Her Perfect Stranger

3

The room seemed darker than the hallway. Dark but warm, and somehow inviting.

Definitely their safe haven from the storm.

Corrine stepped into the room and moved silently to the window. Pulling back the shades didn't let more light into the room. The blurry window was streaming with rain and sleet, but this high up, with the windows sealed, the night and the storm were eerily silent. She could barely make out the city below, and it was easy to believe they were anywhere, anywhere in the world, all alone.

He came up behind her, not touching, just…there. "I'm not married," he said. "Or attached." When she craned her neck and looked at him, he gave a little smile. "I know, you don't want to talk about yourself, and you don't want to talk about me, either, but I just wanted you to know that."

She had a hard time imagining this man without companionship. "You're unattached?"

He shrugged. "I see women. Nothing serious has come my way. Not yet, anyway."

She was selfishly relieved. She'd never been married, and hadn't been attached in so long she'd almost forgotten what it was like. Oddly enough, given such a lack of romance, Corrine's life was made up of men. But even being with men on a daily basis, she'd never been more aware of one in her life than she was right now. She felt surrounded by him, her perfect stranger, and she shivered again, though it had nothing to do with fear or intimidation or cold, everything to do with stark, demanding need.

If that need hadn't been so strong, so undeniable, so utterly reciprocated, she would have died of embarrassment, because Corrine Atkinson didn't need anyone, never had. But it was strong, it was undeniable and it was most definitely reciprocated. "I'm not married or attached, either," she said, turning toward him. "If nothing else, you deserve to know that."

His smile was slow and nearly stopped her heart. "Good," he said.

More lightning flashed, but the thunder was muted, almost as if it was happening in another time and place.

"I love to watch a storm," she said, suddenly nervous enough to let him in, just a little. "Especially at night."

"It's different at night," he agreed. "More intense. When you can't see, the other senses kick in, so you feel it more."

Exactly. He understood.

Which caused even more nervousness. "My mother hates this weather. It messes with her hair." Where had that come from? Corrine never shared herself, any part, including her family. To share meant opening up, and that wasn't her way.

Before she could cover up that slip with a light joke, he stroked her hair. "It only makes yours all the more beautiful."

Uncomfortable with compliments, she lifted a hand to the long, tangled mess, which had gone wild the moment she'd stepped out of the cab.

"I love the curls," he said, and stroked it again.

She felt the touch to the tips of her toes. "I usually keep it confined." Another personal fact, damn it. Her hair was one of those things about herself that she'd change if she could, like webbed feet or short, fat fingers. "I leave it long because I can pin it back. If I cut it short I look like a mop."

He laughed.

Good Lord, who'd given her tongue permission to run off with her mouth?

"It's so soft." He tucked a particularly wayward curl behind her ear, his fingers tracing down along her jaw.

She could no longer breathe.

His hand danced down her throat to the lapels of his jacket, which he drew more tightly together.

He thought she was cold.

The gentleness of this man floored her, along with his size and shape and his utterly confident masculine air.

"I can sleep on the floor," he said quietly, and the tenderness in his voice, combined with the careful way he was touching her, nearly did her in.

"No, I-"

He put a hand to his chest. "I wanted you here more than I wanted my next breath, but now that you are here, I don't want to rush you."

She stared at his hand, but that wasn't what drew her eyes, not really. It was his chest, which was broad, muscled and calling for her hands.

She tried to remember the last time she'd been drawn to a man, but couldn't. She saw attractive men all the time, and not one of them had ever sparked an interest in her.

This man wasn't causing just a spark, he'd started a full-blown wildfire, and it wasn't simply his physical beauty, though that was nothing to sneeze at. It wasn't his smile, though that alone had been enough to set her hormones raging.

There was just something about him, so big and tough, yet so… gentle.

He'd probably laugh at that, or maybe get embarrassed. And yet again, maybe not; he seemed to be a man embarrassed by very little.

"You're not rushing me," she finally said.

