Perilously Fun Fiction: A Bundle, Pauline Jones [top 100 novels of all time .txt] 📗

Even while my body quivered its delight, my brain was wondering how he could be drugged to the eyeballs and ready to jump my bones. I didn’t dwell on why I was tempted to let him. This was research, I assured myself, nothing more.

“Uh, excuse me?” I shifted my grip to the side of his head and pushed until I was looking in foggy blue eyes. “You’re wounded. You need to lie down. You know, go to bed.”

I knew right away I shouldn’t have used the b-word.

His lids dropped to half mast. His nostrils flared. His mouth curved in sensuous anticipation. I tried to get my elbows between us, but he moved fast for a drugged guy.

“You've been wounded. Wounded.” Wounded, I reiterated this to myself to keep from getting hypnotized by the warm attention of his gaze. This was a drugged stranger, not a fantasy lover.

His half-lidded eyes were a sensuous, hot blue, the curve of his mouth anticipatory. I spread my hands across his chest again, intending to push him away, but then I felt his heart beat strongly against palms suddenly sensitive to sensuous things.

“Bed,” he said, pulling me back into the hard cradle of his body and claiming my mouth with a deep hunger that filled a need I didn’t know I had.

We started to slide sideways and the door handle of my mother’s van dug into my back, a pointed reminder that I was going somewhere I’d never been with someone I didn’t know. And doing it leaning against my mother’s vehicle. That sobered me more than not knowing Kel. I pulled my head away, and took several deep breaths.

“Please stop, I need—”

“—to call me Kel.” His mouth explored the right side of my face.

“Oh, my—”

“Say it,” he insisted, his dimple flirting at the edge of my vision. “Call me Kel.”

“Oh, what the—” Didn’t I need some experience if I was ever to move past my roach? This was research. My arms slid back around him as my mouth sighed into his. “Kel.”

Capitulation took the starch right out of me.

He retained his starch.

Our lips fused in a scorching contact that carried away sober Baptist and left hot-to-trot Gumby. When we came up for air, I made another weak protest, “You need to get to bed.”

“Bed,” he agreed, turning us both in the direction of the stairs.

I'm not really sure who supported whom, but with wobbles and bumps and me removing his hand from my rump every other step, and a couple of stops to imbed wood slivers in my butt and some lip-locking, we made our uncertain way up the stairs.

“…sort things out up top,” I rationalized with a certain lack of clarity. Besides, it was great copy…

Sorting wasn't on his agenda when we quit tripping on stairs and ran into solid wood. He had other, more ancient ideas. I sagged against the door, his hands spread across my cheeks and into my hair, tacitly encouraging his feather light exploration of my face with his mouth. My hands tried to creep round his waist again, so I shoved them in the pockets of my coat, foraging for my door key instead.

“…copy…copy…copy…” Surely this mantra would ward off anything too final. My eyes felt wide and dry and my heart was as wild as lunch room full of nine year olds. Perhaps I could blunt the physical impact of his touch by assigning text to the taste and feel of his mouth—but adjectives fled when he settled his mouth over mine, deepening the intensity of contact until my couldn't keep up with the beat of my heart.

“…copy…copy…copy…” I intoned in my head.

When he finally came up for air, I'd almost forgotten how to breathe.

“It's just copy—good—very good copy—but still just copy…” I’m not sure who I was trying to convince at this point.

He slid his hands over my shoulders and trailed them down my back at the same time he rubbed his chin against my cheek. The faint roughness made my skin tingle and spark.

“Okay—excellent copy—top notch—bestseller copy—”

I don't know which would have given out first, my knees or my resolution, so it was a good thing I didn't have to find out. My fingers closed over the lifeline of my key and I managed to fumble it into the lock behind me. The door creaked open, sending us staggering into the room.

I had to admire—and enjoy—his tenacity. He stayed with me through the staggers, with a seeming desire to introduce me to all variations of kissing as quickly as he could. I hadn't found one I didn't like, when Addison galloped up. He's too gentle to attack if it's not the rear view mirror of a small foreign car, but he does like to greet me when I get home. And he likes to be introduced to newcomers.

He nudged between us, panting happily. The problem for Kel, being nudged by Newfoundland is no small matter, and if you’re already unsteady on your pins…

Kel went reeling into a chair. Addison took advantage of his lower profile by side swiping Kel’s face with his tongue.

Kel rubbed his face. “Your horse just licked me.”

If I had any doubts he was in a drug induced thrall, that question dispelled them. I gave Addison a hearty thump on the head, then said, “Crate, Addison.”

With a huge woof, Addison padded back to his crate.

“Good dog.” This was a night of many firsts.

I slipped out of my coat and tossed it over a chair. I was tempted to leave him in the chair, but he got up on his own. He swayed again, so I put my arm around his waist and steered him toward my virginal bedroom. I didn’t have a hand free to find the light, so I made my best guess where the bed was, which turned out not be that good. I caught the bed with the back of my legs and went down, bringing him with me.

Kel didn’t flinch, probably because of Mike’s doggy painkiller. He even