She had to tell him how she felt about him. Now, before it was too late, before she locked the feelings back in her heart and never found the courage to release them again.
"Killian, I ..." She froze, unable to say the words. What if he laughed? What if he didn't say it back? It had happened so often in her youth, back when she'd thrown the special words around like cheap trinkets. Never once had she heard them in return.
He touched her cheek with his thumb. "What, Lainie?"
She stared at him, gave a tiny, hesitant shake of her head.
"What were you going to say?"
/ love you. I love you. I love you. The words chased themselves around in her head until she was breathless and dizzy. She felt the moment slipping away, felt the opportunity God had given her begin to dissolve. She had to do something now to keep it together.
Her body. She could use her body to show him how much she cared.
She felt a heartbeat's hesitation. She'd tried this very same tactic a hundred times in her life, tried to get what she needed from a man by giving him what he wanted, the only thing of value she had to offer. Her body. But it had never worked.
This time will be different, she thought desperately. Killian hadn't asked for anything from her. This time,
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for the first time, she was giving herself to a man because she loved him. Maybe it wouldn't matter even if he didn't love her in return. Maybe, just this once, it would be enough that she loved him-----
She came at him like a runaway train. Killian barely had time to brace himself before her body slammed into his. He skidded back against the tent pole.
She landed sprawled on top of him and curled her arms around his body, clutching him.
"Jesus, La�"
Her lips hit his in a punishing kiss. He tried to regain his balance, but she was all over him, kissing him, holding him, molding her body to his.
She kissed his mouth, his cheeks, his eyes, anywhere and everywhere. He heard the broken, ragged strains of her breath, felt the erratic thumping of her heart against his chest. Her kisses were fast and furious and without any intimacy at all.
He held himself back from her, but she didn't seem to notice. She was like a drunkard, consuming compulsively, without regard for the taste of the liquor at all. Someone desperate to get drunk.
He took hold of her shoulders. "Slow down, Lainie."
She made a choked, sobbing sound and pressed her lips to his forehead. "Don't push me away," she whispered hoarsely.
He touched the back of her head, held her to him. "I'm not pushing you away, Lainie. But you're not ... you're not letting me in."
She drew back. "If I was doing it wrong, I can do it differently. Give me a chance." Her voice was raw, steeped in a pathetic desperation that tore through him, made him ache for the life that had done this to her.
He tightened his hold on her shoulders. "This isn't what I want from you, Lainie."
"You . . . you don't want to have sex with me?" Her lower lip trembled. He could see that she was fighting back tears.
"Not this way."
She looked away, stared hard at the tent's shimmering canvas wall. "This is the only way I know."
"I know that." He touched her cheek gently. "Will you trust me?"
She laughed; it was a watery, hiccuping sound. "Does it involve handcuffs?"
"Lainie," he said quietly, waiting an eternity for her to look at him. When she did, the fear and uncertainty in her gaze almost broke his heart. "Trust me," he said again, more softly.
She went so still that for a moment, she appeared to have stopped breathing. Then, slowly, she nodded. "I do trust you, Killian."
At her softly spoken words, he felt a surge of love so raw, so elemental, that for a second he couldn't breathe. He knew that whatever happened in his life, whatever twists and turns it took, he would never forget this moment, never forget the courage of this woman who was so desperately afraid and yet strong enough to go beyond that fear. It gave him a sense of coming home at last, of finding the woman he'd searched for all his life. It wouldn't be like it had been with Emily. Lainie would always survive.
His throat felt tight when he spoke. "I won't hurt you. I swear to God I won't."
She gave him a sad, knowing look. "You know, Killian, Viloula said I was here because I had a lesson to learn, and I think I've just learned it."
"What is it?"
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"You might hurt me. Even if you don't mean to. But . . . I'm willing to take that risk." She looked down at him, and this time there was no fear or uncertainty in her eyes, there was only the reflection of her inner strength and her determination. She gave him a quick, nervous smile, then bit down on her lower lip. "I've never taken it before, but with you ... I want to."
