Hidden Riches

with it. “That’s why I woke up alone in bed this morning, without any explanation from you as to where you were going, what you were doing.”
    “Hold it. What the hell are you talking about?”
    “Nothing.” Her voice low and furious, she began to load the coffee things into the sink for rinsing. “Nothing at all. Go kill a bear with your bare hands, why don’t you?”
    “Conroy.” Caught between amusement and exasperation, he leaned against the doorjamb. “You’re ticked because I went out this morning?”
    “Why should I be?” She rounded on him with hurt anger in her eyes. “I’m used to waking up in bed alone.”
    “Damn.” Baffled, he scrubbed his hands over his face. “Look, I got up early. I didn’t want to wake you . . . .” He remembered exactly the way she’d looked, curled in the bed, her hair spread on the pillow. Yes, he’d wanted to wake her up, he thought. But it hadn’t been to tell her he was going out. “I went to the gym for an hour, caught breakfast with Brent. We had some things to go over.”
    “Did I ask you for an explanation?” Her voice was cold, but her temper was not as she shoved by him.
    “Yeah.” Cautious, he followed her back into the living room. “You did.”
    “Oh, forget it!” Disgusted with herself, she pinched the bridge of her nose between her thumb and forefinger.
    “I really need to satisfy my curiosity. What does a woman wear under baggy football sweats?” He scooped her up again, nuzzled her neck on the way to the bedroom.
    “Nothing important. In fact . . .” She laughed as theytumbled like wrestling children onto the bed. “Nothing at all.”
    “There’s a hole in the shoulder.”
    “I know. I was mortified when your grandmother caught me in it.”
    “And a stain.” He ran his finger between her breasts. “Right here.”
    “A nice full-bodied burgundy. It splashed on me when I was making lasagna.” She sighed and slid her fingers into his hair. “I’ve been meaning to cut it up for rags, but—” She gasped, stunned when he ripped the shirt down the center.
    “That ought to take care of it.” Before she could decide whether to laugh or swear at him, he took her breast into his mouth and sent a quick and urgent greed swimming in her blood. “I’ve wanted to rip your clothes off since the first time I saw you.”
    “You—” Staggered, and aroused, she gulped in air as his hands stroked possessively down to her waist. “You shut the door in my face the first time you saw me.”
    “It seemed a more rational reaction at the time.” He tore the sweatpants with one powerful twist of his hands. “I could have been wrong.”
    He leaned back, his hands over hers on the spread. The sun was bright through the open curtain, spilling generously over her face, her skin, her hair. The ruined clothes lay in tatters beneath her. It made him feel, however fancifully, like a warrior about to reap the spoils of war.
    Her body, aware, aroused, alluring, quivered as though it were his hands rather than his eyes that skimmed over it. Her breasts were small, firm, milk-white, the nipples temptingly erect.
    Lowering his head, he circled each rose-colored peak with his tongue until her breath was short and shallow and her body taut as a bowstring. The pulse at her wrists pounded like gunshots under his fingers.
    “I want to watch you.” His voice was thick as he tooka hand from hers to slide between her thighs. From silk to velvet to damp satin.
    The orgasm curled inside her like a snake, striking quickly, violently, so that her body reared up in shock when she cried out.
    “It never seems to be enough,” he whispered. He was surprised he could breathe. Watching Dora in pleasure was unspeakably erotic, uncannily seductive. She greedily consumed it, and she generously released it. Her capacity for giving and for taking passion was unstintingly honest and impossible to resist.
    So he watched as she absorbed the aftershocks of sensation as he pulled off his clothes.
    He needed to see her, to see every flicker and flash of emotion on her face. Kneeling, he lifted her hips, slid her slowly toward him, slipped slowly into her.
    The sound she made at the mating was feline and throaty. He never took his eyes from her face, even when his vision dimmed and his control shattered.
     
    “I owe you a sweatshirt.” In a friendly gesture, Jed tugged his own over her head.
    Dora examined it. “This is even rattier than the one you tore