It Had to Be You

by Susan Elizabeth Phillips

  "Considering your past history, you probably know interesting things to do with just about everything." She caught her breath as he touched a particularly sensitive spot on the back of her neck.

  He chuckled and cupped her rear with his palm. "You sure you're not into spankings?"

  She smiled against his thigh. "I'm sure."

  "That's another thing I like about you."

  He stroked her bottom through the thin silky material of the dress, caressing the round slopes and then running his fingertip down the valley until she didn't think she could bear it any longer. She turned her head and pressed her lips against his zipper to find him fully aroused.

  He groaned. "You're gonna do me in before we even get started."

  He lifted her by the shoulders until he'd pulled her into his arms. For a moment their eyes met, and she was afraid he'd draw away from her as he had done before, but instead, his big, athlete's hands gathered her closer into his lap. Their lips met, open and seeking. She curled her arms around his neck, and they sank farther down on the couch.

  Through the fishnet, she could feel his hands all over her. He shifted his weight, tugging at her dress to get at the rest of her, while she began pulling at his shirt studs. Both of them lost all sense of how precarious their perch was until they felt themselves rolling off the couch. Just as they hit the carpet, he turned his body so he wouldn't crush her with his weight.

  Even after they had landed, they didn't immediately release each other's mouths. When she finally opened her eyes to look at him under her, he was smiling.

  "Are you having as much fun as I am?"

  "More." She couldn't resist kissing the small scar on his chin.

  "Phoebe, darlin', I've got to get you out of that dress."

  "Don't yell," she whispered.

  "I thought I already explained to you—"

  "I don't have anything on under it."

  He blinked. "Nothing? I know you're wearing panty hose. I saw—"

  She shook her head. "No panty hose. No garter belt. The dress is too tight."

  "But, you've got black stockings—"

  "The kind that hold themselves up at the thigh."

  He rolled off her. "Phoebe Somerville, are you telling me that you don't even have on any underpants?"

  "They leave a line."

  "Just two black stockings?"

  "And a spritz of White Diamonds."

  He jumped up and pulled her none-too-gently to her feet. "We're headin' straight for the bedroom, darlin'. Since there's a good chance I'm going to have a heart attack before the night's over, I want to die in my own bed."

  His silly banter made her feel like the most desirable woman in the world. He snuggled her against his side as they walked back out into the hallway and climbed the staircase. When they reached the landing at the top, he drew her through a doorway on the right into a spacious bedroom that looked as if it had been carved out of several smaller rooms. The ceiling sloped on both sides, and the wall on the right was stone. One end of the room held a comfortable sitting area, the other an old sleigh bed, which was covered in a beautiful Zuni Indian blanket of burnt orange, black, green, and cream.

  He stopped in the center of the room and reached under her hair to open the hook at the back of the fabric collar that encircled her throat. His clever hands moved lower and found the fastenings on the strap that so cruelly bound her breasts. She sighed with relief as the pressure eased and the fishnet bodice fell to her hips.

  "Hurt?"

  "A little."

  He reached around her from behind and gently caressed her breasts, soothing away the red marks with his thumbs. "Phoebe, promise me you won't show yourself off like this again."

  She turned in his arms and kissed him so she didn't have to answer because she wasn't making any promises to him until she'd heard a few in return.

  Dan's big hands slid up along her spine. He wanted to go on kissing her forever. He couldn't get enough of her mouth, the feel of her skin, the sweet woman's scent of her. But he hadn't waited this long to have it over so quickly, and he released her.

  She gave a moan of disappointment as he stepped back. He loved the fact that she didn't want him to let her go. Pulling his shirttail from his pants, he sank down into a chair so he could look at her. A small pile of straps and fishnet had fallen in loops about her waist, and her breasts, round and swollen, were so beautiful he couldn't tear his eyes away from them. How could he even have imagined marrying Sharon when he felt like this about Phoebe? His heart had known the truth long before his mind had figured it out.

