Free The Reluctant Hero by Lorraine Heath Page A

bed, sit her down, and kneel before her to remove her shoes.
    When she was completely revealed, he wouldn’t ask her to lie back; he wouldn’t stand up and unbutton his trousers. He wouldn’t take fierce pride in the appreciation he saw in her eyes.
    If he were a hero, he wouldn’t have done any of those things.
    Thank God, he’d never been a hero.
    Andrea thought she’d never again in her life see anything or anyone more magnificent than he was. He was beautiful, quite simply beautiful, but Andrea didn’t think he’d appreciate the sentiment, and she thought it a shame that she’d never be able to describe the beauty of this moment. It was beyond mere words, beyond telling. It was at once glorious and humbling, to have this man looking at her with such unmasked appreciation in his eyes.
    He stretched out beside her and rolled over onto her, raised up slightly on his elbow to keep some of his weight off her, but she wouldn’t have minded the pressure. He skimmed his hand along her bare hip, up her side, his gaze following the trail marked by his fingers. He looked so different from this angle. Then she realized with sudden clarity and joy—
    â€œYou’re smiling,” she said softly.
    He swung his head around, and the smile made him look so much younger. She thought she could come to love that smile.
    â€œWhy wouldn’t I, darlin’, when you’re offering me heaven?”
    With his hand, he cradled her breast, a touch that sent desire spiraling through her. He lowered his head and the kiss he delivered to her flesh was as hot as any he’d delivered to her mouth. She scraped her fingers through the thick strands of his hair, dug them into his shoulders, heard him growl, was aware of her own moans.
    He was as gentle as the falling of night, as warm as the coming of summer. His hot mouth and skilled fingers teased her, almost unmercifully, until she was begging for release, writhing against him, kissing any part of him that she could reach—his throat, his shoulders, his chest—while he took a leisurely journey over every inch of her flesh.
    â€œSo beautiful,” he murmured, over and over, a raspy refrain.
    Then he was raised above her, his eyes holding hers, and she felt the pressure building as he sought to finish what she’d begun. She saw the strain in his face, felt the quivering in his arms as he fought to hold back, fought to go gently, but her body was beyond the need for gentleness. It was demanding—
    â€œNow,” she breathed, “please now.”
    With a harsh groan, he drove himself home, covering her mouth to absorb her cry, holding them both still as her body grew accustomed to the fullness of his. He kissed away the tear at the corner of her eye, then trailed his lips over her cheek, across her mouth, his breathing harsh and heavy.
    Then slowly, slowly, he began to move, rocking against her, cradling her face between his powerful hands, holding her gaze. She could feel his muscles rippling with his movements, feel her own body responding, undulating waves of pleasure flowing through her. Growing, swelling, as his thrusts became quicker, harder, and she was writhing beneath him, seeking the release—
    That came upon her with the force of an untamed beast. Her back arched, her cry echoed around them, mingling with his guttural groan and his final thrust that sent him spiraling over the edge with her.
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    Matt thought that when she was gone, he would still smell her here, in his bed. The expensive freight he’d always resented having to pay to get this bed no longer seemed important. He was grateful he’d had it to offer instead of a cot.
    She was nestled against him, her finger trailing up and down his chest while he lazily stroked her hip. He thought he’d be content to stay here forever. He’d extinguished the flame in the lamp, so the only light now was that provided by the moon coming in