When Dr. David Brice invited radio talk host, Gayle Loring to lunch, intending to upbraid her for band-aid therapy, he couldn't have known that her former lover who was running for governor would be found murdered in her apartment, and that she would become the prime suspect.
In just days he asked her to help in his clinic and be a guest at his adjacent home in Denver's inner city. To escape the paparazzi, she agreed. After three days of seeing how well she interacted with his patients, he realized he was falling in love with Gayle.
Now she was on his patio swing beside him. He leaned closer, watching her eyes grow larger as the setting sun cast long shadows over the patio. Her blue-green eyes were luminous, and her full lips parted. Without taking his eyes off of her face, he reached for her hand and took her glass to set it on the table beside the swing.
As he gathered her into his arms, the swing began to sway, reminding him of the front porch on the ranch house his family lived in when he and his brother were young. He'd gotten embarrassed once when he surprised his dad and mom kissing on this very swing. His mother's girlish laughter made his reaction even worse.
His kiss was gentle, which took a Herculean effort on his part. When her lips parted beneath his, his breath caught. Just a kiss, he told himself, as his tongue flicked over hers. She responded hesitantly at first, and then almost enthusiastically. After a few moments he thought, just a touch, and found her breast, which responded as he began stroking her nipple. Just a little closer, he thought as her body pressed against his. But his own body was betraying him, and he knew she was feeling his hardness pressed against her. He almost leapt to his feet.
When she moved to stand, he damned himself for being so thoughtless. An apology formed on his lips. She wasn't ready for this. She might never be ready to move on. He started to speak. Instead he felt her fingers on his lips, keeping him from saying he was sorry. She reached for his hand, and he let her lead him into the house, past the half-prepared dinner, the dozing dog, and into the great-room.
When Gayle turned to face him, he thought she was going to warn him not to get any stupid ideas. But he already had the stupid idea of getting her into his bed. Or luring her onto the couch. Just then she reached up and began unbuttoning his shirt. Hell, he wanted to tear it off. What did a few buttons mean? No, he wanted to tear her blouse off instead.
Their fingers tangled as they kissed while their groping hands attempted to strip the clothes from each other. She raised her arms so he could pull her blouse over her head. Her bra revealed her taut breasts. Reaching around her he unfastened her bra, while her kiss was sending its own messages through his body. He needed to see her and taste her, but the light was waning, so he carried her to the couch set just under the picture window. He wanted to devour her with his eyes, his hands, his mouth, and was doing a pretty good job of it when she spoke.
He froze. He'd gone too far. Too fast. He pulled away. He knew she'd changed her mind.
"No, don't stop. Do you have protection?"
He swore softly. Of course. He pulled himself to his feet. When was the last time he'd had sex? It wasn't in his house. He couldn't remember when, let alone who. But his condoms had to be in his bathroom. On the second floor. Up twenty-two steps and a mile-long hallway.
"Don't move," he commanded hoarsely. He galloped up the stairs, his heart pounding. It took less than a minute to return, armed and ready. He got out of his pants in record time.
She had moved just enough to give him room on the couch as he lowered himself onto her. "Are you sure?" he whispered.
"I'm sure." Her breath was sweet but her words were even sweeter.
He wanted this to be slow and memorable for them both. He stroked her gently, surprised that she was moist and ready. It sent him over the top. Instead of entering her slowly, romantically whispering into her ear, he thrust himself into her. She lifted her body to draw him deeper inside. Their rhythm matched and they rode the waves together. Gayle seemed to be having multiple orgasms. This was not what he expected. More intense, more revealing, more sensations…Oh, yeah, this was memorable. Not once had she cried out Ted's name. Not once had he remembered a name other than hers.
When they finally quieted, they lay together facing each other in the dark. He hoped she hadn't realized he was still inside her. She wiggled slightly, and he reluctantly began to withdraw.
"Stay," she whispered. "I need you."