  He lifted his gaze and was jarred by the uncertainty he saw in her expression. Those tiny little furrows between her brows, that hesitation in her manner, were completely at odds with her sinner's body. Having her look so vulnerable scared him. Some part of him wanted her aggressive and knowing, ready when it was over to raise her sharp-pointed fingernail file to the bedpost and add another slash mark next to his initials. But his heart didn't want that at all. He smiled to relieve the growing tension between them.

  "You could make me a happy man, darlin', if you'd slide that dress off real slow, so I could see if you're lyin' to me about your underwear."

  Her lips parted softly, and her eyes widened as if she had never taken off her clothes for a man in her life. That look of shy innocence combined with her nuclear reactor body nearly undid him.

  When she didn't move, he cocked his head and inquired softly, "You don't want to do that virgin thing again tonight, do you, honey? Because I'm afraid you've put me in the mood for something a little spicier?"

  "The virgin thing? Oh, no. No, I—" She clasped the wisps of fabric at her waist and began to peel.

  "Not so fast now. Could we sort of pretend—now don't take this the wrong way because I don't mean anything disrespectful by it—but could we pretend that I'm planning to leave a hundred-dollar bill on the dresser after this is over, and I'm expecting to get my money's worth out of this striptease?"

  Her smile was a little wobbly at the corners. "What's underneath this dress is definitely worth more than a hundred dollars."

  "As long as you take American Express, you can name your price."

  She toyed with the dress where it had fallen low on her waist. Although she had slipped her thumbs beneath the fabric as if she were getting ready to peel it down, she wasn't moving it any lower than her navel. "I thought you were a reformed man. You said you weren't into kinkiness any more."

  "That was before I saw you in that damned dress."

  "Would you take off your shirt first? I like looking at your chest."

  "You do?" She was hardly the first woman who'd admired his body, but he still felt inexplicably pleased. He tossed his bow tie on the hassock and then his cummerbund. Without taking his eyes from her, he removed his onyx cuff links and slipped off his shirt.

  Her eyes were all over him, which made him feel even better. "Your turn," he said.

  She pulled the dress farther down on her hips, but stopped just before she got to the really good stuff and gave him that mischievous look he loved. "What's the credit limit on your American Express card?"

  "You stop worrying about credit limits and start worrying about whether or not you're still going to be able to walk when I get done with you."

  "I'm trembling, Mr. Tough Guy." She stuck out her lip—stuck out her front. Then she peeled that slinky black fabric down inch by inch over those full round hips, those shapely thighs, giving a performance so sexy he thought he was going to explode before he ever touched her. Even before she lifted first one high heel and then the other to step out of the puddle of net and straps at her feet, he saw that she hadn't lied about what she didn't have on.

  Two black nylon stockings and a sexy pair of high, high heels were all that was left. She was wild and wicked, and for the rest of the night, she was his.

  He wanted to run his hands over every inch of that body, slip his fingers into each crevice, but he'd have to get up to do t
hat, which meant he'd lose this incredible view. Instead, he stayed where he was and stroked her with his eyes, sliding his gaze all the way down those incredible legs and back up to the spot between them.

  The seconds ticked by, one after another, and as the silence lengthened, Phoebe's nervousness returned. Why didn't he say something? The longer he looked, the more certain she became that he had found something wrong with her. She had been bubbling with sexy confidence, but now she remembered that she wasn't even close to fashion model skinny. Her thighs weren't thin enough, her hips were definitely too round, and the only time her stomach had been truly concave was when she'd had the flu. When he showed no sign of breaking the silence, she lost her nerve and reached down to snatch the straps of her dress.

  He was immediately on his feet, concern furrowing his brow. "Phoebe, honey, I was kidding about the hooker thing. You know that, don't you?" He pulled the dress from her fingers and took her in his arms.

