This was unexpected. Houston had been unnerved to see Josie standing in his living room next to his mother, and puzzled at the strange longing that had tripped across his consciousness.
Followed by anger, that she would follow him here, see him like this, trapped on his own couch like some damn invalid. He didn’t need Josie Adkins and her temptations right now, not when he was facing the fact that he had no feeling in his hand. That no matter how he ignored it, how he hoped and ranted and cursed, it was probable that he could never conduct surgery again.
That Mike William’s words,almost fully functional,meant that someday after six weeks in a splint and months of rehab, he could expect to learn how to button his own shirt without assistance and lift a glass, but that fine motor skills like writing weren’t likely.
But Josie, Josie, Josie—sweet and sexy Josie, with the words that stumbled in their haste and the pale, rounded body that lured him. He couldn’t resist her. He hadn’t finished with her. There were so many more things he could do to her.
Not like this though. Not stuck here, a stitched-up, gauze-padded mess of a man. He wanted her to come back, when he waswhole, and play their dangerous game again. Dangerous because they could get caught. Dangerous because he could find himself wanting more and more.
He shifted his legs to the floor, hiding a groan when his injured leg tugged and pulled, the skin itchy and tight under the bandage, the muscles burning. It felt less vulnerable to sit up, feet on the ground.
“I’m not up for it at the moment, but in a couple of weeks I think we can work something out.”
That skirt she was wearing was riding up, and Josie looked to have forgotten she was wearing it. Her knees were parted, her thighs spread out in front of him, a peek of white panties teasing him.
“I don’t want to wait a couple of weeks,” she said, cheeks flushing, eyes wide, breath tight.
Neither did his cock. It jerked forward at her words. “Is that why you’re flashing me your panties?”
Confusion crossed her face. The dusky stain on her cheeks darkened. Her legs came together tightly. “Oh! I wasn’t doing that on purpose.”
He grinned, feeling the upper hand shift back to him. “I thought it was meant to be an offer.” Then he added, a curious thought popping into his head, “What are Wednesday’s panties? What do you got on under there?”
Flowers, stripes, hearts?
“They’re bull’s-eyes.”
What little control he’d thought he had disappeared, shaken loose under those words. Did she mean targets? Little circles ringing each other right on her...fuck.
“Show me.”
“No!”
“Are they on your ass? Your front?”
“Both.”
“Turn around. Show me your ass.”
“They’re like the lip ones.”
“So let me see. Pull your skirt up.”
His leg throbbed, his cock throbbed, and he suspected he was acting like a prick, but Josie stood up, taking a deep breath. Her fingers fiddled with the bottom of her skirt, then she inched it up, wiggling to work it past her curvaceous hips.
She turned around before he saw anything, but quickly bunched the skirt at her waist, bent one knee, and waited.
Houston felt as faint as he had on the beach, bleeding into the wet sand. Bull’s-eyes ringed each side of her ass, red lines that blurred in his vision, taunting him, making his hand itch to land right on that spot.
“Where the hell did you get those?” he murmured in awe. “A sex shop?”
“Of course not! They’re just theme panties—they’re supposed to be cute, not sexual.”
Houston loved that Josie started these little games with him, then chickened out, panicked, tried to backpedal.
She was already shoving her skirt back down.
Only a foot in front of him, it was no effort to reach his good hand forward and under the skirt, catching it before it fell straight down. He snaked around between her legs as she went still, around to her soft batch of curls. He circled his finger over her.