by Nora Roberts
"Kiss me again," she murmured. When he looked, he saw her eyes half closed, with that tawny, feline look that shaded them so unexpectedly. "I love what happens to me when I'm kissing you."
She brought his face close and let herself be swept away.
"I've wanted you to touch me," she said against his lips. "Sometimes I'd imagine what it would be like to have your hands on me. Here." Nearly purring, she guided his hand. "And here. I can't get enough." She arched under him like a bow. "I don't think I'll ever get enough."
Something was slipping away from him—the control he kept tightly locked on his emotions. He couldn't afford to give her his heart, couldn't trust her with the power that went with the gift. Instead, he could give her the passion she sought and accepted so beautifully.
He pulled the silk pants off her, watching as they glided erotically over her flesh. The wisp that she wore beneath slid down and was discarded. Suddenly, so suddenly he couldn't mark the change, he was beyond being sensible, beyond being reasonable. Desire for her, for everything she was, everything she offered, clawed through his system. Perhaps this wasn't the kind of passion he'd been prepared for, but it raged through him, too strong and real to be harnessed. With her honesty and her zest for life, she'd begun this journey. He wouldn't be merely a passenger; here they would meet one to one. He would finally set free the needs she'd aroused in him from the first.
He forgot gentleness, so that when his mouth crushed hers it was with rough desperation. His hands, always so careful, raced over her until she was writhing and murmuring mindlessly beneath him. With each movement, each sigh, his heart thudded faster, pounding in his brain in a beat that somehow sounded like her name. Without hesitation she wrapped around him, and he took her. He heard a moan low in her throat before his own breath caught.
She was so warm, so unbelievably soft and welcoming. He struggled to regain that edge of control as her body began to move, graceful as a waltz, erotic as any primitive rite. He moved above her, wanting to see what the feel of him did to her. Pleasure shuddered over her face, but her eyes stayed open and on his.
She trembled, and the bedspread slithered through her fingers as she gripped it. Such power, such strength. Nothing she'd ever experienced could match it. If she'd left the world she'd known, she felt no need to return to it. Here, she could remain here, while centuries flew by.
Then they were tangled tightly as the storm plucked them both up and threw them together. Her body tensed, shivering on the edge before the release came in floods of unspeakable pleasure.
She would take the moon and the stars he offered. Maddy wrapped her arms around him and knew she would wait until he offered himself, as well.
She was gone when he woke up. Reed felt the loss swiftly, sharply, when he turned toward where she'd slept and found the bed beside him empty. From the living room, the stereo that had never been switched off droned out the Sunday-morning news as he lay back and explored the feeling of emptiness.
Why should he feel empty? He'd spent an exciting night with an exciting woman, and now she'd gone on her way. That was what he'd wanted. That was the way the game was played. Throughout the night they had given each other comfort, warmth and passion. Now the sun was up and it was over. He should be grateful she took it all so casually that she could slip out the door without even a goodbye.
Why should he feel empty? He couldn't afford to regret that she wasn't there to give him a sleepy smile and snuggle against him. He was the one who knew how transient and shallow relationships really were. He should admire her for being honest enough to acknowledge that what had passed between them during the night had been nothing more than mutual physical release. There had been no pledges given, no pledges asked for, just a few hours of mindless pleasure that required no excuses or explanations.
Why should he feel so empty?
Because she was gone, and he wanted to hold her.
Swearing, Reed pushed himself up in bed. As he raked a hand through his hair, he spotted a pool of pink silk on the floor beside the bed.
But she was gone. Reed tossed aside the sheet and got out of bed to pick up the slacks he'd drawn slowly down Maddy's legs the night before. Even Maddy couldn't get far without them. He was still holding them when he heard his front door open. Reed tossed the slacks over the back of the chair beside the bed, then reached for a robe.
He found her in the kitchen, setting a brown grocery bag on the counter.
"Maddy?"
She let out a muffled squeal and jumped back. "Reed!" With a hand to her heart, she closed her eyes a moment. "You scared me to death. I thought you were sleeping."
And he'd thought she was gone. Cautious, he held himself back. "What are you doing?"
"I went out to get breakfast."
He didn't feel empty any longer. But even as the pleasure came, so did the wariness. "I thought you'd left."
"Don't be silly. I wouldn't just leave." She combed her fingers through hair that hadn't yet seen a brush that morning. "Why don't you get back in bed? I'll have this put together in a minute."