Their gazes met, held, and he felt for a dizzying second as if he were falling. The darkened world spiraled away from them, left them alone in a universe all their own. He stared up into her face, seeing the courage it took for her to trust him, and the truth of how he felt about her washed over him in a sudden, unexpected wave. He loved her.
He wanted to say the words to her, ached to say them, but something held him back. Maybe it was the look in her eyes, the sadness and fear and uncertainty, maybe it was his own troubled past. He didn't know, and for the moment, he didn't care.
For now, it was enough simply to be with her, to see her tenuous smile and know it was for him. For now, it was enough simply to love her.
Chapter Twenty-three
She leaned forward slowly, with a virginal hesitancy that made his blood race. The amethyst caught what little light there was and reflected it in a thousand purple and white shards.
At the touch of her lips, so soft and uncertain, Killian felt a rush of heat through his body. He cupped her small-boned face in his big, rough hands and marveled at the texture of her skin, at the velvety feel of the hair that brushed his fingertips.
Gently he drew her onto his lap and pulled her legs around his body. Her bare feet locked behind him, her arms coiled around his neck. He felt the heaviness of her butt pressing into his groin, and he wanted to caress her, explore her body, but he didn't allow himself to. Not yet. He wanted to give Lainie everything there was in him to give, and to do that, he had to let her take it as she would.
He sat perfectly still, ignoring the throbbing heat of desire, letting her control the kiss.
She made a small sound like an indrawn breath and kissed him harder. Her arms tightened around him, drew him against the round softness of her breasts. The dust and sunshine scent of her filled his nostrils, reminded him with every breath that he was with Lainie, only
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Lainie, and it seemed as if he'd been waiting a lifetime for her.
He buried his hands in her cropped hair, feeling the short, silky strands push between his fingers. He deepened the kiss, drove his tongue into the moist sweetness of her mouth, tasting, exploring. A hot flame speared through his heart, made it difficult to breathe. His groin swelled and ached. He made a sound like a low, throaty groan of pain.
She drew back. "D-Did I do something wrong?"
The look she gave him was so innocent, he wanted to burst out laughing. The truth of her past was right there in her face, in the hint of a frown that pulled at her brow, in the hesitant downturned corners of her mouth. She could say she'd been "bad" from now until forever, but after this moment, he'd always know the truth. In her soul, where such things mattered, Lainie was as virginal as a girl. Her body may have been used and abused and violated, but no man had ever reached beyond her body and touched her spirit.
"You didn't do anything wrong," he said softly, kissing her. Her lips clung to his as he pulled back. He stayed just close enough to feel her breath against his mouth. "What should we do now?"
She yanked backward. "Jesus, don't tell me you're a virgin."
He chuckled. "Yeah, Lainie, I was saving myself for you."
<
br /> "Ha. Ha. Well, what do you mean, then? You know what to do."
"Maybe I want to do what you want to do."
"I-I don't know what to do." She blushed. "I mean, beyond the basics, you know. Tab A into slot B. The ... men I've slept with were bigger on time reduction than technique."
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"Not this time, Lainie. We have all the time in the world. Why don't we start by getting undressed?"
Her eyes bulged. "It's daylight. I ... I was thinking we could just unbutton our jeans this morning. Then, tonight�"
He kissed her into silence and eased the sweater off her shoulders. The thick red fabric slid down her arms and puddled across her lap. She shivered and tried to draw back.
He held her in place. "Uh-uh, Lainie. Relax."
"I am relaxed."
"I don't think so."
"I-I never was any good at this."
He slid the sweater back up her body, slowly, his hands gliding along the smoothness of her skin. She raised limp arms and closed her eyes as he pulled it off her head and tossed it beside him. Then she crossed her arms and stiffened.
He took hold of her wrists and drew her arms toward him. She resisted for a heartbeat, then shivered violently and let her arms drop to her sides. And still she didn't open her eyes.
