by Diana Palmer
He lifted his head to look into her wide, fascinated eyes. “Not afraid?” he asked quietly.
She couldn’t manage words, but she shook her head. She felt boneless. She ached all over. Something began to throb deep in her body.
He felt those reactions. She wasn’t protesting. If anything, she moved closer to him, gasping faintly at the heat and power of his aroused body.
It was like falling into fire, he thought as he bent again to her mouth and slowly invaded it, first with his lips, then with his tongue. The first silken thrust of it inside hers caused her to grip his arms so tightly that her short nails dug into the flesh even through his shirt. Then as he moved his tongue sensually against hers, she moaned audibly.
If he had any thought of pulling away, it was gone in a flash. It had been too long since he’d had a woman. He was dying for her. He couldn’t stop.
He got to his feet and then bent, lifting her clear of the sofa in his arms while his mouth still covered her own. He carried her down the hall, glancing into a lit room with a double bed. He went into it, kicking the door shut behind him, and laid her out on the bed. His eyes were almost black with desire as he looked down at her, hesitating.
But she was as far gone as he was. She loved what he could make her feel. She was almost twenty-five years old and she’d never had a lover. She wanted him. She wanted to be a woman, a whole woman, with this man whom she loved with all her heart. And it wasn’t as if he just needed a woman, she told herself. He wanted a relationship. That had to mean marriage! Her arms opened.
He felt her submission without a word being spoken. His blood was on fire. He sat down beside her, but she put a hand against his chest. She looked uneasy.
“The light,” she whispered, biting her lower lip.
He frowned. Then he remembered the accident she’d had as a child. “I don’t mind scars, Grace,” he said softly. “I have a few of my own.”
She bit her lip harder. She didn’t know how to explain it to him. “Please?” she asked.
He sighed, but not angrily. He’d wanted to look at her. But her innocence was going to be his biggest problem. He only smiled. His hand reached for the lamp. He turned it off, and bent down to gather her against him.
It was, she thought feverishly, a banquet of the senses. She hadn’t known her own body had so many sensitive areas that a man’s mouth and hands could lift into realms of ecstasy. She moaned helplessly as he kissed her taut breasts. She moved her legs to admit the weight of him between them. She marveled at how easily they seemed to go together with all the clothes out of the way. His body was warm and hard and sensual against hers on the crisp sheets, and she shivered again and again with the growing, gnawing pleasure of his touch.
When he touched her with sudden intimacy she hesitated, her mind going back to horror and pain, he hesitated. “Did I hurt you?” he asked softly.
She forced her mind to shut out the unpleasant images. That was yesterday. This was today. “No,” she whispered, drawn back to the present. “Of course you aren’t hurting me. Don’t stop!”
He laughed softly and moved down against her once more. “I won’t,” he whispered against her throat. “Move with me, Grace,” he added huskily. “Move with me. That’s it. Harder…!”
She felt his hand exploring, and then it was something…else, something hard and warm…!
She gasped and arched right off the bed as the intimate contact produced a wave of pleasure so overwhelming that she thought she might faint. She cried out, pulling him down to her, shivering.
“You like that, do you?” he murmured drowsily against her mouth. “Let’s try this…”
She shuddered, again and again, as the pleasure began to spiral up. She made a strange, husky noise deep in her throat and moved her legs as far apart as she could get them, her nails digging into his hips. “Please,” she choked, gasping.
He nibbled at her mouth as his hips began to move down in a quick, hard rhythm. “Like that?”
“Yes!”
One hand went under her hair to hold her head firmly while his mouth crushed down on her parted lips. The other went under her hips, lifting her fiercely up to the hard downward thrust of his body.
“I’ll…die!” she choked against his devouring mouth.
“Of pleasure…maybe,” he managed in a harsh whisper. “God! Grace! Grace! Lift up! Lift up, hard!” He shuddered, gasping, as the rhythm became furious, insanely pleasurable. “Now, baby,” he choked. “Now, now, now…!”