  His chest was warm against her breasts. She pressed her cheek to one of his hard pectorals. Her mind told her she wasn't safe in his arms, but her heart felt as if it had found a home.

  "Tell me what's wrong, darlin'. Have I been teasing you too much? You know I didn't mean to hurt your feelings."

  She could hide behind her old flirtatious evasions, or she could be honest. "I'm embarrassed to have you look at me like that."

  "Like what?"

  "I know I should lose ten pounds, but I can't diet, and you're used to skinnier women. Valerie is—"

  "What does Valerie have to do with this?"

  "She's skinny, and I'm a little—I'm fat!"

  "Man-oh-man. I'm giving up on women. I'm definitely giving up." As he grumbled, he began to caress her hips, and the skin at her temples tingled from the soft motion of his lips. "I know lots of women feel insecure about their bodies, and I know I should be sweet and understanding about this. But, Phoebe, honey, having you worry about being too fat is pretty much like having a billionaire worry about his money being too green."

  "You were looking at me."

  "You've got me there, but I've learned my lesson. From now on, I'm gonna shut my eyes." He lifted both her breasts in his palms, bent his head, and found the left nipple with his mouth. As he suckled her, liquid threads of pleasure, hot and tingling, spread through her. Her insecurities faded as she clung to his shoulders and offered herself up to him.

  She didn't know how they got to the bed or what happened to her shoes, only that he was laying her on the soft, patterned blanket. She watched as he took off the rest of his clothes and came to lie beside her.

  "I still have my stockings on."

  "I know." He ran his hands over the sheer, black nylon and up to the soft, unprotected skin of her inner thigh, and she could see that the stockings excited him.

  "Spread your legs for me, honey."

  She did as he asked.

  "Farther," he urged. "Pull up your knees."

  She did that, too.

  "You're looking again." She gazed down at the top of his head.

  "And you're just as pretty here as you are everywhere else."

  She could barely breathe as he did a moist tracing of her with the tip of his index finger. Taking his time. Looking his fill. Sometimes pressing his lips to the insides of her thighs. Murmuring little nonsense syllables against her skin.

  His finger grew slippery as it pushed up a little and then withdrew, going round and round on its slow forever mission. She gasped for breath, taking short, quick pants. Her body was no longer part of the room, no longer lying on the bed, but spiraling toward some hot wet land.

  He bent his head and took her with his mouth. She lost herself in pleasure. Then she felt not one finger, but two. Sliding. Pumping.

  She knew he was watching her. Heard him praise her passion. "That's good, baby. So good. Let it go. Let it go, sweetheart."

  "No," she gasped, barely able to speak. "No. I want you."

  His fingers went deeper. "Do you, baby? Do you?"

  "Yes, I…"

  Her eyes flew open. Those fingers! They were everywhere. He knew no shame.

  He laughed a devil's laugh, earthy and lusty. "Relax, baby. Relax and let me feel you."

  She moaned and let him do what he wanted because nothing on earth could have made her tell him to stop, not even when he took her nipple in his mouth, suckled hard, and hurled her over the mountaintop.

  She flew through space, end over end, spiraling, hitting the sun and then falling back to earth. He caught her safely before she hit the ground.

  Long moments passed before her eyelids drifted open. "I couldn't wait for you," she finally whispered.

  "I didn't let you." He settled between her legs.

  She was slick and wet, but she still had trouble taking him. Feeling that sweet stretch, she tilted her hips to get more, then whimpered as he gave it to her.

  He froze. "Am I hurting you?"

  "No," she gasped in a thick whisper. "It's wonderful."

  He arched his back like a great jungle cat, drove his hips, and she came again.

  He laughed as he felt her shudders, then filled her mouth with his tongue and took her body away from her. It was his now. Sweet spoils won on a silken battlefield. Every inch belonged to him, and he would take it as he wished. Hard and deep, letting her feel the raw power of a strength so much greater than hers. Using her shamefully. Sensually. Making her cry out again and again in passion.