Early dawn filtered through the dark green canvas of the tent walls and touched her skin, twined through her black hair in shimmering blue waves. Her flesh looked almost translucent in the glow. The slender curve of her throat was all softness and cream, touchable. So touchable.
"Look at me, Lainie."
She opened her eyes slowly, stared down into his. The thick darkness of her lashes cast shadows on her cheeks. He traced a finger up the naked expanse of her stomach, between her bound breasts, and up the curl of her throat, feeling the fluttering beat of her pulse. Using only the tip of his finger, he traced the
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outline of her black undergarment. What had she called it�a bra?
She shivered and closed her eyes again.
A thousand gentle words rose in his throat. He wanted to tell her how beautiful she was, how easy it was to lose himself in her eyes and her touch and her kiss, but he wasn't a man who'd used those words in his life, and he found now that they were difficult to say. There was a breathlessness in him, a building need that made him want to hold her and feel himself inside her.
"Jesus, Lainie," he said in a cracked, hoarse voice. "You're so goddamn beautiful." He winced at his words, wishing he knew how to be poetic, how to do justice to the emotion that swelled in his heart and made it burst wide open.
She sat there like a frightened virgin, trusting and yet afraid. He knew that she wanted him, wanted him perhaps as much as he wanted her right now, but her life had been as hollow and empty as his had been, and she was still, even now, afraid to reach for what she wanted.
If only she knew how much he needed her. Not as a body beneath him or even as a woman beside him. He needed her in the darkness of his soul to put a light where none had ever been before.
He leaned forward and kissed her. He tried to make it gentle and loving, but when his lips touched hers, something inside him exploded. He wrapped his arms around her and dragged her against him, wanting to merge their bodies, their souls. A low, gravelly groan lodged in his throat.
She met his kiss, coiled her slim arms around his neck. His tongue pushed past her lips, parting them. She made a quiet, gasping sound and let him in, tightening
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her arms around him. Her fingers were trembling against his back; he felt the flutter softness of the movement against his shirt. Using his tongue and hands, he coaxed her, urged her to feel some hint of the desire that flooded his senses.
She responded, shyly at first, then with the first strains of passion. The flicker of her moist tongue against his wrenched through his self-control.
"Take off my shirt, Lainie," he whispered harshly against her lips.
She hesitated, then brought her trembling fingers to his shirt and unbuttoned it. He shrugged out of it and tossed it aside. They came together again, harder, naked flesh against near naked flesh. The damp heat of her body melted against his, until he couldn't tell where she ended and he began. The peaks of her breasts pushed through the stretchable fabric of her bra, the hardened tips scored his chest in pinpricks of fire.
He dragged her against him and rolled her over, pressing her into the fleecy pile of the sleeping bag. She lay on her back, looking up at him through dazed, passion-darkened eyes. He kissed her again, deeply, letting his tongue communicate all the poetic, romantic notions he couldn't speak.
She made a soft, breathy sound and curled her arms around him, arching up against him. Again he felt the teasing hardness of her nipples brush his chest.
Slow down, Killian. He took a ragged breath and fought for control. He wanted to wrench her bra off and bury himself in the softness of her breasts, lose himself inside her.
Shaking, he pulled back and kissed her chin, her cheeks, her temples. His lips lingered at the velvety curve of her ear, nibbled at the lobe. She quivered at the moist contact and moved restlessly beneath him. The
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artless, seductive movement jolted him, sent a new spear of desire shooting to his groin.
With effort, he confined his kisses to her throat, tasting, dragging the tip of his tongue down her neck, along the golden chain of the necklace. He kissed her pulse, feeling the throb of her life against his sensitive lips.
He moved downward, letting his face glide between her breasts, but not touching them, to the warm surface of her stomach. He kissed the hard, pronounced lines of her ribs and tickled her navel with his tongue.
She clutched his head, tried to draw him up. He resisted her pressure and moved downward, flicking open the copper rivets of her Levi's.
She squirmed a little, tried harder to draw him up. "No ... Killian, no . .."