"Maddy…" He took a step forward. Then his gaze slid slowly down her body. "What are you wearing?"
"Like it?" Laughing, she caught the hem of his shirt in her fingers and twirled around. "You have excellent taste. Reed. I was very fashionable."
His shirt hung loose over her shoulders, skimmed her thighs and made her look ridiculously attractive. "Is that one of my ties?"
She pressed her lips together to hold back a chuckle as she toyed with the thin black silk she'd used to secure the shirt at the waist. "It was all I could find. Don't worry, I can have it pressed."
Her legs were long and smooth and bare. He looked at them again and shook his head. "You went out like that?"
"Nobody looked twice," she assured him, so easily he thought she probably believed it. "Look, I'm starving." She wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him with an easy affection that had his pulse thudding. "Get back in bed and I'll bring this in in a minute."
Because he needed a minute to adjust, he obliged her. She wasn't gone, Reed thought as he sat back against the pillows. She was here, in his kitchen, fixing breakfast as though it were the most natural thing in the world. It pleased him. It worried him. He wondered what he was going to do about her.
"I've got extra whipped cream if we need it," Maddy said as she walked in with a tray.
Reed stared at the breakfast she'd fixed as she scooted onto the bed and set the tray between them. "What is that?"
"Sundaes," she told him, dipping a forefinger into a mound of whipped cream. As she laid it on her tongue, she let out a luxurious sigh of pleasure. "Strawberry sundaes."
"Strawberry sundaes," he repeated. "For breakfast? Is this the same Maddy O'Hurley who worries constantly about nutrition and calories?"
"Ice cream's a dairy product," she reminded him as she offered a spoon. "The berries are fresh. What more do you need?"
"Bacon and eggs?"
"Much too much fat and cholesterol—especially since it doesn't taste this good. Anyway, I'm celebrating." She dipped into her bowl.
"Celebrating what?"
Their eyes met quickly and held. Then she seemed to sigh. How could he not know? And because he didn't, how could she explain? "You look wonderful. I feel wonderful. It's Sunday and the sun's shining. That should be enough." Maddy plucked a strawberry out of his bowl and offered it to him. "Go ahead. Live dangerously."
He closed his lips over the berry, drawing the tips of her fingers into his mouth briefly. "And I thought you subsisted on alfalfa sprouts and wheat germ."
"I do most of the time. That's why this is so great." She let the ice cream rest cool on her tongue and closed her eyes. "Usually I jog on Sunday mornings."
Reed sampled the ice cream himself. "Jog?"
"Only three or four miles," she said with a shrug.
"Only."
She licked the back of her spoon clean. "But today I'm being decadent."
> He skimmed a hand along her knee. "Are you?"
"Absolutely. I'll pay for it tomorrow, so it has to be good."
"Did you plan to stay here and be decadent?"
"Unless you'd rather I go."
He linked his fingers with hers in an uncomplicated gesture that would have surprised him if he'd realized he'd done it. "No, I don't want you to go."
The smile lighted her face. "I can be very decadent."
"I'm counting on it."
Maddy swirled her finger through the whipped cream, then slowly, very slowly, licked it off. "You might be shocked." When she dipped again, Reed took her wrist, then brought the cream and her finger to his own mouth.
"You think so?" He felt her pulse jump as he sucked lightly on her fingertips. "Why don't we see?" Picking up the tray, he set it beside the bed. Her eyes were huge, her body aching, when he looked at her again. "I wondered how you'd look in the morning."
Tilting her head, she lifted a brow. "How do I look?"
"Fresh." With the lightest of touches he stroked her cheek. "Just a bit mussed. Appetizing."
She caught her tongue between her teeth. "I think I like the appetizing best."
"You know, Maddy, you never asked if you could borrow my shirt."
Humor danced in her eyes again, but she answered very seriously. "No, I didn't, did I? That was rude."
"I want it back." He hooked his fingers in the neck of the shirt and drew her closer. "Now."
"Now?" Fast and hot, anticipation rippled through her. "I suppose you want the tie, as well."
"I certainly do."
"I guess you're entitled," she murmured. Kneeling, she loosened the knot, slipped the silk off and handed it to him. She reached for the buttons, hesitated, then began to unfasten them. Her gaze stayed steady on his as the shirt fell open to reveal a thin panel of flesh. Then she smiled as she let the material slide from her shoulders. Without any self-consciousness she stayed as she was while he looked his fill, then took the shirt by the collar and held it out, kneeling in the center of the bed with sunlight streaming over her skin.
