“I won’t hurt you, Mary,” he said softly.
She felt his eyes on her as she knelt before him and removed his shoes, one at a time, when he seemed incapable of doing so himself. Beautiful eyes of golden brown, not unlike a tiger’s - studied her face as she unbuttoned his soaked shirt.
When she reached the buckle of his pants, he caught her wrists with his hands. She felt the strength in them, suppressing a gasp. Bringing a strange man back to her house suddenly seemed like a very foolish thing to do. Her good intentions ran and cowered into the corners of her mind, despite the words he’d just uttered so sincerely a few moments prior.
“I’m drunk,” he said solemnly.
“Yes,” she agreed. Mary held her breath, even though it was confusion she saw in his eyes, not malice. His grip, while strong, was not painful. Despite the fact that his hands were chilled from the cold weather, heat pooled beneath her skin where he touched her.
“I don’t think I’m capable of getting it up right now.”
Her heart beat furiously in her chest, but outwardly she remained calm. “No, probably not. But that’s really not an issue.”
His confusion grew; his eyes searched her face. “You don’t want to have sex with me?”
She couldn’t say no, because some secret part of her did very much want to have sex with him at that moment. He was an extraordinarily good-looking man, more suited to a Hollywood leading man than an ordinary guy who just had a little too much to drink at a Birch Falls tavern. If the taut, hard muscles she felt beneath those clothes were any indication, he was built like a Calvin Klein model, too. Her thoughts strayed for a moment, wondering what it would be like to make love with a man who had tiger’s eyes and a body like that.
Shocked at that realization, she hushed that dark, wicked urge and promised herself she was going to cut back on the erotic romance novels. Maybe she’d download a few good mysteries to her eReader instead.
“How about we just get you out of these wet things?”
“But... you brought me back to your place. And you’re trying to take my clothes off.”
His voice, deep and smooth, caressed against her feminine parts, sending unfamiliar tingles into generally dormant zones. She ignored it.
“I brought you back to my place because you are in no shape to drive, or to be left alone, for that matter. And I’m trying to help you undress because your clothes are wet with melting snow and you’re shivering.”
She spoke soothingly, feeling a small ache in her chest for this beautiful man who was having trouble believing she didn’t want to do anything but help him. Didn’t he have a family or friends who cared for him?
He thought about that for several long moments, his eyes burning into her with such intensity she felt like he could see that little sexy part hiding in the shadows. Then he exhaled. “Oh. Okay.”
He still didn’t look convinced, but he allowed her to tug his pants and socks off, leaving only his black silk boxers untouched, then guide him over to the bed.
“Um, while you’re under the covers, how about pulling off the rest yourself?”
It took a moment for her words to register, but when they did, he grinned wickedly. “Help me.”
She fought the urge to grin back at him. There was something heartrendingly adorable about a gorgeous, almost-naked man being playfully naughty. “No,” she said, trying to infuse a bit of firmness into her tone. “You can do it.”
“Please?” he asked hopefully.
She crossed her arms over her chest. “No.”
He sighed, his grin turning into a look of intense concentration as he tried to remove his boxers beneath the sheets without becoming completely entangled. After several minutes of watching him struggle, she exhaled heavily and reached under the covers to help him.
“Stay still,” she commanded, wishing her voice sounded firmer and a bit less breathy.
“Your hands are so warm and soft,” he murmured, surrendering to her.
He grew still as she maneuvered the briefs down his legs and over his feet. Resisting the urge to take a peek (if only to convince her mind that what her hands were telling her was real), she resettled the covers over him. She felt the blush creep up her cheeks, but she needn’t have worried about his reaction. When her eyes made it back up to his face, she saw that he had passed out cold.
For no logical reason whatsoever, she brushed the damp golden locks from his forehead and pressed her lips to his as the grandfather clock down the hall tolled the arrival of the New Year. “Happy New Year, Aidan.”