“That’s simple,” she said, greatly daring. “Just reach out and touch.” She took his hand and placed it over her breast again, sucking in a breath of delight when his fingers automatically shaped the tender mound.
“Sophie!” His breathing was ragged. “You’re supposed to slap my face now, not aid and abet my lecherous thoughts.”
“But I like your lecherous thoughts,” she said
He laughed, but it was a sound of frustration as much as amusement. He stood and reached down, hauling her to her feet and into his arms. “You’re playing with fire, baby.” His hips thrust against her soft belly in graphic demonstration, and she felt the bulge of his erection pushing out his pants. “I want more than a few kisses.”
“All right.” And it was. She’d known since forever that she was Marco’s. It was wonderful that he’d finally begun to want her, too.
“It’s not all right.” It was practically a snarl. He released her and raked a hand through his ebony curls in utter frustration. “You’re a virgin, aren’t you?” The words were almost an accusation.
She blushed. “Yes, but—”
“Stop right there.” He spun away from her and his shoulders were tense and stiff as he stared out over the lake. “I’m leaving tomorrow, Sophie. And I won’t be back for God knows how long. I’m not in the habit of using young girls and then tossing them aside.”
“I’m not a girl.” Her words were soft but insistent. “I’m a woman, and I can make my own decision about what I want.”
“I can’t stay,” he said, desperation in his tone.
“I’m not asking you to,” she said, though in her heart she longed for exactly that. She slipped around in front of him again. “Each time you leave, I wonder if you’ll ever come back. I want some memories to keep me warm when you’re gone again.” She put her arms around his neck and pressed herself against him. When he continued to stand still as a statue, she took a deep breath, reaching down between them and placing her palm over the firm male flesh she’d aroused. “Please, Marco, make love to me.”
And he had. Oh, God, he had. Right there, on a grassy bank by the lake. He’d been tender, easing her into womanhood so gently that she’d barely felt any pain. He’d taught her what her body was made for that night, over and over until dawn pearled the sky and they were both drooping with exhaustion.
And then he’d left her.
Her hand stilled, and the washcloth she’d been holding slipped from her grasp. She’d been so sure, ridiculously confident that she could hold him with her body.
But he’d left, just as he’d planned. And just as he’d promised, he hadn’t come home again.
As the tears began to fall, she stumbled toward her bed, collapsing across it in a violent storm of grief.
Four
He hadn’t worn a suit in almost two years. Normally, the black pinstriped one he’d chosen was New Year’s Eve dress, but last year, he’d spent New Year’s Eve in a rehab hospital, coming to grips with the fact that he’d never be climbing another mountain or hiking through another rain forest or crossing a veld.
It was a bit tight across the shoulders, and he knew why. Since his exercise options were limited now, he’d been swimming—and lifting weights—every day. Both were activities guaranteed to pack on the muscle through the chest and upper arm. He looked at himself in the mirror that had hung in the upstairs hall since his sisters first had become fashion-conscious teenagers. Not bad, though. He’d do.
But he’d give up the extra muscle for a good leg in a heartbeat.
He snorted. Looking in a mirror. He was pitiful. If his buddy Jared could see him now, he’d be rolling on the floor. Still, as he adjusted the red-patterned tie, he admitted to himself that he wanted to look good tonight. He wanted Sophie to open her door and stop dead when she saw him.
Even a second glance would be nice.
He sighed as he slowly took the steps down and grabbed his keys, then headed out the door to his car. At least he didn’t have to sneak out. Camilla and Mike had asked his parents to go out to dinner at an elegant restaurant as their anniversary gift, and then his folks thought they were stopping by the church to celebrate another church member’s birthday. Camilla had even gone so far as to have an invitation to the mythical event made—it had been on his mother’s refrigerator since he’d been home.
