Naked Hope by Rebecca E. Grant Page B

relent and release the music that was so starkly absent. She curled up on the sofa, comforted by the afghan he’d placed around her shoulders earlier and allowed herself to think about Gavin, the man. Not Gavin the father, or her former music advisor, but Gavin the man. His dignified demeanor, his elegant grace both in the way he expressed himself and the way his body moved, and his sensual mouth. She shivered and cuddled deeper into the afghan.
    She awoke to find him in the room standing over the keyboard of Olivia’s baby grand.
    His body, no more than a shadow, jerked in broken spasms that tore through him like grenades. He fought it.
    She couldn’t bear to watch. On silent footsteps, she moved to his side. Her touch made him whirl. She smoothed the thick hair from his face. She looked into his watery eyes and felt his ache lodge in her heart. She watched as the ravaged look he wore turned hot.
    His hands rested on her hips, singeing her skin through the thin fabric of her robe. She stared into his smoldering eyes. He guided her to the sofa anchoring her back against the arm of the sofa. Her robe came lose. She made a move to cinch it closed but he caught her hands and covered her body with his. She rocked him like she would a child with his head at her breasts, providing what comfort she could. Awareness rooted in her gut. She was about to cross a line of no return—because he was anything but a child. Somehow, she knew the boy in him needed comfort, and the man needed to feel like a man.
    His gaze probed hers until she was sure he could read her mind and knew how much she wanted him. He shifted her in his arms until he rocked her, one hand supporting her neck, the other the small of her back. Her heart raced and her skin blazed as her breath caught in her throat unable to remember when she’d wanted a man as much as she wanted Gavin. When she could stand it no more, she claimed his mouth. His lips were vibrant—hungry. He drank her in like a man, starved as his need for emotional release merged with his physical need. She placed both hands flat against his chest and tried to think.
    He dragged his mouth away and drew back with a questioning look.
    She breathed deeply reclaiming his body. Every stroke of his tongue invaded and made her burn. She matched him stroke for stroke and arched her back. His arms held her effortlessly and his mouth traced a trail of kisses to the curve of her breast. She moaned, reveling in the sweet ecstasy of his mouth on her nipple, and gave up any thought of resisting him.
    He caught the laces of her nightgown in his teeth and pulled until the gown fell open, then buried his lips in the concave between her breasts, and filled it with kisses.
    Some of the dampness from his tears still remained on his face. As he kissed her mouth, she could taste a trace of salt, his body hard and ready.
    “Jillian,” he canted, and carried her up the stairs. They fell onto the bed but not before he’d stripped off her robe and nightgown. “My God, Jillian,” he murmured, kissing the inside of her arm.
    She thrilled at the way he looked at her naked body and untied the belt of his robe, exposing the fact he wore nothing beneath. His body was perfect, with well-muscled shoulders and upper arms, a firm torso and his endowment every bit what a woman would expect from a man who looked like he did. He shrugged out of his robe and captured her lips as his palms flattened themselves against hers. They pulsated.
    “Come here.” He pulled her against him, hooked his ankles around hers, and spread her legs. His hands traveled the length of her body, caressing every inch but the most sensitive areas until she moaned for him to touch her.
    In answer, he kissed the back of her knees, her breasts, and caressed her belly with his tongue.
    Flames erupted everywhere his hands or mouth touched, fueling her need. She waited as long as she could, and then reached for his body.
    He caught her hand before she could make