"This is yours, I believe."
He brushed the shirt aside, rising on his knees to cup her shoulders in his hands. "I'm becoming fonder of what's inside." He nipped at her chin as his hands slid down over her. "You have the most incredible body. Hard, soft, compact, limber." Compelled, he drew away just to look at her. "I wonder if—Maddy, what's that you're wearing?"
"What?" A little dazed, she followed his gaze downward. "Oh, that's a G-string, of course. Haven't you ever seen one?"
His eyes came back to hers, amused and intrigued. "As a matter of fact, yes. One wonders if you aren't taking your role of the Merry Widow a bit too seriously."
"You didn't say that while I was stripping for you," she pointed out, then linked her hands behind his neck. "I discovered G-strings when I was researching for the part."
"Researching?" He started to kiss her, then drew back again. "Exactly what does that mean?"
"Just what it sounds like. I couldn't go into a role like this without doing some research."
"You went to strip joints." Caught between fury and frustration, he took her chin firmly. "Are you crazy? Do you know what can happen in places like that?"
"Have you had a lot of experience?"
"Yes—No. Damn it, Maddy, don't change the subject."
"I didn't think I was." She smiled at him again. "Reed, I had to get inside Mary a bit. I figured the best way to do it was to talk to some strippers. I met some fascinating people. There was one called Lotta Oomph."
"Lotta—"
"Oomph," Maddy finished. "Her gimmick was poodles. See, she had five poodles, and—"
"I don't think I want to hear it." Though he wanted badly to laugh, he held her firmly. "Maddy, you've no business going into that kind of place."
"Don't be silly. I worked in places not much different than that when I was twelve. It's all fantasy, Reed. For the most part, all you have are people trying to make a living. And talking with some of the women really helped me understand Mary better."
"Mary is a fantasy," he corrected. "What goes on in those places, what can go on in those places, is hard reality."
"I understand reality very well, Reed." She lifted a hand to his cheek, touched that he would be concerned. "I'm not saying stripping's an admirable profession, or that every stripper's another Gypsy Rose Lee, but most of the people I talked with took a great deal of pride in their act."
"I don't intend to argue the morals or the social significance of exotic dancing, Maddy. I just don't like the idea of you going into one of those joints downtown."
"Well, I don't intend to make a habit of it." She lowered her lashes, trailing a finger down his chest. "I wouldn't mind seeing the poodles again."
"Maddy."
The lashes came up, revealing laughter. "They were pretty amazing."
"So are you." He ran a hand over her hip where the thin string rested. "And what's the story on this?"
"Comfort." She began to nibble quietly on his earlobe. "Every woman in America should wear a G-string."
"You always wear one?" He spread his hand over her, feeling soft skin, firm muscle.
"Mmm. Under street clothes."
"That day we went to see the exhibition of Victorian architecture. You had on those baggy khaki slacks that looked like army surplus."
"They are army surplus."
"You had one of these on underneath?"
"Mm-hmmm."
"Do you know what might have happened if I'd known?"
Content, she rubbed her cheek against his. "What?"
"Right there in front of the model of Queen Victoria's summer home?"
The giggle bubbled out as he scooped her up. "What?"
"With the family of four from New Jersey right behind us?"
"Oh, God." She wrapped her arms around him. "Maybe we can go back this afternoon."
"Not a chance." He buried his face in her throat.
He wasn't supposed to feel like laughing when he had a naked woman beneath him. Lovemaking was a serious business, to be respected and treated with caution and care. He wasn't supposed to feel like a teenager romping in a back seat on a darkened road. He was a grown man, experienced, aware.
But when he rolled over on the bed with her, the laughter was there. It was there when he held her hard against him, when she snuggled into him, when he touched, when she offered. His delight in her was so great, so immense, that laughter seemed the only answer. She accepted it so beautifully, answering with laughter of her own. Even later, not so very much later, when laughter turned to sighs, the joy wasn't dimmed.
There was so much love in her. Maddy wondered that it didn't burst out and light up the room. Every moment she was with him, he grew just a little brighter. Every time he looked at her, his eyes seemed to shimmer.
He was so kind, so gentle, so thorough. So desperate with need for her. If she hadn't already given him her heart, she would have done so then just as freely.
How could she have known there was so much to discover? So much pleasure, so many sensations. She'd never shown that much generosity to another, but with Reed, it was easy.
