Absent in the Spring (The Shakespeare Sisters 3)

He laid her on the mattress, pulling the covers back over her, before climbing in beside her. The bed was tiny for a double. There was no escaping him if she tried.

Her whole body was shivering, as though it had finally realised just what it was missing out on. The fire in the hearth crackled and spat, the orange light glowing on the whitewashed walls. Then he was reaching out for her, pulling her body against his. His arms wrapped around her waist, holding her tightly.

The thin layer of professionalism she’d worked so hard to conserve melted into the warm air. She curled into him, closing her eyes. ‘God, I’m so cold,’ she whispered, pressing her face against his chest, her ice-cold flesh meeting his heat.

‘I’m trying to get you warm,’ he told her. ‘The quickest way is body heat. Like in those survival shows on TV.’ He slid his hands beneath her pyjama top, and a series of shivers snaked up and down her spine.

Neither of them spoke as he held her tightly, her skin slowly thawing as his warm flesh pressed against her. Every time she inhaled she could smell him – woody, earthy, unbearably sexy.

Then he started to rub her back in slow, sensuous circles, his palms hot and smooth. She couldn’t help but arch into his touch, her whole body coming alive with each movement, like a frozen landscape melting into spring.

Was it wrong that her hips started to circle in time, pressing against him with each rotation? Was it wrong that her whole body was tingling, her nipples hard and peaked against his skin? If that was wrong, then the heat forming between her thighs was so sinful it didn’t bear thinking about.

She lifted her head to look at him. He was staring down at her with an intensity that shot straight through her. Her lips parted, enough for her to force out the air that wanted to stay captured in her throat. Everything about him was consuming.

He moved his hands down her back, his fingers leaving a trail of fire and ice along her spine. His palms pressed into the dip just above her bottom, sending her nerve endings into a frenzy of activity. His cloth-covered thigh was between hers, causing a delightful friction that made her whole body tingle. She couldn’t concentrate on anything else.

‘Lucy.’ His voice was soft but urgent.

‘Huh?’ Act

ual words were impossible right then.

‘If you keep moving your ass like that I won’t be responsible for what happens. You’re driving me crazy.’

She couldn’t help the smile that broke out on her face. Couldn’t help the fact her hips moved again, just to test his will-power. He squeezed his eyes shut, the torture written all over his face. They were both playing with fire now.

‘You want to see me lose control?’ His voice was like gravel. ‘Just keep doing what you’re doing.’

He caught her eye, as though he was searching for permission. She held his gaze, her expression telling him she wanted this as much as he did. He reached for her buttons, deftly unfastening them one by one. His eyes lowered, taking in her half-exposed breasts, his lids turning heavy as he unbuttoned the final one.

She was silent as he slid his warm hands up to her shoulders, pushing the fleecy material down her arms. Then he pulled until it slid from her back, dropping to the mattress. Wrapping his arms around her, he hugged her against him, until her breasts were pressed against his hard chest. She could feel her breath hitch as she tried to inhale, his proximity driving her crazy.

His hands moved lower, and in spite of the fleece pyjamas bottoms, she could feel every finger pushing against her flesh.

She angled her head until her lips were against his ear, her breath soft against his cheek. He let out a strangled moan, one that caught in his throat, the sound echoing against her. ‘Lucy…’

‘Lachlan…’

‘Just… Christ, what are we doing?’

‘You’re warming me up.’

‘Yeah, that.’ He slid his hands beneath the elasticated waist of her pyjamas, his heated palms sliding down her bottom. The sensation of flesh against flesh sent another jolt of pleasure through her. Who was controlling who here?

There was only an inch between her lips and his cheek. She could practically feel his night-time beard brushing against her mouth. Exhaling, she closed the gap, pressing her lips to his jaw.

‘I should have let you freeze,’ he muttered. ‘You’re a fucking temptress.’

A small rumble of laughter escaped her mouth. She couldn’t remember the last time she felt this good. The last time she was so in the moment. ‘I should have let you burn.’

‘You’re the one burning me.’ He turned his head until her lips grazed the corner of his mouth. ‘Jesus, woman, what do you want me to do?’

‘Nothing,’ she whispered against the corner of his lips. ‘Nothing at all.’

It was strange how she hesitated now, just before she kissed him. As if it were more intimate than the way their bodies were entwined, more meaningful than his hands pressed against her flesh. A kiss laid you bare, made you vulnerable. It was a leap from a cliff edge with your eyes closed.

Lachlan pulled his hand from her back, reaching up to cup her cheek. His thumb stroked the line from her ear to her lips. Her chest felt strange, as though the air was slowly squeezing out of her.