indeed, she discovered with pleasure. His head well exceeded the top of the refrigerator, from which he was taking a drink. His back muscles flexed with the action; they weren’t at all bunchy but were nicely formed and well toned. As he straightened, held the can to his mouth and tipped his head back for a drink, she saw that his shoulders were broad without being inflated and his torso tapered to wonderfully narrow hips.
    The tingles were off and running. She was a little appalled, because she’d never been one to sit ogling men. But those tingles felt so good and healthy that she gave them free rein. More than that, she encouraged them as she mentally transferred the body in her sights to that cabin in Maine … to that bed … to that exquisitely gentle but fiercely satisfying lovemaking.
    When Tall-Dark-and-Handsome turned toward the window, she held her breath. She knew she should move away, but she couldn’t. The best she could do was avert her eyes for a minute, but, with a will of its own, that gaze quickly returned to watch while he flipped a newspaper open on the table and stood reading.
    The Wall Street Journal. She couldn’t possibly see, of course, but she knew it was that. No stuffy journals dealing with medicine or education or psychology for him. He’d be one to broaden himself.
    But she didn’t really want to think of his mind at the moment, when his body was hers for the looking. Gorgeous. That was all there was to it. He was gorgeous. His hair wasn’t as long as she’d hoped, but it was well mussed and clearly sweaty. His chin—only one, not even a hint of a double—was tucked neatly to his chest, which was hugged so snugly by his tank top that she wondered at its purpose. It had to be to absorb sweat, she decided, because if he’d worn it for propriety’s sake, he’d failed. There was nothing remotely proper about the way he looked in the thing, or the way it met his low-riding shorts … or the way those shorts cupped his sex.
    When a shiver coursed from her shoulders to her knees, she wondered if she’d gone too far. Shivers—in the heat? But, oh, Lord, he was combing a handful of fingers through his hair now, and the way he raised his arm, the shadow beneath, the delineation of his collarbone, the prominent veins on the inside of his forearm—more shivers, delicious ones, frustrating ones.
    Tearing herself from the window, she made a beeline for the table, sat back down and clutched her pen. Only after the fact did it occur to her that she should have been more subtle. If the abrupt movement had attracted his attention, he’d be watching her now. She cast a glance at the lamp. To turn it off would defeat her purpose; she really had to work. It didn’t light much of the room, which had suited her fine in terms of the heat, but it did light her , and if he was looking across the courtyard as she’d been doing seconds before, he’d have a clear view.
    Donning an expression of intense concentration, she began to write. Client is deeply into fantasizing. It’s a rather new experience for her. Either she’s been too busy to do it before or she didn’t have the need. I