‘Prita.’
She swallowed, her throat so horribly, wantonly, dry. ‘I’m your doctor,’ she said, trying to remind herself of the protocol, of procedure.
‘Are you finished?’
‘Yes.’
‘Then you’re no longer my doctor.’
‘I’ve still got to write you up some painkillers.’
‘I don’t want them.’
‘Flynn.’
‘Prita.’
His breath brushed over her face. The fingers of his bandaged hand covered hers over his leg, warm and large and reminding her that she was touching him. Oh god, she should have moved her hand away from him, but she couldn’t. It felt too good. Her fingers moved, kneading the firm muscles there as if she was a cat kneading a blanket, instinct and that rush of adrenaline taking over reason. She knew she shouldn’t let it, but oh god, it felt so good and it had been so long.
He made a little choking sound in his throat. She licked her lips. His gaze tracked the movement. She did it again, bit her lip.
‘Don’t do that.’
‘What?’
‘Bite your lip. Your lips deserve better treatment than that.’
‘How?’
He groaned and then his lips were on hers.
She was expecting an assault of lips and teeth and tongue, with the amount of heat, the unwanted pull of desire that had built between them over months and months, but when his lips covered hers, it was with a gentleness that brought pricks of tears to her eyes. He nibbled with lips and teeth and tongue, soft little sups and licks, as if he was trying to know her lips, her mouth, every little crease and dip and fold, as if he was savouring every touch, every intimacy. His bandaged hand moved, gripping around her waist and pulling her closer—not that he needed to pull her closer when she was already plastered up against him, the hardness of his chest and stomach a delicious warmth against hers, the thickening rise of his penis pressing against her stomach pushing awareness up unbearably.
Oh that felt so good. She’d never known that to feel so good. She wanted more.
She slid her hands from his thighs, up to the top of his shorts, pushing under his shirt and skimming along the heated skin just above the band, the fine hairs on his stomach tickling against her skin. Oh, my, he was well-muscled. Her fingers flexed against him. A cat. She was being a cat again. And like a cat, she wanted to lick.
She licked along the seam of his lips as he’d just done to her, savouring the flavour of him, wishing he’d open up and let her inside. He made a growly sound in his throat, so she did it again, a sense of power shooting through her when his penis flexed against her. Why had she denied this for so long? It had been stupid. She was a grown woman. He was a grown man. There was no reason— ‘Oh.’ His mouth lefts hers to suckle his way down her throat, his hands sliding up to move over her breasts. She moved into him, nipples aching for more. He suckled at the base of her throat, thumbs circling her distended nipples, pushing against her bra. She wanted to tear off that bra. It was suddenly too tight, the soft lace too rough against her sensitised skin. His good hand moved up to cup her face, fingers sliding into her hair, loosening her ponytail until her hair fell, free and curling in heavy waves, around her shoulders. He lifted his head then, gaze roaming over her features, hand stroking through her hair.
‘Silk,’ he murmured. ‘Warm silk.’
She didn’t get to reply before his lips were on hers again, sipping and licking and stroking, offering more than he took, until she opened to him, and he slid inside where she’d wanted him to be from the very first moment she’d seen him a year and a half ago. He’d swung down from the back of a horse, his face sweaty and dust-covered, and laughed as Aaron ran up to him, tousling his son’s hair and smiled in a way that made Prita catch her breath.
It had made her ache with longing and with fear and she’d been fighting the attraction ever since.
Oh god, what was she doing? This wasn’t what she wanted. It wasn’t what she could have.
She pushed at his chest—how had her hands made it inside his shirt?—and stumbled back as he let her go immediately. She caught herself by grabbing at his leg again, then let go as if she’d been burned.
He stared at her.
She stared at him.
Then without saying another word, she turned and ran out of the room.
Chapter 4
Flynn could hardly catch his breath. His mind was spinning. What the hell had just happened? He’d never intended to kiss her. Had most definitely planned never to kiss her. But she’d been standing so close, her touch so soft as she’d sutured his hand, her light, slightly spicy perfume rising up to entice him, to urge him to shift closer. He’d held out against it though. She was doing a job and had no idea of the wild insanity of his thoughts.
But when her hand had landed on his leg and she’d dug her fingers into his muscle, kneading, had looked up at him with that fire in her eyes, any thoughts of control had turned to ash and he’d become the flame in her