He flashed his smile, then set his hands on her shoulders and turned her away from him again. In what started out as a light, sexy touch, he kneaded, then found the knot of tension at the base of her neck that she was rarely without these days. With a rough sound of empathy, he dug in.

She nearly melted to the floor, unable to contain her soft moan of pleasure as his fingers unerringly zeroed in on the place she needed them most.

"Mmm, you're so tight. Try to relax a bit." He smoothed the muscles all the way down her arms and out toward her fingertips, then started again at her neck. He did that, over and over, with infinite patience, until she had to grip the windowsill to keep from sliding to the floor in a boneless heap of massive gratification.

"Better?"

"If it gets any better," she said, "I just might explode."

"Promise?" As if rendering a woman completely out of control was an everyday occurrence for him, he laughed huskily when she let out another helpless little moan.

And it well might be for him, but not for her. Certainly not for her. When was the last time she'd had sex? She tried to remember, but his fingers were working their magic and now she could feel his chest, his thighs, brushing her back and legs, making her even weaker.

"It's very late," she said.

His fingers stilled, then he carefully stepped back. "Yes, it is. You'll want to go to sleep."

She turned to him, her heart in her throat. "I think maybe this is worth being tired for."

He'd been wearing a solemn expression, but now she saw what he'd been hiding behind that in case she turned him down. Stark desire and need, even fear-everything she was feeling was in his gaze, and there was no way she could resist it, no way she wanted to.

She'd given herself this night, and she wasn't going to take it back now. But even in their anonymity, there was something they had to discuss. "I don't have any protection." She actually blushed; she hadn't done that since grade school. "I wasn't.,.expecting this."

His smile was sweet and self-deprecatory. "Neither was I. I'm just hoping that in my shaving kit I still have… Hold on." He vanished into the bathroom, and she saw the quick small flash of his penlight. Then he was back, relief shining in his strong features as he held up two condoms.

"Two." She went a little weak in the knees. "Well…" She was actually breathless. "It's rumored two of anything is better than one, right?"

He let out a low laugh, then his mouth brushed her cheek. She turned toward him. Their lips connected once, then again, making her sigh. "You taste just the way you smell," she murmured, not really meaning to say it out loud. "Like heaven."

A sound escaped him, one that might have been humor mixed in with hunger, and slowly, slowly, he eased his jacket off her shoulders before drawing her close and moving her against him.

She nearly died of delight right then and there, because his body was large and hard and so thrilling she tipped her head back and wordlessly asked him to kiss her again.

He did, but she needed more. She had since she'd first set eyes on him, and it wasn't entirely loneliness now, but a hunger she'd never experienced before.

Cupping her face, he continued to kiss her, more deeply now, touching her as if she were special, precious. Feminine.

She wanted to be all those things to a man, this man, if only for a night. He fascinated her. He was beautiful and physical. He was dangerous, if only to her mental health. And he was hard and aroused, for her.

Perfect.

She wrapped her arms around his neck at the same time he caught her up against him. His mouth was firm, demanding in a quiet way that reminded her of his voice. But he didn't press her for more than that simple connection of their mouths, and she realized that he wouldn't.

If she wanted more, which she most definitely did, she would have to take it. It wasn't that he didn't want her in turn; she could feel that he did, could feel the satisfying bulge between his powerful thighs. And his restraint made her want him all the more.

Later she would wonder what had come over her during that dark, stormy night, but for now, safe in his warm, strong, giving arms, there seemed no better way to satisfy the emptiness deep inside her. "More," she said, sinking her fingers into his hair, lifting his head to look deeply into his melting brown eyes.

"More," he promised. Still holding her, he turned toward the bed.

She felt a moment's hesitation when he laid her on the sheets, but then he pulled off his clothes. Oh, how she wished there was light. But when he set a knee on the bed, then crawled toward her, she was able to catch sight of his incredible body and forgot everything else. His chest was broad, tapered down to a flat belly that she itched to touch. His thighs were long, taut with strength, and between them, he was hard and heavy.

Fully aroused.