She moved with him, held him tight, shivered helplessly as the pleasure built to such a degree that she thought she might lose consciousness. And then, when it was so hot and sweet that it had to be the end, the spiral went even higher and hotter. She couldn’t see, hear, think, even breathe as the rhythm quickened. He whispered something, but she was beyond understanding. Her body was on a journey of its own, carrying her along to a volcanic climax that sent her arching up into him with a quick, sharp little cry of absolute delight.
He gathered her hips up and riveted them to his as he felt, too, the sudden release of tension. “Grace,” he moaned, his voice deep and husky, as his hips moved helplessly against her in one last, hard thrust that sent him right over the edge.
They lay together, bathed in sweat, clinging to each other in the darkness. They shivered, speechless, in mutual satiation.
Endless seconds later, he eased away from her and slid his hand from her neck over her full breasts, down to her flat stomach. His fingers traced the small scars that rose above the smooth flesh.
“I have a lot of scars,” she whispered unsteadily.
“So do I. They don’t matter.” He brushed his mouth softly over her lips. “I’ve never had it this good,” he whispered. He wrapped her up in his arms. “Grace, you were a virgin, weren’t you?” he asked after a minute.
She stopped breathing. She hesitated. “Well, yes,” she managed to say. Technically it was the truth.
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have lost control like this.”
“I lost control, too,” she said.
“It isn’t the same thing. It was like shooting ducks in a barrel.” He moved away from her with a long, harsh sigh. “Damn!”
“You…you didn’t like it?” she asked with dawning worry.
He turned and looked down at her in the darkness. “That isn’t what I meant, Grace,” he said. “I took advantage of you.”
“No!”
He put his hand gently on her belly. “Are you sure you can’t get pregnant?” he asked, and sounded concerned.
“I’m sure.” The doctors had all agreed about that.
He didn’t answer. So he didn’t have to worry about the complication of a baby. But he felt guilty just the same.
“I’m glad it was with you,” she said when the silence became frightening.
That didn’t make him feel any better. At least he hadn’t hurt her, he consoled himself. On the other hand, he’d taken something she might have wanted to save for marriage. She was very traditional.
“It wasn’t because you were thinking about her?” she asked with sudden horror.
For an instant, he thought she was referring to the past. Then he realized she knew nothing about his past. “About Jaqui?” he exclaimed. “Heavens, no!”
She relaxed. “Okay.”
He drew in a long breath. “I have to go.”
“Now?” she asked, sounding alarmed.
He bent over and kissed her tenderly on the forehead. “As you keep reminding me, this is a small town. I don’t want people seeing my car in your driveway all night and gossiping about it.”
She smiled. “That’s nice of you.”
He didn’t answer her. He dressed in the dark, feeling like a heel. She’d been generous, and warm, and loving. Her headlong delight made him feel even guiltier. He had nothing to offer her.
“Grace, you do understand that I’m not in the market for a wife?” he asked quietly.
She felt sick all ov
er. She was shocked and trying not to let it show. “Yes,” she said after a minute, and her voice didn’t give anything away. Her world was crashing around her, but she couldn’t let it show. “I understand.”
He grimaced. He could hear the hurt in her voice. He was just making things worse. “I’ll come over tomorrow after I get off from work,” he said. “We’ll talk it out.”
“All right.”
“Good night.”
“Good night.”
She sounded resigned to his leaving. He wanted to stay, to talk, to explain. He couldn’t manage it, though. He was afraid of relationships. He never should have started this!
He left without another word. But all day, the memory of the pleasure they shared haunted him. He’d started something he couldn’t finish. He thought of Grace while he was working. She came between him and paperwork, shimmering like foxfire in his memory. He ached every time he thought of her.
* * *
GRACE TURNED HER FACE into the pillow when he left and cried as if her heart was broken. She’d been such a fool. He didn’t want to marry her. He just needed a woman, and here she was, waiting eagerly for him. She groaned aloud. She’d given him all she had. It wasn’t enough.