He took hold of her pants and dragged them down her thighs, easing them off her feet. Tossing them away, he removed her knee-length stockings. He kissed his way back up her calves, over the hard ball of her knee, up the tender softness of her inner thigh. She moved restlessly beneath him, making breathy, gasping sounds above his head.
He skimmed his lips across the strange cotton drawers that clung to her body like a second skin. A dark shadow of hair made a mound in the taut fabric, taunting him with images of what lay beneath. He eased the skimpy drawers down her legs. They were as light as air and he flung them over his shoulder like a flag of surrender.
A small bluish design marked the pale skin beside her pelvic bone. He frowned, looking at it.
"It's a tattoo," she said in a breathy voice, trying to cover it with her hands.
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He pushed her hands away, fascinated. It was a small blue figure eight lying on its side. "What is it?"
She forced a thin laugh. "It's the symbol for infinity. I got it when I was about thirteen. Another mistake."
He leaned over and kissed it, trailed his tongue along the swirling ink marks. "Maybe not."
She shivered and clutched his shoulders, driving her short, sharp nails into his flesh. Her body stiffened, her legs slammed together. "Come up now."
He lifted his head to look at her.
She lay tense and still, breathing fast. Her eyes were wide with a remnant of some old, never forgotten fear; they looked deep and dark and fathomless next to the fragile porcelain of her skin. Her lips were puffy and swollen from his kisses.
He gave her a slow, steady smile and waited for one in return.
Nervously she wet her lower lip and tried to smile. It was a quick, wobbly curving of the mouth that vanished almost before it existed. She stared at him, her gaze focused and intense, her arms pressed against her sides. Her breasts dipped and rose with each quick, ragged breath she took.
He moved up and kissed her collarbone, trailing hot, moist kisses along the hollow of flesh beneath. Gently he slipped t
wo fingers underneath the remarkably resilient fabric of her bra, gliding his fingers along her skin. Goose bumps followed his caress, giving her skin a new, erotic texture. He eased the fabric over her head and dropped it beside her.
She swallowed hard and stared up at him.
He looked down at her, let his gaze slide down her throat and loiter at the round swell of her breasts, the pebbly pinkness of her nipples.
She was so beautiful, she took his breath away. Deep
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inside, a longing started, swelled into an ache. He knew with sudden certainty that they had been brought together for a reason, this reason, and that he would love this woman all the days of his life.
He swept her into his embrace and kissed her deeply, wrapping his arms around her naked body and dragging her close. He felt the softness of her skin against his, the tentative touch of her fingers at his back.
Desire surged through him like a lightning bolt, electrifying his body. He made a sound that was half frustrated groan, half sigh, and cupped her bottom with his hands, molding her body to his. Her feet slipped around his legs and locked. The moist heat of her mound pressed against his hardness.
Their kiss turned as hot and fevered as their bodies. He pulled back slightly, breathlessly, and trailed desperate kisses down her throat to her breasts. At the touch of his tongue, she shivered and arched toward him. He brought one hand up and kneaded her firm breasts, suckled one hard, pink tip, drawing it deeper and deeper into his mouth.
She made a quiet, gasping sound of pleasure and fell back from him, stretching out on the sleeping bag. He played with her breasts, taunting, teasing, bringing the nipples to straining hardness with his teeth and tongue. Then he moved his hand over the soft curve of her stomach to the silky triangle of hair between her legs.
She tried to squeeze her legs together.
"Relax, Lainie," he whispered hoarsely, "trust me."
She let out a shuddering breath and let her legs relax.
His fingers pushed through her hair, dropped lower, searching, seeking.
She moaned and moved restlessly against him. "Oh, God, Killian."
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At the sound of his name, so drugged with passion, Killian felt himself swell with need. It was a sharp, driving pain in his groin. He drew her nipple into his mouth and sucked it hard.
His fingers moved against her mound, through the thick thatch of damp hair, against the velvet-soft core of her desire. With a groaning sigh, he slipped his finger inside, felt the slick moisture of her need and the tight grip of her body.
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