He drummed his fingers on the wheel impatiently as he waited through several red lights driving the dozen or so blocks to Sophie’s condo. He’d had a hard time convincing Sophie that he should drive her to the party. But there was no way he was letting her drive around alone at night. Hell, he even hated the thought of her driving downtown alone during the day.
Yeah, a second glance would be a breakthrough. Since the night he’d talked her into going out with him under the guise of needing a friend, she’d treated him gently, kindly, sweetly, but without a hint of the sexual awareness that was making him crazier every time he saw her. The only time he sensed her feelings about him weren’t as casual as they appeared was when he touched her. He was determined to get her used to the feel of his hands on her again. And touching her, without really touching her the way he wanted, was pushing his willpower to its outer limits. The other night he’d barely restrained himself from grabbing her and kissing her senseless. A quick peck on the cheek and a hasty retreat were all that saved her.
Or him. She might never speak to him again if he rushed her like that.
And he didn’t want to spook her. He’d assumed—stupidly—that once he got her alone he’d be able to talk her into resuming some sort of relationship with him. But at church, and when he’d shown up at her apartment, Sophie had been firmer and more prickly that he’d ever seen her, and he’d realized if he didn’t change his tactics, she was going to boot him out on his ear.
Hence, this friendship stuff. He had to start somewhere.
He knew exactly where he’d like to start, had since she’d opened the door and he’d thought she was wearing nothing but that old T-shirt. Even after he’d seen the brief shorts peeking from beneath it, it was all he could do to put words together in coherent sentences. Occasionally he felt mildly guilty for using her sympathy and compassion to manipulate her, but he knew, he knew that once she’d accepted his presence in her life they could have their old relationship back.
He parked the car and walked to her door, carrying the long-stemmed white rose he’d bought on impulse earlier in the day when he’d gone with Teresa and Lu to pick up the flowers. His sisters had teased him unmercifully until he’d threatened to dunk both of their heads in the big sink where they unloaded the flowers at the church.
Almost before he pressed the bell, Sophie opened the door. “Hi. You can come in for a minute. I don’t want to be late. I’m ready as soon as I go and get my—what?”
He’d taken her by the elbow and begun to turn her in a circle, mostly to hide the shock that he knew had to be on his face. “That’s, um, some dress.”
“Oh. Thanks, if that was supposed to be a compliment.” She linked her fingers together.
“It was.” He cleared his throat. Damn, why was it that his brain seemed to short-circuit every time she was around? He used to have the smoothest lines in town.
Drawing the white rose from behind his back, he held it out to her. “Here.”
Her eyes widened. She eyed the blossom for a long moment before accepting it, but her voice was steady when she spoke. “Thank you.” As she looked back down at the rose, he took the chance to study her again.
She was wearing a simple black dress in some sort of satiny fabric, with long sleeves. It should have been no big deal. And maybe it wouldn’t be, if the dress didn’t have a neckline that barely clung to her smooth, bare shoulders and plunged down to showcase a truly incredible expanse of snowy cleavage. Or if it hadn’t flowed over her curves like ebony paint. Or if the black heels she wore didn’t make her legs look ten miles long beneath the short hemline.
“You look beautiful,” he
told her, clearing his throat again to dislodge the boulder that seemed to be stuck in there.
She stared up at him uncertainly. “Thank you. You look pretty sharp yourself.” Then she walked across the room and picked up a small evening bag. “Shall we go?”
He thrust his hands into the pockets of his pants to keep from reaching for her, and instead reached for the teasing flirtation he used to be so good at delivering. “I suppose. Unless you’d rather stay here and let me peel you out of that dress and ravish you.”
She laughed. “An irresistible offer. But your sisters will be unhappy if you don’t show up for this party.” Her tone was as light and teasing as his had been, and her momentary uncertainty seemed to have disappeared. “And trust me, you don’t want four women all hunting your head at the same time.”
He chuckled. “Nope. Been there, done that.”
The amusement drained out of her face, and it was as if she’d turned off a light behind her eyes. “And I bet they weren’t your sisters, either.” Opening the door, she preceded him out to the car before he could come up with a response.