She felt like an idiot. He was used to women who gave out and got out, not retiring little spinsters like Grace who never dated. He was an experienced lover, and he’d lived in big cities for years, where sex was casual. Grace, on the other hand, lived a sheltered life because of her past. She knew very little about adult intimacy. Of course he didn’t want to marry her! Why marry a woman, when she was willing to give you anything you wanted without benefit of a ring? She cursed her own weakness for him. If she hadn’t given in so easily, if she’d made him wait a little while, he might have fallen in love, too. But now she’d ruined everything. He’d think she was just like all his other women, the ones he took in his stride and cast aside. She was just like that Jaqui woman, who’d made fun of Grace and said Garon would never see her as a real woman.
She pulled herself out of bed and went to bathe away the scent of him. If there was anything positive about this experience, it had shown her that she could be a whole woman, that she hadn’t been totally destroyed by her past. Perhaps if she looked at it that way, in a mature fashion, she could forget that the man she loved with all her heart was only looking for momentary relief. Perhaps.
* * *
GARON DROVE UP in her yard just after seven o’clock that evening. Despite her resolve not to speak to him again, she went running to open the door. She looked as if she hadn’t slept. He knew how she felt. He hadn’t slept, either. He’d gone through the day in a daze.
She opened the door wider, like a sleepwalker. He came in and locked it. Without missing a beat, he lifted her in his arms, and kissed her as if he hadn’t seen her in a year. Moaning, helpless, she yielded at once. He turned and carried her down the hall to the bedroom.
It was better this time. It was more intense than the first time. He kissed her from her eyelids all the way to her calves, in broad daylight, whispering to her the whole time, exciting and sensual things that made her blush.
When he had her at fever pitch, he pushed her right over the edge into ecstasy and fell with her through waves and waves of throbbing, blinding heat. She cried out endlessly as the waves tore through her body, leaving her shaking in the warm aftermath. He held her close against him while he fought to breathe normally again.
“I was going to ask you out to eat,” he said on a breathless laugh.
She smiled and kissed his muscular shoulder. Her own heart was doing uncomfortable things. She hoped he didn’t notice. “It gets better and better,” she whispered.
He held her closer. “I couldn’t work today for thinking how it was last night,” he confessed after a minute. “I didn’t think it could be as good as I remembered it. But it was.” He lifted away from her, to look down with possessive dark eyes at her swollen breasts, their pink crowns soft and relaxed now. He touched them gently, aware of faint scars around the nipples. His hand moved down to her flat stomach and he frowned. The scars were oddly uniform. He’d seen accident victims, so he knew what glass did to human flesh. But it didn’t look like this.
“I know they’re ugly,” she began, misunderstanding his scrutiny.
His eyes lifted back to hers, shocked. “That wasn’t what I was thinking at all,” he said. “Were you in the hospital a long time?”
She nodded. “Two weeks,” she said.
He brought her hand to his chest where the rib cage began, and pressed it into the thick hair that covered the warm muscles. “Feel.”
There was a ridge there.
“Feel it?” he asked, smiling. “I took a hit with a machete when we stormed a hostage situation several years ago. Not in this country,” he added with a husky laugh when he saw her expression. “I spent several days in hospital myself. So we both have scars.”
She smiled back, much less self-conscious. She reached up to touch his face, explore it, caress it. This was like a day out of time, when she could love and be loved, when she could feel as a normal woman did. She felt the return of hope. He was helpless against the attraction she held for him. That had to mean something.
He felt that look all the way inside. He shouldn’t encourage her to care about him. It would lead to disaster. But he loved the way she looked at him, the shy tenderness in her fingers when she touched him. He loved her fierce response when passion locked them together. For a woman with a traumatic past, she’d moved easily into intimacy. He liked to think it was because of his own skill in bed. He knew how to give her pleasure, and he could see the remnants of it in her smile.
