< previous page page_154 next page >

Page 154
forward, it was to kiss her.
For a few heartbeats the touch of his lips was tentative, but as the tension went out of Linda's body, he kissed her harder. The hand he had left resting on the steering wheel, as if to allow her an open space to twist away from him if she wished, now grasped her upper arm, then slid up so that the fingers were touching her cheekbone and ear. He stroked, oh so gently. Linda shivered, and let her lips part, and after a moment let her head fall back on the support of his arm.
"I told you I wouldn't yell at you," he murmured.
Linda chuckled deep in her throat, but found she could not answer, even though his mouth had freed her lips to nibble her chin and travel lower with feathery little kisses along her throat to the little hollow where the pulse beat, faster and harder than usual. Her hands had been still, gently folded in her lap, but as Peter's mouth moved sideways toward her ear and his hand slid down to her breast, she raised one of hers to his head and laid the other on his thigh, then moved it between his thighs. She stroked. Peter groaned.
The sound usually associated with anguish did not discourage Linda at all. She was a smalltown girl raised with small-town values despite her money, but she had lived on her own from the time she had gone to college and, between the money and the fact that she was piquantly pretty, she had plenty of experience with men.

 
< previous page page_154 next page >