He was a stranger, so that nothing about any part of him was familiar, yet she lifted her arms and welcomed him closer as if they'd known each other forever. His mouth took hers, more hungrily this time, and his hunger fueled hers. As if it needed fueling!

The heat spread, and when he undid her blouse, and then her bra, gliding both off her shoulders, she found herself panting, her hips already pressing insistently toward his. He excited her beyond belief, and if she could think, which she definitely couldn't, she might have been horrified at her lack of control.

And yet it never occurred to her to stop him, not then, and not when he slid the rest of her clothes off and his condom on. Not when he cupped her face in his big hands and kissed her, deep and wet and long. And certainly not when he touched her first with his eyes, then his fingers, then his mouth, and then finally, oh finally, sank into her.

Outside, the storm continued to rage, while inside one of not such a different nature took its course, as well. Reality had little chance, between the flashes of lightning and the flashes of bare, naked hunger. The friction of his thrusts and the greed of her own body shattered her. It might have been terrifying, how far he lifted her out of herself, if he hadn't been right there with her. She was still in the throes of a shockingly powerful orgasm-her third!-when he buried his face in her hair and found his own release.

Morning was bound to come, Corrine knew, but damn it, did it have to arrive so soon?

Bright orange-and-yellow rays of sunlight filtered through the crack in the curtains, casting an almost surreal light in the room, assuring her that the storm had passed.

Definitely, morning. And with it, responsibilities.

Damn.

She lay in the embrace of her perfect stranger. They were both deliciously, gloriously naked, pressed skin to skin, heat to heat. For an indulgent moment she just looked at him as he slept on, at all his masculine beauty, wondering at the hard, leanly muscled body that had brought her to paradise and back so many times in the night.

His eyes were closed, his face relaxed, his chest rising and falling evenly. His firm mouth brought back memories of what he could do with it, and made her body tingle all over. His lashes were dark, long and thick, resting against his strong cheekbone. His jaw had darkened with stubble, the same stubble that had rasped so satisfyingly over her skin all night long.

He was curled around her, one arm gallantly being used as her pillow, the other tightly anchoring her to him. His fingers cradled her breast possessively. From this angle, she couldn't see much below his waist, but she could feel him pressed to her, every delicious, rock-hard inch of him. She sighed with pleasure. He was amazingly tough, strong, hard in all the right places, and so beautiful it almost hurt.

Just looking at him made her heart contract. He was someone she could have allowed herself to care for, if she ever allowed such things. But she couldn't, at least not now, not with her all-consuming mission coming up. Some other time, perhaps…

Though she knew that was a lie. She'd always told herself that someday she'd allow Prince Charming into her life, but the tuning was never right.

But damn it, when? When would it be right?

Her heart constricted again, but she ignored it. In her not-so-humble opinion, she had it all, the way her life was right at this moment. She had great parents who supported her incredibly busy lifestyle, and she had the best job in the world.

True, she didn't have her own family, not a husband or children, but she didn't have time for that. She did have needs, like any other normal, red-blooded woman, but those needs were easily met. When she felt the occasional itch, she went out and got it scratched. Carefully, of course, but she wasn't shy.

Just like last night.

And now she would go on with her life. Content. Happy. Fulfilled.

Just as she wanted to.

So why, then, didn't she extract herself? Why did she lie there panting after a man who should have been out of her system by dawn's first light? She couldn't say for certain, but reflecting on the matter would have to come another time.

She had to go.

Slipping out from beneath his arm wasn't easy, but she was a master at stealth. Still, she couldn't help thinking If he wakes up now, it's fate. No way could she look into those warm, inviting eyes and walk away. Especially if he flashed that equally warm, inviting smile and reached for her, which she imagined him doing, then imagined her own open-armed response…

He didn't budge.

Tempting fate, she leaned in close, softly kissed his cheek.

I'll never forget you.

For a moment she stood by the bed, yearning and longing for something she couldn't put a name to. But even if she could, it was no use.

She was simply no good at matters of the heart. Dressing quickly and quietly, she hesitated one last time at the door.

Then, picking up her bag, she finally left, knowing she had no choice. No choice at all.