Baby on Loan. Liz Fielding
he remembered, not quite green, not quite blue, like the Mediterranean in a good mood. Then he wondered how he’d noticed such a thing in the mayhem of last night. Through the owl-like spectacles.
Maybe while she was lying on top of him, his subconscious volunteered, helpfully. He backed away from the thought, yet with the image before him he could instantly recall the warmth of her body against his, the feel of her hair as it brushed against his cheek. It tingled now, as he remembered, and he raised his hand as if to brush away an unwelcome sensation; then snatched his fingers back before they could.
Her lips were slightly parted, soft and pink and innocent of lipstick, and her arm was draped over the edge of the bath, totally relaxed by the warmth.
The tempered-steel jacket about his heart buckled slightly.
Then, as the drifting islands of foam moved, he saw the tiny tattoo of a ladybird on her thigh. And his body stirred, responding without hesitation to an overload of stimulation. The shock of it fixed him to the spot, his mind spinning with thoughts of a warm mouth beneath his, a warm body ready for love, and he gasped out loud as he realised that it wasn’t a memory but this woman he was responding to.
She sighed softly as the cooling water began to disturb her. For a moment he remained where he was, transfixed by the image. But he really did have to move, get out of the bathroom, out of the house, before she woke and he gave her the fright of her life.
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