Flirting with Danger by Bev Hardy (best free ebook reader for android txt) 📕

hip...her hand resting on her thigh. There his eyes lingered for a while on her hand...her fingers touching the hem of her dress... before they moved up his favourite fascination for that day, her naked back. He took his time, unashamedly caressing her with his eyes, imagining his fingers replacing them... sending shivers down her spine, then his lips... minute kisses, teasing,... she arches her back., her willpower crumbling... His gaze had travelled up over the arch of her back by then, to her shoulder blades, and then back down to the furthest her dress would allow him to view. Still, he continued his journey over her dress nonetheless, to appreciate the roundness that he had no hope of ever seeing, apart from in his mind's eye, which was frustratingly never clear enough.

 

He definitely wasn't asleep. She could just tell. She could sense that he was still alert. God, what was he doing? She had a clue. Without even looking, she could feel his eyes on her, and the more she realized it, the more aware of him being behind her she became. Her dress wasn't transparent, was it? She had the crazy notion then that his eyes could make it so. And she only had the scantiest pair of lacy briefs on too. For goodness sake, he couldn't see them! Although, knowing Adams, maybe he could. Good grief, how was she ever going to get any sleep like this, with her heart beating a million miles a minute?

 

Luke's imagination was running away with him. Well, he wasn't going to get any sleep, that was for sure, so he might as well fill the time with making the most of the situation. Now the removal of the dress. That would be incredibly easy. She'd be putty in his hands at that point anyway... yes she would! Hey this was his fantasy, so in his fantasy she would! She'd be lying there bursting for him to go further. So, anyway, he'd simply run his hands up her back to her shoulder blades and then over her shoulders, taking the straps of the dress with them... then down her arms, slipping the material down her front. Oooh and he'd forgotten about the fact that she had to be braless, so, since his hands were there at that point, it would be a crime for him not to 'appreciate' those womanly attributes too. Grrr, touching Charlie for the first time, he'd take his time with that; she'd be purring by the time he'd finished! Luke shifted slightly on the sofa, getting more and more restless by the minute.

 

What was going through his head now? And why couldn't he stay still? Oh well, at least he hadn't tried to touch her; that was a relief. Actually, why hadn't he tried to touch her? Hmm, maybe he knew he'd get a telling off. But whatever the reason was, she knew without a shadow of a doubt, that Luke was like a coiled spring back there. But surely he had to fall asleep soon. How long could one man look at a woman's back for? Now she couldn't sleep without knowing why he couldn't sleep! Okay, she could read Luke's mind well enough; what would Luke be thinking at a time like this? Oh God, he'd be bored with the 'looking' stage by now; he'd have gone on to the 'imagining' stage. He'd be taking her clothes off!

 

Now he was at the really good bit, easing the dress over her hips, he'd reach down to relieve her of the dress completely. He shifted again.

 

Was he kissing her in his mind, his hands in her hair, his lips on hers...hot and demanding? Had his touch moved down her back? Reached under the material... or slipped it off, giving his hands free reign! She shivered slightly, readjusting the blanket.

 

Luke was now downright uncomfortable, and it had nothing to do with being cramped!

 

"You asleep?" he asked. Clearly she wasn't.

 

"Yes," she replied, closing her eyes.

 

He growled and tried to turn away from her, but this only brought their backs into contact. He had to face it, there was no way he was getting any sleep anytime soon. Giving up on lying next to her and having to suffer any more aching frustration, he threw back the blanket and climbed over her.

 

She sat up, draping the blanket over her shoulders and tilting her head to see what he was doing.

 

He headed straight for the drinks cabinet and the half bottle of whiskey. Picking up a glass and the bottle, he made for the desk, where he poured himself a drink. He had to clear his head and stop thinking about stripping Charlie!

 

"You alright?" she asked.

 

He looked up at her from his whiskey glass.

 

"Thought you were asleep?" he replied.

 

"I am; I was just wondered if you were okay. You must be tired and jetlagged," she pointed out.

 

"Funny, can't get to sleep," he answered wryly. He gestured to the sofa with his whiskey glass hand, "Make the most of having all the sofa though Charlie; cause after this, if I'm feeling sleepy, you never know, I might be coming back there."

Chapter 10

Heading for the sofa, she plucked up the blanket, laying it out and slipping underneath it. She raised herself up on one elbow, with the blanket clinging to her front, and her back exposed in Luke's direction. Turning her head to speak over her shoulder, she called out to him... 

 

An ice cold shiver shot across Charlie's back and her heart kick-started into treble its regular pace, as that terrifying sound assaulted her ears and brought her out of her sleep with frightening speed. It was the sound of pure terror; a holler of jumbled unintelligible sounds emanating from someone in intense pain and fear.

 

"Adams!" she shouted out instinctively, bolting off the sofa and searching the room with confusion through blurry eyes.

