Knight In Black Leather Gail Dayton (classic books for 12 year olds .TXT) 📖

hands at his waist and he had his good hand resting on her shoulder, almost like they were dancing. Only too far apart.

"What do we have straight?" He wanted to ease closer to her and couldn't. The best he could do was a feeble hop and that wasn't exactly seductive.

"I'm not your Mama."

He couldn't resist. He slid his hand up her shoulder into the waves of dark hair above the soft red sweater and stroked his thumb along her neck. "Believe me, Marilyn," he said. "I didn't forget."

The moment stretched as she stared up at him, her winter blue eyes soft with--something. Eli wanted to kiss her and for half a second, he thought she might let him. Then she blinked and the chance was gone.

"Okay, Eli," she said, voice brisk and businesslike. "What you have to do now is reach behind you for the chair while you lower yourself into it."

"Is that all?" He reached as she lowered, trying to connect with something, anything.

The already overtaxed thigh muscles in his good leg began to quiver. Just as his hand made contact with cold metal, the chair moved. Not far. A couple of inches maybe, but he lost touch. He groped frantically, trying to find it again.

"Have you got it?" Marilyn had her arm wrapped all the way around his middle, holding him up.

"It moved."

"It's not supposed to move. I put on the brake." Now she had both arms around him and her cheek pressed tight against his chest. If he wasn't worried about landing on the floor, he might be able to appreciate it more.

"Well, the brake didn't hold, obviously," he snapped.

"I swear, Eli, if you're playing games--"

"Shit. Stand me up."

Marilyn did as he asked, backing away until she held his elbow, just enough to help maintain his balance.

Eli swore, holding back his filthiest words. "I am not playing games, okay? The chair moved. Look at it, if you don't believe me. Even if I wanted to play--and yeah, okay, I admit it, I like you putting your arms around me. But believe me, I'm not going to be playing any games when you can dump me on my ass."

His hand curled into a fist. "I hate this. I hate not even being able to get up off the sofa without you picking me up. I hate being so fucking helpless."

"I know you do. I'm sorry." Marilyn reached around him and pulled the wheelchair close again, her hair brushing across his stomach as she did.

Eli stifled his reaction. If she was going to pull back every time he reacted, then he wouldn't. He'd be stone cold. At least on the outside. For now.

"Ready to try again?"

"What about the brake? I miss the chair, it's going to hurt."

"I'll hold the chair."

He cocked an eye at her. "You planning on holding the chair and me both?"

She scowled right back. "You got a better idea?"

"If you break me, you gotta fix me." He wiggled his eyebrows, turning it into a joke. "Kiss it and make it all better."

"I am not kissing your backside."

Eli laughed. "Come on, Marilyn, say it. Say ass."

"I'm about ready to turn you over my knee and spank yours." The minute she said it, Marilyn knew it was a big, big mistake. She'd been thinking in terms of little boys too big for their britches, but Eli wasn't a little boy, and he had his ways of reminding her of that fact. As if she could ever forget.

"I'm not really into kinky sex," he said, his voice all smoky-sounding, "but if that's what floats your boat, babe, I'm willing to give it a try."

Marilyn sighed. She was starting to get tired of his casual invitations, though she knew he was just trying to push her buttons, to see whether he could shock her. But if she let him know he was getting to her, he'd never let up. She had to keep on ignoring the behavior and eventually, when he realized he wasn't getting the reaction he wanted, surely he would stop.

"Maybe later," she said. "Right now, let's get you into this wheelchair."

"Promise?"

Deliberately misunderstanding, Marilyn used her best bright-and-cheery voice. "Of course I promise. We will get you in the wheelchair. We'll have you hopping in and out like a pro."

Eli rolled his eyes but proved smart enough to know when he'd lost. "Let's do it."

Marilyn reached around him to grab hold of the chair, which brought her cheek into touching distance of his all-too-bare chest yet again. She wished his sling covered more of it. Sort of. "Ready?"

"If you are." Eli reached back with his good arm and bent his opposite knee, the one not in a cast, barely giving Marilyn time to slip her arm around him for support.

He wasn't a large man, more the "lean and hungry" type, but he was still big enough to require considerable effort from Marilyn to keep him from falling. As she supported him in his descent, her face once more pressed tight to the warm, hair-dusted skin of his chest, she wondered again if he was playing some slap-and-tickle game. But she could feel the quiver of tired muscle in his thigh brushing against hers, and the bunch and play of the muscles in his back and chest, sliding underneath his smooth skin. He was working too hard to be playing. She hoped he'd get the hang of this quickly. Or else start wearing a shirt.

"Got it?" she asked.

"I'm in." He relaxed with a puff of breath and rested his hand on her head a moment before she pulled back, brushing her nose against his sling.

"Sorry. Did that hurt you?"

Eli grinned, that wicked twinkle in his eyes once again. "I told you, Marilyn. If you're touching me, it doesn't hurt. Period."

He scooted back into the chair so he wasn't perched on the edge as Marilyn shook her head and sighed. Eli ignored it. Just as well, she supposed. If he'd paid attention, he probably would have noticed how shaky the