Nothing morethan cold nubs, stretched and taut in the leather skinover his pects. Fingers strumming them, hard nubs justbegging for her palms, warming...and soft. For a secondher palm in her own mouth, wet with warm spittle. Backto the apple-pit of his nipple, wet for less than asecond until the cold breeze of their passage dried onhis skin, leaving her hands chill against the moltenheat of his chest.Fingertips in the leather waistband of his chaps. Hisabdomen flexed for just a moment and her. Yes, now she was prepared. ‘What’s wrong?’ he asked. She had looked perplexed for several minutes, and he had become concerned that he’d done something wrong. He was as bad as the boy in her head. She smiled. ‘Don’t worry about it, Chryse. Just logistics of some totally unrelated things. I need to relax and stop thinking about work.’ It was a lie, yes, but far easier than trying to explain. He shrugged, puzzled, and went back to the plate of Capellini a’la Romana she had made for him. It was a. More

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