But as he rounded the hood and carefully folded himself, stiff leg first, into the car, a small flower of satisfaction began to bloom within him. For the first time he thought there was a chance she might still harbor some feelings for him. Unless he was mistaken, that note in her voice had been jealousy.
And he was rarely mistaken about women.
They got to the church with plenty of time to spare, and Sophie immediately joined his sisters in the last moments of frantic preparation. Where was the spoon for the crystal dish? Could somebody climb up there and fix that streamer that fell down? Were the flowers around the cake arranged to everyone’s liking?
He stood back, well out of the way with her four brothers and watched the women fuss. Only he mostly was watching Sophie’s figure as she bustled around the room. Once, when she leaned over the cake table and the hemline of the black dress rose perilously high, it was all he could do to keep from rushing over there and tugging it down again.
Or whisking her off to a private place and tugging it off, which sounded like a much better idea.
Other guests began to arrive, and Sophie slipped among them, greeting old friends and welcoming others. His jaw hurt from gritting his teeth when one guy’s hand strayed far too close to her bottom when he hugged her. If he hadn’t seen Sophie reach back and snag the jerk’s wrist, he might have gone over there and decked him.
By the time they all stood back to wait for his parents, he was thoroughly out of humor. When she came within reach, he grabbed for her hand and pulled her close to his side, twining his fingers with hers. “Stay here.”
“Why?” She turned to stare at him. Then her brow furrowed with concern. “You’ve been standing an awfully long time. Let me get you a chair.”
“I don’t want a chair.” He forced a grin, though it galled him that she thought she had to baby him. He was the one who was supposed to be the caretaker, dammit. “I’m fine. I just want you next to me.”
“Oh.” She considered that, then shrugged. “I guess friends should stick together.”
He had just about had it with this friends business. Couldn’t she see that he was interested in more than that? He was pretty sure she wasn’t indifferent to him. She might not be ready to admit it, but the fire still burned between them. So why was she denying them both the pleasure he knew they could share?
Was it all because he’d left when they were younger? Fine. He’d explain it to her again, explain how guilty he’d felt at the uncontrollable lust that had raged within him for his buddies’ little sister. Explain that she would never have been happy traipsing around the globe after him, or worse, waiting in a shack in some grungy little town for him to come back from whatever expedition he was on.
His fingers tightened around hers and she looked up at him in inquiry—
And then Camilla threw open the doors and ushered his parents into the room.
“SURPRISE!”
From that moment onward, the party was craziness. Tears to blot, corsages to pin in place, cake to pass, champagne and toasts, endless family photos... By the time the small combo that Camilla had hired began to play some dance tunes, he had had enough party to last him for a long time. His leg ached from standing too long, but he’d be damned if he’d sit down like an invalid while people clucked and fussed over him.
Finally, as the dance floor filled with people and his parents began to circulate and talk with all their guests, he limped to the edge of the room, where two large pillars and a beautiful stand of ferns and small potted trees hid a secluded corner. It could be seen from the hallway that led to the rest rooms, but if he sat on the windowsill near the farthest pillar back, he doubted anyone would even notice him.
He noticed them, though. The combo played a surprisingly upbeat variety of songs, and his body wanted to move with the rhythms. He’d been a hell of a dancer—before. It was fun, and it was a great way to get dates, too. Women adored guys who could dance, so it was a skill he’d cultivated.
Besides, with four sisters, he’d learned whether he liked it or not.
But his dancing days were past. Anger, deep and hot, rose within him. This wasn’t fair, dammit. He realized his hands were in fists and he made a conscious effort to uncurl them—
“Marco?”
It was Sophie, poised at the edge of the greenery like a doe testing the safety of a meadow. Ready for flight at any moment.
“Are you all right?” She came a little farther into his corner after glancing around, and he realized she was checking to be sure he was alone.
