Her Perfect Stranger

touch. His thighs were long, taut with strength, and between them, he was hard and heavy.

Fully aroused.

He was a stranger, so that nothing about any part of him was familiar, yet she lifted her arms and welcomed him closer as if they'd known each other forever. His mouth took hers, more hungrily this time, and his hunger fueled hers. As if it needed fueling!

The heat spread, and when he undid her blouse, and then her bra, gliding both off her shoulders, she found herself panting, her hips already pressing insistently toward his. He excited her beyond belief, and if she could think, which she definitely couldn't, she might have been horrified at her lack of control.

And yet it never occurred to her to stop him, not then, and not when he slid the rest of her clothes off and his condom on. Not when he cupped her face in his big hands and kissed her, deep and wet and long. And certainly not when he touched her first with his eyes, then his fingers, then his mouth, and then finally, oh finally, sank into her.

Outside, the storm continued to rage, while inside one of not such a different nature took its course, as well. Reality had little chance, between the flashes of lightning and the flashes of bare, naked hunger. The friction of his thrusts and the greed of her own body shattered her. It might have been terrifying, how far he lifted her out of herself, if he hadn't been right there with her. She was still in the throes of a shockingly powerful orgasm-her third!-when he buried his face in her hair and found his own release.

Morning was bound to come, Corrine knew, but damn it, did it have to arrive so soon?

Bright orange-and-yellow rays of sunlight filtered through the crack in the curtains, casting an almost surreal light in the room, assuring her that the storm had passed.

Definitely, morning. And with it, responsibilities.

Damn.

She lay in the embrace of her perfect stranger. They were both deliciously, gloriously naked, pressed skin to skin, heat to heat. For an indulgent moment she just looked at him as he slept on, at all his masculine beauty, wondering at the hard, leanly muscled body that had brought her to paradise and back so many times in the night.

His eyes were closed, his face relaxed, his chest rising and falling evenly. His firm mouth brought back memories of what he could do with it, and made her body tingle all over. His lashes were dark, long and thick, resting against his strong cheekbone. His jaw had darkened with stubble, the same stubble that had rasped so satisfyingly over her skin all night long.

He was curled around her, one arm gallantly being used as her pillow, the other tightly anchoring her to him. His fingers cradled her breast possessively. From this angle, she couldn't see much below his waist, but she could feel him pressed to her, every delicious, rock-hard inch of him. She sighed with pleasure. He was amazingly tough, strong, hard in all the right places, and so beautiful it almost hurt.

Just looking at him made her heart contract. He was someone she could have allowed herself to care for, if she ever allowed such things. But she couldn't, at least not now, not with her all-consuming mission coming up. Some other time, perhaps…

Though she knew that was a lie. She'd always told herself that someday she'd allow Prince Charming into her life, but the tuning was never right.

But damn it, when? When would it be right?

Her heart constricted again, but she ignored it. In her not-so-humble opinion, she had it all, the way her life was right at this moment. She had great parents who supported her incredibly busy lifestyle, and she had the best job in the world.

True, she didn't have her own family, not a husband or children, but she didn't have time for that. She did have needs, like any other normal, red-blooded woman, but those needs were easily met. When she felt the occasional itch, she went out and got it scratched. Carefully, of course, but she wasn't shy.

Just like last night.

And now she would go on with her life. Content. Happy. Fulfilled.

Just as she wanted to.

So why, then, didn't she extract herself? Why did she lie there panting after a man who should have been out of her system by dawn's first light? She couldn't say for certain, but reflecting on the matter would have to come another time.

She had to go.

Slipping out from beneath his arm wasn't easy, but she was a master at stealth. Still, she couldn't help thinking If he wakes up now, it's fate. No way could she look into those warm, inviting eyes and walk away. Especially if he flashed that equally warm, inviting smile and reached for her, which she imagined him doing, then imagined her own open-armed response…

He didn't budge.

Tempting fate, she leaned in close, softly kissed his cheek.

I'll never forget you.

For a moment she stood by the bed, yearning and longing for something she couldn't put a name to. But even if she could, it was no use.

She was simply no good at matters of the heart. Dressing quickly and quietly, she hesitated one last time at the door.

Then, picking up her bag, she finally left, knowing she had no choice. No choice at all.

4

As always, Mike slept like the dead and awoke by degrees. It was a great fault of his, being so slow to shake sleep. Over the years he'd gotten both ribbed about it and in real trouble, not the least of which was the time he'd slept through his first 'SIM'-space shuttle simulation pilot test. He'd been in Russia, and had just battled a week- long flu, which he'd kept silent about so as not to have to give up the chance. The test had been agonizingly long, and his 'landing' required a predawn wakeup. Thanks to his cold medications, he hadn't made it, and as a result, the autopilot had kicked in for the simulated event, 'demolishing' the entire landing strip and center, 'killing' over one hundred people.

That particular mishap had caused him years of jokes at his expense, not to mention requiring some serious kissing up. He'd practically had to beg to be kept in the program.

And now, when he finally managed to crack his eyes open, and saw the bright sunlight pouring in through the hotel window, he knew before reaching out that he was alone.

Still he stretched, touching her side of the pillow they'd shared when they hadn't been rolling, tangled and heated and breathless, across the sheets.

It was cold.

She'd been gone for a while then, and he had no one to blame but himself for the odd mixture of real regret and not so real relief.

As he rose and showered, Mike reminded himself that he had no time in his life for any serious entanglements. Having to fill in for this mission as pilot, when the mission had been in the planning stages for so long, meant he had months of catching up to do. He knew better than to think it would be a piece of cake. It was going to take every single second of every single day until launch to pull this off.

First, he had to get through the initial process of inserting himself into an already established team. They were in Huntsville to immerse themselves in this critical project. In a week, they'd move on to Houston, where they would stay until launch time, with occasional trips back and forth to Kennedy Space Center in Florida.

He was looking at a whirlwind of activity.

Which meant this was not the time to be considering a personal attachment. That was actually a good thing, as he'd never wanted a personal attachment.

But last night, what he'd shared with that woman…now that could have been the first time he might have actually paused and considered anything close to a relationship.

But she was gone, and he had to work, so it was over.