“Suppose we go out to eat tomorrow?” he suggested.
“Lunch?”
He nodded. “I have to stop by a couple of stores afterward. The inspector gave us a great score, so the SAC said I could have the day off.”
She smiled. “I’d enjoy that.”
“So would I.” He bent and kissed her and then rolled over and got to his feet to dress. She watched him, her eyes soft with appreciation of the hard muscles of his body as he slid back into his clothes. Belatedly she got up and dressed, too.
“Would you like me to cook something?” she asked.
He shook his head, smiling. “I have phone calls to make and reports to go over,” he said. “But I’ll phone you in the morning.”
“Okay.” She wasn’t going to fuss or demand that he stay with her. She felt loved. It was enough. She saw him to the door and then fixed herself a bowl of soup, humming as if she’d won the lottery.
* * *
HE HELD HER HAND as they went into Barbara’s Café to get lunch. Other patrons who knew Grace smiled benevolently at her, noting the man she was going around with. He was the police chief’s brother, so he must be a good sort, they were saying. Garon noticed the smiles and felt uneasy, but they were seated and the spectators found other things to talk about.
Grace was so happy that she radiated it. Even Garon couldn’t help but notice what a picture she made when she smiled at him.
She was proud of her enlarged wardrobe that Barbara had helped her buy at the college thrift shop. She was wearing a soft blue wool dress today that came from the shop. It was beautifully cut, fit nicely and emphasized the tiny blue flecks in her gray eyes. She’d gone to pains with her hair as well, putting it up in a becoming style. Garon had noticed, complimenting her on her taste.
They held hands again on the way to the office supply store. Grace, beaming, smiled at passersby who knew her. Garon was still uncomfortable with their scrutiny, and getting cold feet. Colder by the minute, especially when they walked into the office supply store and the manager teased Grace about her companion. It was only small town banter, but Garon obviously didn’t like it, and when they left the store, he didn’t hold hands with her again. The teasing was getting on his nerves. He loved Grace in bed, but he wasn’t going to marry her because of it.
By the en
d of the day, he’d made a decision he hated having to make. He wasn’t going to see Grace alone again. She was seeing him as a prospective husband, but he didn’t want her for keeps. He’d dug his own grave, continuing to see her when he knew how she felt about him. He had nothing to offer her. He couldn’t marry her. But when he saw the beaming look on her face as he left her at her front door, he couldn’t manage the words to tell her he was breaking it off, either. He made an offhand remark about being especially busy in the next two weeks, but that he’d call her. It was the first lie he’d told her.
CHAPTER 10
GRACE WENT TO HER regular jobs for the next two weeks. She didn’t phone Garon, and he didn’t call her. She was still glowing with the memory of the physical delight he’d shown her. She ached for him in the darkness. His ardor had taught her that there was more to sex than pain and fear. She’d loved what he did to her. He was accomplished and thorough. Every time she thought about the passion they’d shared, she almost moaned aloud with the need to experience it again. But days went by and then weeks went by. She heard through the grapevine that the team he led was sent out of state to an emergency, and he was gone a long time. She rarely saw his car at his house when she drove to work. And still he didn’t call.
Miss Turner had obviously come back home long ago, but she hadn’t phoned Grace, either. Grace didn’t know that Garon had told her not to, that he and Grace had had a parting of the ways and she wasn’t to communicate with her until things calmed down. It would have killed her.
But worse than Garon’s absence was the kindly meant teasing around town. People had been delighted to see Grace finally with a fellow of her own, holding hands in public and radiating happiness. Some of the older people remembered what had happened to her. Nobody talked about it, of course, but it was a good reason for them to wish her well in Garon’s company.
Except that she wasn’t in his company, and she hadn’t seen him. So every time someone asked why he wasn’t taking her to community events, she had to make an excuse that he was working hard on a case. Maybe he was. But she didn’t know.