The Firefighter. Susan LyonsЧитать онлайн книгу.
smile is infectious so I give him one back. “It’s been an adventure.”
“You ain’t seen nothing yet.”
His words prove truer than I’d anticipated. I hadn’t figured that, half an hour later, I’d be roaring down the wrong side of the road on the back of a silver Ducati motorbike, my arms wrapped tightly around Mick’s lean waist.
Wearing pajamas, a bathrobe, hospital slippers and a motorcycle helmet.
This is definitely not my Vancouver lawyer image.
On the other hand, I’m in the land Down Under, where not a soul knows me. The thought is amazingly liberating. So’s the rush of wind. And the knowledge that Mick Donovan wants me.
It’s like I came out of that fire a new woman. A sexy, attractive one.
A gutsy, probably insane, one.
The old Tash would never take off with a man she didn’t know. Wear PJs in public. She’d never prioritize sex ahead of arranging for replacement credit cards.
The fire must’ve fried a few brain cells because at the moment I don’t give a damn about where I’ll sleep tonight and how I’ll acquire a decent set of clothes. Once I’d reassured myself that if anything happened with Nana the hospital would phone Mick’s cell phone—or mobile, as they call them here—I had only one thought in my head. To get naked with Mick.
From everything I’ve seen and felt, I know he’s going to have an amazing body. I wrap my arms tighter around him, snuggle closer against his T-shirted back, feel his muscles flex in response. My nipples perk up under the cotton pajama top, and the throbbing of the bike between my thighs is giving my pussy ideas.
To distract myself, I concentrate on the scenery. Where is he taking me?
From the hospital in Cairns he’s headed into a residential neighborhood. Older homes sit side by side with modern apartments, and there are enough exotic flowering trees and shrubs to tell me I’m in the tropics. Not that the warmth of the October sunshine wouldn’t have been enough clue.
Mick pulls up in front of a red brick building that looks like it might be a fourplex, with two units up and two down.
Awkward in the clothes the hospital gave me, I scramble off the bike. My body’s definitely achy and my skin feels as dry as I imagine the Outback must be. Any chance Mick stocks body lotion?
“Come down with cold feet?” He looks concerned. Disappointed.
Have I? No, I just got distracted by the strange scenery and my aches and pains. Now that those blue eyes are focused on me, I know perfectly well why I’m here. And it has nothing to do with cold anything!
I shake my head. “D’you realize this is my first morning in Australia? I’ve been here less than a day.”
“Then let one of the locals make you welcome.” He reaches for my hand.
I take it eagerly, my aches dying away as a transfusion of Mick vitality surges into me.
Or is that lust?
He takes me around the outside of the building to the back, where I get a quick glimpse of a courtyard garden with flowering plants and a water feature with a nude cherub, then he points to a flight of steps to the second story. “You live here?” I ask, wondering about that cherub.
“Rent the flat above the landlady,” he says. “She’s a sweet old duck.” He winks. “Pretty much deaf, too.”
And why would I care if she was deaf? Does he think I’m a screamer?
If so, he’s going to be disappointed. I’m a good enough lover—I know all the moves—but I’m not one for raking my nails down a man’s back and screeching like a banshee.
The stairs are narrow and he starts up ahead of me, with an animal-like grace. He thrusts open the door, grabs one of my hands, pulls me inside and then we’re kissing.
For a first kiss it’s—OH MY GOD.
Usually there’s some fumbling, testing, trying to find the right angle. Wondering how soon to open. Figuring out if the other person’s a sucker, nibbler, slobberer.
Mick is—I have to say it again. OH MY GOD. Perfection.
He has the best lips imaginable. Soft but firm. Gentle but utterly masculine. He teases, sucks one corner of my mouth. Lazily, like he has all day. But he pulls me close, very close, and his erection is talking a whole different, more urgent, story. My pussy’s an eager audience.
His seductive lips flirt across my top lip, suck the bottom one, then his tongue licks the seam between them.
I’m so lost in the sensations, I don’t even know if I’m responding or just standing there in a state of bliss, letting myself be kissed.
4
My state of bliss ends abruptly when I realize I probably stink of smoke, despite my sponge bath. I ease away an inch. Mick shows no signs of being turned off—the indicators definitely point in the opposite direction—but my feminine pride makes me say, “I need a shower.”
“No you don’t.” He pulls me back, nuzzles my neck below my ear.
“Why don’t you join me?” Hoarseness makes my voice sexy and suggestive.
“Shower together?” I feel his smile against my skin.
“You could help me get clean.” I envision his soapy hands running over my breasts, down my tummy, between my legs. Nerve endings ignite, the heat of arousal rushes through me.
He lifts his head and gives me a cocky smile. “I could help you do lots of things.”
And hopefully one of them is achieve orgasm. “Prove it to me in the shower.”
He undoes my sash and tugs the bathrobe off my shoulders. Suddenly I’m nervous about getting naked. I have small, high tits and an ass to match, with only a gentle curve of hip. If Mick’s into voluptuous…
Wait a minute, he’s already seen my body. Next to naked, in my skimpy lingerie. And he was turned on.
Mick starts to undo the buttons of my pajama top and I really wish I had some of my secret indulgence lingerie now, not this plain-Jane outfit.
I bat his hands away. “Where’s the bathroom?” Every woman looks beautiful in the shower, with water streaming down her body. Right?
“Over here.” He leads me across his living room.
I’m guessing the apartment—flat, as he calls it—came furnished. The antiques and chintz patterns don’t look like Mick. They’re attractive, but not masculine.
And he is most definitely both.
I step into the bathroom and see it’s similar to the one in Auntie Bet’s house. A ceramic tile floor with a drain in the centre. A combination tub/shower where there’s no shower rod or curtain, just a half-door at the shower end. No drain in the tub. Nana told me, if the tub overflows, the water goes down the drain in the floor. Weird, how different countries have these small, distinct variations in how they handle the basics of everyday life.
Sure, Tash, think about the plumbing rather than whether he’ll find you sexy.
Nervously I scramble out of the pajamas, step into the tub and get the shower going—not too hot because my skin’s so sensitive from the fire—then turn to face Mick.
The expression on his face, the erection under his fly, tell me he does find me sexy.
I breathe a sigh of relief. “Lonely in here.” I dip my head under the spray to give him the hopefully irresistible image of water cascading over a naked female.
When I emerge from the water he bends down to take off his boots. Then he straightens and in one quick move yanks the T-shirt over his head.
My