She knew her body intimately, its strengths, its weaknesses. How strange it was to discover she had known so little about its needs. When his mouth closed over her breast, she felt incredible sensations tighten inside her: pleasure, pain, desperation. A stroke of his hand down her thigh made her shudder. A brush of his lips at her throat made her moan. The body she disciplined so religiously became a morass of needs, of confusion, of anticipation, when he pressed against her.
Touching him made her weak. He was only flesh, blood, bone, but stroking her hands over him made her spirit soar. He was hers. She told herself it didn't matter that it was only for the moment. It didn't matter that it was only pretend. He was hers as long as they were flesh to flesh, mouth to mouth.
He needed her. She could feel the rush of excitement move throug
h him. If, even for one brief moment, he untied the bonds on his emotions, he could love her. She was sure of it. There was more than passion when he held her, more than heat and lust. There was caring and compassion. When his lips brushed over hers, when he allowed the kiss to deepen slowly until they were both swimming in it, she knew that he was on the edge of giving her what she wanted so badly to give him.
Love. It healed, it soothed, it protected. She wanted to tell him how wonderful it was to feel so irrevocably bound to another. She wanted to offer him a glimpse of what it was to know there was someone there for him, someone who would always be there.
His skin was hot and damp. His hands lost their gentleness degree by degree as her excitement grew. She was wild, hungry, avid. Her energy seemed boundless and pushed him farther and farther, to the borders of his control.
The stereo blared on. Outside, the heat rose in waves. It didn't matter. Nothing mattered but them and what they could give each other.
She rolled over him, arms and legs snaking out to hold him close. Agile and desperate, she arched to take him into her. When their sanity shattered, then reformed, they were still together.
Limp, drained, glowing, Maddy lowered herself to him. Her skin was damp and seemed to fuse naturally with his. She could hear his heartbeat through the dull buzzing in her head. When his hand came to stroke her back, she closed her eyes and surrendered everything.
"Oh, Reed, I love you."
At first she was too caught up in her own dream to feel the stiffening of his body beneath hers. She was too giddy to notice the quick tensing of his fingers on her back. But gradually her mind cleared. Maddy kept her eyes closed a moment longer, knowing that now the words had been said they couldn't be taken back.
"I'm sorry." She took a last long breath and looked up. His expression was shuttered. Though they were still tangled together, he'd distanced himself. "I'm not sorry I said it, or that I feel it, I'm sorry you don't want it."
He told himself that the rush of feeling was regret, not hope. "Maddy, I don't believe in catchphrases, or the need for them."
"Catchphrases." She shook her head as if to clear it. "You consider 'I love you' a catchphrase?"
"What else?" Taking her by the shoulders, he shifted them both until they were sitting. "Maddy, we have something good between us. Let's not cover it with comfortable lies."
What she swallowed wasn't bitterness but hurt. "I don't lie, Reed."
Something moved inside him, something warm. He didn't quite recognize it as another surge of hope before he forced it back. "Fantasize, then."
Her voice was quiet, not quite steady, when she spoke again. "You don't believe I could love you?"
"Love's just a word." He rolled out of bed, grabbing his robe again. "It exists, certainly. Father to son, mother to daughter, brother to sister. When it comes to a man and woman, there are things like attraction, infatuation, even obsession. They come and go, Maddy."
She could only stay where she was and stare at him. "You don't really believe that."
"I know it." He cut her off so sharply she flinched. He regretted his harshness instantly, but he swallowed the regret. "People come together because they want something from each other. They stay together until they want something from someone else. While they're together they make promises they don't intend to keep and say things they don't mean. Because it's expected. I have no expectations."
Suddenly cold, she drew the sheet up. To Reed, she looked terribly young and small and vulnerable. "I've never told another man that I loved him. I don't suppose that matters."
He couldn't let it. There was no way to explain it to her. "I don't want the words, Maddy." He walked to the window, his back to her. Why should he hurt? he wondered. He was only speaking the truth. "I can't give them back to you."
"Why, I wonder." Determined not to cry, she pressed the heels of her hands against her eyes for a moment. "What was it that happened to lock off your emotions, Reed? What's made you so hell-bent to stay untouched? I said I loved you." Her voice rose as she allowed the fury to overwhelm the pain. "I'm not ashamed of it. I didn't say it to pull some sort of declaration from you. It's simply the truth. You're looking for lies where there aren't any."
She wouldn't lose her temper, she told herself as she drew breath in and out