Friends and Lovers by Diana Palmer

them. “And then, what?” she asked nervously.
    “Why don’t we let the future take care of itself?” he asked.
    She leaned against him. “I don’t want to lose you again,” she said softly.
    “You’re never going to,” he said curtly, and all at once she found herself flat on her back on the couch with his arms on either side of her head. “I won’t let that happen, Madeline.”
    Her breath came hard and fast. “You don’t call me that very often anymore,” she said unsteadily.
    “Satin suits you better,” he replied. His big, warm hands slid under her back and while he held her eyes, he eased the zipper of her dress down to her waist.
    “John…” she protested gently, catching the hard fingers that were about to push down the bodice. “I…I’m not wearing anything under the top,” she whispered.
    “I know,” he said, his mustache curling into a devilish smile.
    “You said you didn’t like doing things halfway,” she reminded him.
    “Maybe I changed my mind. Let go.” He moved her protesting fingers and held her eyes while he dragged the top down to her waist. He looked at her then, and she felt the look all the way to her toes. Her breath caught in her throat at the expression on his dark face as he studied every line, every curve of her bareness with his unblinking gaze.
    “Will I pass?” she managed.
    “You’re so beautiful,” he said in a tone that was breathlessly tender. He looked up, holding her in the curve of one arm while his fingers came down on her bare skin. She jumped, gasping, at the new contact.
    “Don’t be afraid of it,” he coaxed, tracing the soft, pale honey curves with fingers that worshipped her high, firm breasts. “We’ve known each other for a long time.”
    She could hardly breathe at all. “You’ve never…touched me,” she whispered.
    “I’ve wanted to,” he said fervently. “Like this. And like this,” he whispered, bending to smooth the exquisitely creamy flesh with his lips.
    She moaned involuntarily, her hands catching in his thick, dark hair as she tried to decide whether to push or pull.
    “You taste of roses,” he murmured gruffly, sliding his hands under her again to lift her closer to his hungry lips. “Roses and honey and the sweetest kind of candy. God, Satin, I could eat you!”
    She felt his teeth nip her gently, and she arched up, taut and trembling, like a creamy sacrifice, her heart beating so frantically she thought she might die.
    His mouth slid up her body until it found her lips, and he eased his warm, hard torso down against her bareness, the faint dampness of the curling hair on his chest cooling her heated skin as she felt him, heavy and sensuous, against her.
    Her arms held him, and it was as close to paradise as she’d ever been. She savored the closeness with a pleasure so pure that it hurt.
    His mouth slid against her cheek, down to her ear, and she felt a shudder go through him.
    “John?” she whispered, concerned.
    He turned on the sofa, taking her with him, and pressed her against the powerful length of his body, urging her into its hard contours, as he kissed her again—a long, slow sweet kiss.
    She felt the trembling of his body, the inescapable signs of its aching need, and she returned the kiss as gently as he gave it. Against her bareness, his skin was blazing hot, the curling mat of hair tickling, his mustache brushing her mouth.
    “You need me…very badly, don’t you?” she managed at last, her eyes looking straight into his.
    “I can handle it,” he said tersely. But the strain was in his face, in the slight trembling of the big arms holding her.
    She drew in a slow, steadying breath. She was so full of new emotions, she felt as if she were going to burst open. She wanted nothing more out of life than to give him what he needed so desperately.
    “Are you really…too tired?” she asked in a voice that sounded blurry.
    “I’m tired, all right,” he said unsteadily. “But that’s going to be a