“I’m fine.” But try as he might, he couldn’t inject a carefree note into his voice, couldn’t get past the frustrations roiling within him.
“You don’t sound fine.” Crossing the small space, she rested a hip against the windowsill and turned toward him, her wide eyes searching his face. “Does your leg hurt?”
Her gentle concern took the rage out of him, replacing it with resignation. “A little bit,” he said.
“I knew it. Even from across the room I could tell there was something wrong. Would you like to leave? I could drive—”
He grinned and picked up her hand. “Always trying to figure out a way to get behind the wheel, aren’t you?” Carefully, he slid off the windowsill until he was leaning back against it. He indicated the crowded floor beyond the palms, still holding her small fingers in his. “The truth is, I’m having a Feel Sorry for Marco party in here. I used to enjoy dancing.”
“I remember.” Her voice was subdued. “But you’ll be able to—”
“No, I won’t. Not like I used to.” The music had changed to a soft, slow number, and couples were drifting across the floor. He gestured at them, envious of their easy, light steps. “It’s funny how many things I took for granted until I couldn’t do them anymore.”
“You can still dance. Come on, dance with me.” Her voice held a stubborn ring, and he realized again that his little Sophie had grown up to be her own woman now. The thought tickled him, and he smiled down at her as she stepped in front of him and reached for his free hand, placing it at her waist.
Then the full impact of what she was doing hit him.
He couldn’t believe it. He’d been wondering for days how to get her into his arms. Who’d have thought she’d be the one to initiate it? The soft flesh beneath the fabric of the black dress yielded to his gentle squeeze, and his heart began to pump double time. This close, he could smell her, the warm floral fragrance she always wore simmering in the heated crevice between her breasts, wafting up and around him every time she took a breath. No matter how many times he had held her in the past, he always marveled at how small she was. Even in the heels she wore, her eyes were barely level with his chin, and her slender shoulders looked fragile and delicate as the dim light played over her.
Her right and his left hand were already joined. While he stood, absorbing the fact that this was rea
lly happening, she raised their hands, sliding her fingers around beneath his until they were palm to palm. “There,” she said. “Now you can dance.”
Very slowly, she shifted her right foot forward until her weight was balanced evenly on both feet, and she began to sway back and forth. He let her push him into the same gentle rhythm, looking down into her upturned face as they moved to the music. Her eyes sparkled in the shadows, and her smile was triumphant as her eyes met his.
But the touch of her was too seductive to resist.
He slid his right hand from her waist to the sweet firm swell at the very bottom of her spine, just where her buttocks began, and pressed her tightly against him. Her head was tilted back so that she could still see his face. He could see the feminine awareness, almost panic that crept into her expression as she registered the sensual intent in his embrace. The position pushed her breasts firmly into his chest, and he had to take a deep breath and reach for self-control as he felt his body stirring, urging him to respond, to take, to make her his. To distract himself, give him time to think without those eyes assessing his every thought, he used his clasp on her other hand and drew her in, tucking her against his chest as they continued to sway. “There,” he said, bending his head to her ear. “Now we’re dancing.”
She exhaled, a shaky sound that made him smile even as her hot breath raced over his throat and sent a shiver of purely sexual need skittering down his spine. “I don’t think this qualifies as dancing,” she said in a low, strained voice.
“Oh?” It was nice to know he wasn’t the only one affected here. He nuzzled his mouth into the cloud of her dark, curly hair until he found her ear. Running his lips gently along the fragile shell to the earlobe, he sucked the tender flesh below her diamond studs into his mouth, flicking his tongue against the small hollow he discovered behind her ear. She made a little sound deep in her throat, and he felt her body loosen and melt against him. Incredibly excited by the promise inherent in her soft surrender, he put both arms around her to hold her to him, firmly pulling her into contact from neck to knee, letting her feel the hard ridge of aroused flesh he couldn’t hide.
Lovers' Reunion (Silhouette Treasury 90s) Page 6