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Like most women, Kate enjoyed shopping for clothes, and Oxford Street was the place to find the latest styles. She'd been so absorbed with the displays of trendy fashions every which way she looked, instead of paying attention to the fact the British drive on the right and not the left, she'd stepped off the sidewalk, straight into the path of a big, red, double-decker bus.
And that was when Fate's plan came full circle. Paul had appeared out of nowhere, swept her off her feet and into his arms, and saved her from certain death under the wheels of that oncoming bus.
For what had seemed like a very long time, she'd clung to him, terrified out of her wits. But then, as he gently pried her fingers loose, their eyes met, the world around them disappeared, and her mind filled with weird, off-the-wall emotions that were stronger than anything she'd ever experienced. The need to couple and bond with the man who'd rescued her was so intense it had hit her like a physical pain. She didn't care she was in a public place, surrounded by a crowd of avid onlookers. She needed to feel him inside her ... now. She wanted to feel him riding her like a wild thing that needed taming, ride her until she was out of breath and begged him to stop, and then keep riding her some more.
How long those strange and scary feelings had lasted, she was never able to figure out. But it couldn't have been more than a few seconds because she vaguely remembered Paul taking her to a nearby pub and buying her a brandy to help her settle down. Between the strong liquor and Paul's insistence on remaining with her, rubbing her back and talking to her quietly, she'd soon pulled herself together. But when themoment came for her to thank him for coming to her rescue and take her leave, her mouth had refused to form the words. She hadn't wanted to say goodbye to Paul, and he'd showed no indication of wanting to take his leave of her either.
Instead, he'd invited her to have dinner with him in Soho at what he said was his favorite Italian restaurant.
The combination of the food, the wine, the music, and the sexual chemistry that existed between them had made the evening magical--unlike anything she'd experienced before. They'd held hands while they ate, and she'd felt the evidence of his arousal when he molded her body to his and they'd slow-danced on the tiny dance floor, totally oblivious to the world around them. Paul had wanted her as much as she wanted him and, after leaving the restaurant, they'd gone to his apartment, just a short walk away.
There had been no need for words. Paul had locked the door, drawn the drapes, then led the way to his bedroom, where he'd kissed her deeply, then lifted her in his arms and placed her in the center of his bed. Lying down beside her, he'd held her and kissed her again, kissed her so deeply she could still feel the pressure of his mouth even now.
Her hand strayed to her breast. He'd been so gentle at first. Stroking, touching, giving her soft butterfly kisses that had whispered across her overheated skin like a summer breeze. But then suddenly, they hadn't been able to get enough of one another. Buttons popped and fabric was torn as they struggled to get out of their clothes. Later, when his exquisite lovemaking produced the most wonderful, fulfilling orgasm imaginable, she was positive the earth had moved. At least it had for her.
So where was Paul right now?
She closed her eyes, wishing he were here with her. Wished he were stroking her, touching her. Wished she could feel him parting her legs and guiding his hard shaft into her slit. Then he'd begin riding her. Slowly at first, with long, measured thrusts. He'd come all the way out, then slide all the way back in. She could still remember the feeling as the tension began to build, the satiny touch of his skin, the way he smelled, the taste of him when his tongue invaded her mouth and he kissed her so hard and so deeply it was like he wanted to absorb her into himself.