Her Perfect Stranger Read Online Free Page B

the room. The blurry window was streaming with rain and sleet, but this high up, with the windows sealed, the night and the storm were eerily silent. She could barely make out the city below, and it was easy to believe they were anywhere, anywhere in the world, all alone. He came up behind her, not touching, just...there. "I'm not married," he said. "Or attached." When she craned her neck and looked at him, he gave a little smile. "I know, you don't want to talk about yourself, and you don't want to talk about me, either, but I just wanted you to know that." She had a hard time imagining this man without companionship. "You're unattached?" He shrugged. "I see women. Nothing serious has come my way. Not yet, anyway." She was selfishly relieved. She'd never been married, and hadn't been attached in so long she'd almost forgotten what it was like. Oddly enough, given such a lack of romance, Corrine's life was made up of men. But even being with men on a daily basis, she'd never been more aware of one in her life than she was right now. She felt surrounded by him, her perfect stranger, and she shivered again, though it had nothing to do with fear or intimidation or cold, everything to do with stark, demanding need. If that need hadn't been so strong, so undeniable, so utterly reciprocated, she would have died of embarrassment, because Corrine Atkinson didn't need anyone, never had. But it was strong, it was undeniable and it was most definitely reciprocated. "I'm not married or attached, either," she said, turning toward him. "If nothing else, you deserve to know that." His smile was slow and nearly stopped her heart. "Good," he said. More lightning flashed, but the thunder was muted, almost as if it was happening in another time and place. "I love to watch a storm," she said, suddenly nervous enough to let him in, just a little. "Especially at night." "It's different at night," he agreed. "More intense. When you can't see, the other senses kick in, so you feel it more." Exactly. He understood. Which caused even more nervousness. "My mother hates this weather. It messes with her hair." Where had that come from? Corrine never shared herself, any part, including her family. To share meant opening up, and that wasn't her way. Before she could cover up that slip with a light joke, he stroked her hair. "It only makes yours all the more beautiful." Uncomfortable with compliments, she lifted a hand to the long, tangled mess, which had gone wild the moment she'd stepped out of the cab. "I love the curls," he said, and stroked it again. She felt the touch to the tips of her toes. "I usually keep it confined." Another personal fact, damn it. Her hair was one of those things about herself that she'd change if she could, like webbed feet or short, fat fingers. "I leave it long because I can pin it back. If I cut it short I look like a mop." He laughed. Good Lord, who'd given her tongue permission to run off with her mouth? "It's so soft." He tucked a particularly wayward curl behind her ear, his fingers tracing down along her jaw. She could no longer breathe. His hand danced down her throat to the lapels of his jacket, which he drew more tightly together. He thought she was cold. The gentleness of this man floored her, along with his size and shape and his utterly confident masculine air. "I can sleep on the floor," he said quietly, and the tenderness in his voice, combined with the careful way he was touching her, nearly did her in. "No, I—" He put a hand to his chest. "I wanted you here more than I wanted my next breath, but now that you are here, I don't want to rush you." She stared at his hand, but that wasn't what drew her eyes, not really. It was his chest, which was broad, muscled and calling for her hands. She tried to remember the last time she'd been drawn to a man, but couldn't. She saw attractive men all the time, and not one of them had ever sparked an interest in her. This man wasn't causing just a spark, he'd started a