He kissed the sweet slope of her neck and was lost. He might not have been, had she not instinctively leaned into the caress of his mouth. He reached up, found the soft splendor of her hair, and caught her mouth with his. She smelled like surprise and vanilla-bean ice cream.

“Oh, God,” she said, almost groaned, into his mouth. “You’re like a dream. The best dream I ever had.”

“I was thinking the same thing.”

“What? I’m sorry, your accent—” She giggled and kissed his chin. “It’s so thick I can barely understand you. Which, by the way, I’ll take as a compliment to my own massive sexiness.”

“Y’should. Stay with me.”

“I can’t.” She was wriggling—regretfully, but still wriggling—out of his grasp. Trying, anyway. He had no trouble whatsoever keeping her in the circle of his arms. “I’m sorry. I’d love to. I can’t. Leggo.”

“But you must.” He found her breast—not easy, given its encasement in sensible gray flannel—and cupped it in his palm. The firm, warm weight made his head swim. “You’re for me and I’m for you, lovely Giselle. Besides, I’m not going to let you leave.”

“What?”

“Besides, what if you heave?”

“Oh. I thought—look, I feel fine. I don’t think I’ll be sick again.”

“But what if y’are? I promised Dr. Madison I’d look after you for the next twenty-four hours. It’s only been about six.”

“But I feel fine.”

“But I promised.”

“Well…if you promised…and if it’s doctor’s orders…” She was weakening. She wanted to be persuaded. So he’d persuade her, by God.

Chapter 6

One minute they were having a (reasonably) civilized conversation, and the next his hands were everywhere. Her nightclothes were tugged, pulled, and finally torn off her. His weight bore her back on the bed.

“Alec!” Surprise made her voice squeakier than usual. “For crying out loud, I feel like I’m caught in an exercise machine—yeek!” “Yeek” because his head was suddenly, shockingly between her breasts, his long fingers were circling one of her nipples and then tugging impatiently on the bud. Heat shot through her like a comet. And speaking of comets, what the hell was that pressing against her leg?

“I don’t think this is what the doctor had in mind—” she began again.

“Giselle, my own, my sweet, I would do nearly anything you asked.” He was having this conversation with her cleavage. “But will you please stop talking for just a minute?”

“Forget it. I reserve the right to chat if you’ve reserved the right to rip up my nice new nightgown,” she informed the top of his head. And her old panties. Well, at least it wasn’t laundry day. No granny underpants on her, thank you very much!