"With Julia." Lori pitched a toy bottle onto the haphazard heap.
Her call to Julia, in hopes of finding out about Gray, had rekindled their friendship. It felt good having a friend to count on for help, especially now. Gray had taught her that, about making friends. If only she could learn how to keep them.
"Lori. Lori! Will you look at me, please?" He grasped her arm and eased her to her feet. "I've come a helluva long way to see you. We're not going to replay our mistake from last year by both being too hardheaded to talk."
Each rise and fall of his chest brought him closer for a tantalizing second. She held herself still. No way was she going to throw herself at him, no matter how hot he looked in those khakis.
Slowly, deliberately, he raised his hand, his fingers sliding under her braid to cup her head. She couldn't move, could barely breathe. "Gray? Why didn't you just call instead of flying all this way?"
"I wish I knew. I only know I just can't stay away."
He palmed her head, his eyes filled with a confusion so unlike her normally confident man she almost didn't recognize him. She couldn't have stopped herself from speaking if she tried. She didn't try very hard at all. "I missed you, too."
His mouth crashed down on hers.
All good intentions flew out the window as she surrendered to his kiss. She'd ached for him so damned much.
Tongues dancing, dipping, tasting, Lori locked her arms around him. Gray backed her down the hall, feet tangling on their way to her room. Her knees hooked on her mattress and she fell onto her bed, Gray's body a solid, delicious weight pressing her into the eiderdown comforter.
Their hands peeled away clothing with frantic need, his shoes thudding to the floor, Lori kicking away her light linen pants. His starched khakis rasped against her tender thighs.
Somewhere between kisses, her hands worked his pants off and down his powerful legs. Her lips tore free only long enough to whip his shirt overhead. She flung it aside and reclaimed his mouth for another deep, moist kiss.
Gray opened her silk shirt to uncover more silk. He charted a path down her jaw, her shoulder. Her breath hooked somewhere short of her throat, her br**sts tightening in anticipation just before his mouth closed over her.
Damp and warm silk clung to her skin with each tugging draw of his mouth. Her back bowed against him, impatient need taut within her.
"Lori." He breathed her name over the moist fabric. "Just a second, hon."
Gray rolled off her, her hands following him, scratching a light trail down his back. He glanced over his shoulder. "Hold that thought."
Scooping his pants from the floor, he tugged his wallet free and withdrew a single packet. He turned to her, flipping the condom between his fingers. An apology lit his eyes. "I just think—"
"Wait." She scooted from beneath him to reach into her bedside table drawer and pulled free a box. She refused to remember other arguments about birth control and children. The past could stay out of her bedroom for the moment. She had other plans for Gray. Lori scored her nails down his chest, raking gently lower.
A growl rumbling in Gray's throat, he pulled the box from her hands and tossed it on the bedside table along with his lone offering. "Slow down, hon. No rushing this time."
Would it be their last time? Lori shoved away the icy thought.
Snagging the bottle of lotion from beside her lamp, he turned, tossing the bottle from hand to hand. Every inch of Lori's body tingled in anticipation. No doubt they were falling into an old habit of escaping problems through sex, but at the moment she just didn't care.
The bottle held high, he drizzled a stream into his open palm. His eyes gleamed as he rubbed his hands together, warming the lotion, warming her with his gaze.
He lifted her foot, cradling it like an antique china cup from her knickknack shelf. Strong fingers worked over her skin. Smooth lotion and callused hands rubbed a dichotomy of sensations along her nerves. Immersed in his touch and the scent of peaches, she could only close her eyes and moan.
Gray worked up her toes, along the top of her foot. "Metatarsal."
Lori's eyes snapped open. "What?"
Someone needed to tell him his language of love was sorely lacking.
He raised her foot to his mouth and kissed along her ankle reverently. "Tarsal. Special. Because it's yours."
She melted, totally and completely. Forget language. His hands spoke sonnets. His mouth kissed poetry.
"Fibula. Slim and perfect." His thumbs worked up her calf with tender reverence. Those doctor hands were so adept in nuances of the human body, and she reaped the full benefit of his training.
His mouth found her knee, working from front to back, tearing a low moan from her throat. An echoing groan rumbled in his throat. "Patella. So sensitive."