He heard her moving, heard the bed springs squeak. She found him in the dark, where he stood just inside the closet door, feeling around on the top shelf. She put her arms around his middle.
'Come to bed, Wyatt,' she said, the words a sexy caress. 'You're a creative problem-solver. I'm sure together we can figure something out.'
He was already hard as granite inside his jeans. Her implied suggestion caused him to almost lose his cool completely, especially when her hand sort of accidentally-on-purpose brushed against his fly.
Just then his fingers closed around a familiar-feeling plastic packet. Just one, but that would do for now. 'Eureka,' he said as he pressed the packet into her hand.
They didn't waste any more time. Wyatt managed to shed his clothes in the four steps it took him to get from the closet to the bed. He shucked Phoebe out of her overalls the way he might peel a banana, now wishing he'd turned on a light so he could see her.
'What color are your panties?' he asked as he slid them down her incredibly long legs.
'Wyatt!'
'I have to know.'
'I don't remember! Probably white. I have boring underwear.'
'Impossible, not when you're in it.' He pulled her T-shirt over her head, then cupped her full breasts in his hands.
'You can't tell me this bra is anything but boring,' she argued. 'It's for jogging. Flattens me out.'
'We can't have that.' With a flick of his hand he undid the clasp in back.
She tossed the offending garment aside, and all teasing stopped there. She was a goddess with velvet skin and hands that worked magic wherever they brushed against him. He tore back the covers on his bed and fell onto it, pulling her with him. She covered him chest to toe, the exquisite contact making him groan.
He didn't want to rush her, but he was walking a tightrope. 'Where's the-'
'I've got it.'
'Can you-'
'Yes.'
And she did. Wyatt bit his lip against the white-hot pleasure of Phoebe's hands touching him so intimately. Those sweet, helpless hands weren't so helpless, after all.
'Are you-'
'Uh-huh.'
'Do you want-'
'No, it's perfect like this.'
He could get used to her reading his mind.
She straddled him, poising herself over him and hesitating just long enough that he thought he might have to beg. Then she sheathed him with excruciating slowness, accommodating herself to him inch by agonizing inch.
She gave a gusty sigh when he was buried deeply inside her.
'Is everything okay?' he whispered. He would commit
'Yes. Oh, yes. It's been a while, that's all.'
He was relieved to hear that. 'For me, too. I won't last long.'
'Me, neither.'
Amazingly, though, he did. Because she was on top, Phoebe pretty much set the pace, but she managed to keep him on the edge of a nuclear explosion for a good long while, speeding up, then slowing down almost to a standstill, trembling slightly, then starting the whole process over again. Still, there came a point when he couldn't take it anymore. He grasped her hips and thrust inside her, quickly, deeply, and with one final groan of pure ecstasy he let go.
When sanity returned, Phoebe was collapsed against him, her hair covering them both in a silken waterfall, just as it had in his fantasy. It occurred to him then what a totally selfish bastard he was. He'd completely neglected her pleasure.
'Phoebe?'
'Hmm.'
'Tell me what to do.'
'Shut up and enjoy the afterglow. It's my favorite part.'
'But you didn't…'
She raised herself up and looked at him, amused. 'Only about three times.' She shrugged. 'I'm not very showy.'
He laughed out loud and hugged her against him, relieved. How had he ever been fortunate enough to end up in bed with Phoebe Lane? She was one in a million.
But the feeling of euphoria quickly faded. What, exactly, did he want from Phoebe? Why had he taken her to bed now, as opposed to last week or next week? Granted, she'd been the one to initiate physical closeness, but he could have backed off.
Probably should have, he reflected. Maybe she was on the level about this husband-hunting thing. Maybe she didn't want a permanent attachment at this point in her life. But she definitely wanted something. He'd never met a woman yet who made love to a man without any expectations.
He couldn't offer her much. Intellectually, he'd known taking her to bed wasn't fair or wise or circumspect. He had to work with this woman every day, and for good or bad, what they'd done here tonight would have an effect on their professional relationship. He wasn't dumb enough to believe it wouldn't.
So why had he done it? It wasn't simple lack of self-control. He'd made a conscious decision to make love to her.
Was it a macho thing? The thought of all those college studs vying for her attention-and possibly getting it- made him want to claim her, brand her, mark her as his territory, put a No Trespassing sign on her. Every man who saw her wanted her, but Wyatt Madison had gotten her. Was that it? An ego trip?
She sighed in her sleep, and his heart softened. He stroked her hair, letting the fine strands sift through his fingers. He shouldn't be so hard on himself. How could he have resisted her allure, even if he'd wanted to?
They weren't right for each other, he knew that. He was too old for her, for one thing. She would be wanting to start a family in the next few years. He'd pretty much written off that idea for himself. Him, with a baby? Pretty ludicrous.
But tonight they'd been too lonely people who'd found each other. They'd behaved responsibly. And for a few hours, they'd each been a little less lonely. He hadn't made any promises or given her any reason to expect more than he could give.
Maybe they would make love again, or maybe they wouldn't. But there was no reason to let one slightly rash decision ruin their friendship.
But even as he turned the possibilities over in his mind, he knew he would have to be careful. There was something about Phoebe that made him want to open up, to share things he'd never shared with anyone. He felt this tremendous urge to pull his heart right out of his chest and hand it over, to put it right into those pretty, not- so-helpless hands of hers.
On that path lay trouble.
Phoebe's body relaxed into sleep, still lying partially on top of him. He shifted her gently to the side. Her even breathing didn't break. A sound sleeper, then.
He slipped out of bed, and without turning on a light he straightened up the room, putting all his dirty clothes in the bathroom hamper, laying hers neatly over the back of a chair. When Phoebe woke up tomorrow and saw this room for the first time, she might experience some morning-after regrets, but at least she wouldn't think she'd gone to bed with a slob.
Maybe he'd make her French toast in the morning.