  Sweat slicked his body but he wouldn't let himself climax because he wasn't done with her; he hadn't felt enough of her, not even when he had put her knees to her shoulders and driven so deeply he was blowing apart.

  It wasn't enough! He wanted more. More of her sex. Her heart. Her soul.

  She gave a soft cry that tore him apart, and something was. unraveling inside him, something that should have remained coiled up tight and hard and safe. Frightened by instincts that had been developed in his childhood, instincts that warned him against the searing, unbearable pain of soft emotions, he turned her over like a rag doll. With one hand resting lightly on the back of her neck to hold her head down, he raised her hips, drawing her to her knees. Her blond hair swirled like a golden web on the pillow. He thrust into her from behind while he cupped the spilling bounty of her breasts in his hands and rolled the nipples between his fingers, taking her to that sweetest of all boundaries just this side of pain.

  She was crying out his name, begging him to hurl her over the edge again, and this time he knew he couldn't send her alone.

  Her face was hidden, her sex jutted up for his use. He was rutting like an animal, so he shouldn't have felt this all-encompassing tenderness, sensations so warm and soft they almost made him weep. He willed those gentle feelings away, cursed himself, but as she once again convulsed around him, he would have died for her.

  His. fierceness left him, and he turned her back so he could gaze down at that soft beautiful face, cheeks flushed, lips parted. Pulling her tight against him, he squeezed his eyes shut against the surge of an emotion he refused to name.

  With a great cry, he flooded her.

  Chapter 21

  « ^ »

  Dan walked across the bedroom, unself-conscious about his nudity. As she lay in bed and gazed at the many scars on his body, she thought about all the hits he had taken over the years. He pulled a white terry cloth robe from the closet and slipped into it. "We've got to talk, Phoebe."

  She had never seen him look so serious, and memories of what had happened the first time they'd made love in that Portland hotel room came rushing back.

  He approached the bed and sat on the edge looking down at her. "I'm afraid we both got carried away tonight. I didn't use anything."

  She gazed at him blankly.

  "I don't know what happened. I've never been this careless, not even when I was a kid."

  Understanding dawned, and with it an irrational sense of disappointment that the idea of getting her pregnant was so upsetting to him. "You don't have t
o worry. I'm on the pill." He'd never know how recently she'd gone on it, right after the night in the airplane.

  "These are the nineties. I'm worried about a little more than birth control. It's been years since I've been with anyone but Valerie, and my contract with the Stars requires a regular physical. I know I'm healthy." He looked her right in the eye. "But I don't know the same about you."

  She stared at him.

  "You've led a full life," he said quietly. "I'm not passing judgment; I just want to know how careful you've been, and how much time has passed since you've had a blood test."

  She finally understood what he meant. How could she admit to this worldly man that AIDS hadn't been a serious issue the last time she'd slept with another man? Stalling, she propped herself up on the pillow with one elbow and gazed at him through a lock of hair that had fallen over her eye. "You sure know how to make a girl feel good about herself."

  "This isn't a joke."

  "No, it isn't." She slipped her legs over the opposite side of the bed and went to the chair where he'd dropped his tuxedo shirt. She didn't want to have this conversation naked, and she couldn't bear the idea of struggling back into her dress while he watched. "You don't have anything to worry about. I'm clean as a whistle."

  "How do you know?"

  She slid her arms into the sleeves of his shirt. "I just do."

  "I'm afraid that's not good enough."

  "There's nothing to worry about. Take my word for it." There weren't any buttons on the shirt, so she wrapped his cummerbund twice around her waist and tied the ends.

  "You're not even looking at me. Are you hiding something?"

  "No," she lied.

  "Then sit down so we can talk this through."

  "I don't have anything else to say. Maybe you'd better take me home."

  He stood. "Not until we have it out. You're scaring me."

  He didn't sound scared. He sounded angry. She slipped into her heels. "I was fine at my last physical."