 

He was sitting on the desk chair, the whiskey glass still in his hand, his feet up on the desk, his head slumped to one side, resting against the wall which the back of the chair was pressed against. Okay, so he wasn't being attacked. Her heart began to resume its usual rhythm.

 

"Let him go," he mumbled.

 

Oh God, he was having a nightmare.

 

"Give me the knife," he urged, his head jerking to the other side.

 

"Luke," she said gently, approaching the desk.

 

"Take me; don't touch him," he went on, oblivious of both Charlie and where he was.

 

"Luke," she said a little louder. "Wake up."

 

This time he appeared to have registered the sound in the room as his head moved in the direction of her voice, but his eyes remained closed. She reached the chair where he was sitting, crouching down to his level and holding onto his hand, which was clenched onto the chair arm.

 

"Luke, wake up," she repeated.

 

"Don't cut him. I aint afraid, cut me, just let him go!" he shouted in pure panic.

 

"Luke," she said firmly this time, shaking his arms. "Wake up, you're dreaming."

 

He finally woke with a roar, his red eyes flying open as he jerked forward suddenly on his chair. The abrupt movement of his hands sent the whiskey glass crashing onto the chair arm, smashing the glass in the process. He stood, looking around him in bewilderment, holding out a blood streaked hand.

 

"Are you alright? Let me take a look," Charlie said, reaching for his injured hand.

 

He pulled it back and turned from her, a deep frown on his face as he flung the window open for some fresh air.

 

"Luke, let me see to your hand," she reprimanded him.

 

"Stop fussin'," he replied, his back still turned to her. "Go back to sleep."

 

"I want to know that you are alright," she pushed.

 

"I'm fine; just go back to sleep," he repeated.

 

He wasn't fine at all. She had attributed the fact that he'd looked so tired to his jet lag, but having witnessed first-hand that nightmare, and considering how much whiskey he seemed to be getting through, she was now certain that he was having problems sleeping. This Borelli business had really taken its toll.

 

Charlie bent to open the bottom desk drawer and pulled out a First Aid kit. She placed it on the desk and opened it, pulling out bandages, cotton wool and a small bottle of iodine. Then she approached Luke again, determined to check his hand. She moved to stand by the window so that he was almost facing her, and she took hold of his arm, lifting it. He immediately twisted it out of her grip.

 

"Adams," she began angrily, "Stop being a child and let me see to your hand!"

 

He tutted, but reluctantly held his hand out for her.

 

She took hold of it, turning it over to examine his palm. There was a small, but fairly deep cut just below his thumb.

 

"Keep it there; I'll be back in a moment," she said, moving to the fridge and picking up a small bottle of mineral water. On her way past the desk, she grabbed the cotton wool, unscrewed the water bottle and wetted the soft pleat. She proceeded to clean the streaks of blood from off his hand and wrist, gently cleansing the sensitive area around the cut. Luke gazed down at her hands with fascination. Then she turned to the desk again and picked up the bottle of iodine, soaking another piece of cotton wool with the brown liquid. She returned to him, caught hold of his hand again, turning it round and holding the cotton wool to his cut.

 

"Hey! Awww!" he exclaimed, snatching his hand back. "What is that stuff?"

 

"Iodine," she answered. "Don't be a baby," she said, taking hold of his hand once more. "It will disinfect the cut."

 

"Stings like hell," he commented, wincing as she reapplied the iodine soaked cotton wool. Soon the burning sensation eased however, and he was able to bear the disinfection process without wanting to snatch his hand away again.

 

"You're a regular Florence Nightingale," Luke observed, watching her dress his wound.

 

She proceeded to wrap his hand with a bandage which she'd retrieved from the first aid box.

 

"Yes, well, I'm not having you bleeding all over this office," she replied sternly, aware that this kind of approach seemed to be working well. Next she would broach the subject of his nightmares, hopefully with some kind of success. "When did you last have a Tetanus injection?" she went on.

 

He frowned, "I dunno."

 

"In that case, you should have one," she advised, finally releasing his hand, satisfied that it was suitably dressed.

 

"Yes, mam," he came back with a half-smile.

 

"Now, how long have you been having those nightmares for?" she asked him as matter of factly as she could.

 

His smile faded, and he busied himself with studying the work she had done on his hand.

 

"I dunno," he shrugged.

 

"How long Adams?" she asked again.

 

"I dunno, alright!" he snapped. "A while I guess," he added.

 

She studied him paying way too much attention to his hand.

 

"It's the fact that you are sleep deprived that's worrying me at the moment, especially with what you have been dealing with lately. You need a clear head," she warned.

 

He gave a small fake sounding laugh, finally looking up at her. "Hey, sleep is for the weak; I don't need no sleep," he joked.

 

"Yes, you do," she