Medical Romance July 2016 Books 1-6. Lynne Marshall
never how things went with her protective older brother.
At least since her accident. Before that mess he’d pretty much left her to her own devices when it came to the guys she dated. Which probably informed his protectiveness now because no matter if she chose hot bad boys to date, they were never good for her. And they were never a good enough stand-in for Liam for her to keep playing that game when it became clear to her how fragile her hold on this life could be.
Another knock came, but no yelling. Not Nick.
She took another drink of her wine to fortify herself, and to empty her third glass, set it down and peel herself up off the couch.
Emboldened by booze, she flipped off one security device after another, locks and stoppers designed to allow her to peek without subjecting herself to the danger of a full door opening.
But the security in her building was too good for that to be a real issue.
She flung the door open and there Liam stood.
Or leaned, one shoulder resting against her doorjamb, hair wet and disheveled, his black T-shirt clinging to him like he’d not taken the time to even dry himself properly before throwing his clothes on and coming to find her.
The heat and hunger in his eyes sent sparks licking all over her body and burned away any doubts she’d been nursing through her second glass of wine.
Once again she was struck by her inability to predict this man.
“I don’t have a trench coat,” he said finally when she’d failed to come up with even a single word of greeting. “Can I come in anyway?”
Instead of answering, Grace reached directly for his belt and dipped her fingers into the front of his jeans. Soft hair brushed the backs of her fingers and she closed her hand around the buckle to tug him insistently through her apartment door.
One step inside and she launched herself against him, arms flying around his shoulders as she pressed as close as she could get, hungry mouth glued to his.
He managed to close the door and flip some locks, then she was against the wall, the tank top she’d donned to laze around the house inched up. Soon her belly burned with the heat of his firm, muscled torso against her.
More. She wanted more skin, the only thought strong enough to barrel through years of need coiling in her belly.
When her shirt reached her arms she let go of Liam long enough for him to whisk the material over her head.
He tossed the flimsy tank top and then stepped away from her, his eyes rolling down her body, which heated her skin too, just not as well as his skin against hers.
She once more closed the distance between them, needing his flesh against her. Before she could slide her arms around his shoulders once more, his hands landed on her hips and he pressed her back against the wall, falling to one knee as he did so.
He was going to hurt himself. A trickle of rationality made it through her fuzzy brain. “Your ankle.” The get-up he had on might be meant to tantalize, but he’d still known better than to take off the boot cast he’d been in since they’d returned from New York.
“It’s fine,” he said, pressing his face against the flat plane of her belly, then trailing wet kisses from one hip to the other, the stubble he wore so well rasping along her skin.
When he dug his fingers into the waist of the pants and dragged them down, along with the flimsy panties, she realized his intention.
No sooner had they wrestled her legs from the cotton tangle than he had one of her legs over his shoulder and his hot mouth pressed into her.
His tongue stroked and his lips plucked as if he were starved for her, as if he’d spent every night for the past six years dreaming of exactly this. She couldn’t tell whose moans were louder.
All she could do was grab the frame of her front door for support as pleasure blazed through her, arching her back so hard she would’ve fallen without his hands clamped to her hips.
The fervor with which he loved told her he wasn’t stopping until he’d wrung her out for their first course.
All the bad boys she’d dated...there could be no comparison. It might not be her first time but deep inside, for that girl who’d yearned for him for so long, it was her first time.
But she needed to touch him so, sparing one hand, she plowed her fingers through his hair, down that tattooed shoulder and the muscled arm...until she found the hand that held her hip. Instinctively, her fingers wrapped around the first digit she could get hold of.
Connection completed, the orgasm given by his greedy mouth almost split her in two.
The name that had secretly echoed in her heart for every lover finally passed her lips. She cried his name, and then again. And again.
When the last spasm burst, her supporting leg buckled, unwilling to hold her anymore.
Quickly, he turned the fall into a controlled slide, and once she touched the floor he crawled up her body, still hungry.
“Here?” He panted the question more than asked, eyeing the open window not ten feet away before he looked back down at her. “Not here.”
“We’re going to do this right. If it’s the only time...and it is, right? You...you agree that it’s the only time?” He pulled her up against him but stayed where he blocked the window.
When she nodded, he pulled his T-shirt off, baring that sculpted perfection that was his chest and belly. He wrapped the black cotton around her hips and tied the corners. “Then we need a bed. I want...everything to be perfect. Cool cotton sheets and pillows...”
“Bed. That way.” Her words still slurred just a little, drunk with pleasure.
But she scrambled to her feet and offered him both her hands to tug him back up, her faculties slowly returning. “Use the booted foot to stand. The other one can bend...”
“Don’t worry about my ankle,” he said, but he still took her hand and did as she instructed. “It’s fine.”
She backed toward her room. Looking at him was too good. He didn’t try to hide his want at all, and the front of his jeans strained over a heady ridge of flesh.
Oh, God, this was real. He was really there. Not just here in her mind, not a fantasy.
She didn’t even want to know what had changed his mind. Later. She could ask later, or not. Maybe it would be better if they didn’t talk about anything else, didn’t get more attached. Just one time, and then...let it stay perfect in memories.
Don’t think about after.
“My turn,” she said, as they passed through the door into her room and she felt the edge of the bed against the backs of her legs and released his hands to let hers roam up and down over his chest, alternating gentle touches with little scratches anywhere she found hair. Down, over his belly, and she fell to her knees beside the bed.
“No. I can’t wait. Next time.” The words strangled in his throat, and it only took one look into his eyes for her to know the reason for it.
There would be no next time.
This was supposed to be a farewell.
The thought almost put her off the whole thing.
Almost.
Grace was a big girl. She was the master, not her emotions. And this had been her idea. Her only chance.
She unfastened his belt, unbuttoned his jeans and eased the zipper down, her eyes still locked on his.
“Please? Just for a moment?”
He read people, he knew what was on her mind. He could call the whole thing off; now would be the time...
The moment lengthened, with him clearly struggling with all this as much as she was. When he didn’t