THE FIRE STILL BURNS

by Roxanne St Claire

  I want you.

  In fact, she'd never stopped wanting him.

  And now it was time to pick up exactly where they'd left off.

  * * *

  The ice-cold shower helped. At least it eased the incapacitating physical response that had made it difficult for Colin to walk back into the house. Good Lord, who knew Grace Harrington could torture a man like some kind of wanton lap-dance queen? She had no freaking idea how sexy she was.

  He twisted the cold-water spout and reached for the towel he'd left hanging over the shower door, giving his hair a quick swipe, and then wrapping the towel around his waist. He'd never sleep. If he did, he'd wake up … hard and unsatisfied.

  How the hell was he supposed to live in this house for the better part of three more weeks? He picked up his toothpaste, used his brush to flick off the hard crust at the top and squeezed a clump on the bristles. What were his options?

  Options? Oh, yeah. They were plentiful.

  He outlined a list while he brushed. He could spend the next three weeks taking hourly cold showers. He could convince her to abandon her values and morals for a quick, but desperately needed, roll in the proverbial hay. He could go find another woman and pretend it was Gracie.

  The last one made his stomach lurch.

  Nope, none of these options had the remotest chance of success. What could he do? He stared in the mirror, his brush frozen, toothpaste foaming around his lips.

  He could love her. Marry her. Spend the rest of his life basking in the glow of Gracie.

  He nearly choked, spitting hard in the sink.

  Get real, McGrath. Even if he suddenly did a one-eighty and decided to take a chance on the unthinkable, she'd prove him right and run like hell the minute she saw the humble house he'd grown up in on Brownsville Road

  . They were from different stratospheres.

  He picked up the tube of toothpaste and stared at it, crushed in the middle and speckled with dried paste. Of course, if his blue-collar background didn't scare her off, no doubt his personal habits would do the trick the first time she took a good look around his bathroom.

  He began a cursory search for the lid, but abandoned it, dropping the toothpaste on the counter before heading to bed. In the bedroom, he flicked the towel off, let it fall at his feet, then snapped off the desk lamp. He considered closing the drapes against the moon that bathed the room in an eerie half light, but then he'd sleep late and he wanted to run in the morning.

  Sleep? Right. As if he could sleep knowing she was across the hall. In her bed. Wearing nothing but—

  He froze, the sheet suspended in air as he was about to get into bed.

  Wearing nothing but his old CMU T-shirt and a smile.

  He knew he was gawking, knew he was naked in front of her, but he was helpless to move. Time and space and atoms suspended around him. He couldn't think. Couldn't fathom what was happening.

  A drop of shower water from his hair snaked down his back as he leaned just a little bit closer to be sure this wasn't your basic mirage.

  Nope. It was real. Gracie was in his bed, tucked so far down into the covers he'd almost missed her.

  "I think you took a wrong turn, honey," he finally said, sliding into the bed beside her before she saw the effects of a cold shower disappear, and the effects of Gracie return full force. "This is my room."

  "I know where I am."

  He turned on his side, not touching her, but not quite ready to kick her out, either. "You do?"

  She nodded.

  "Do you know what you're doing here?"

  She nodded again, her eyes wide and glinting with a wicked spark.

  Oh, man. She wanted love. She wanted love. She wanted love.

  The mantra wasn't working. He just grew harder and then … he touched her sleeve.

  "Nice jammies."

  "I'm returning this to you."

  He grinned. "It's about time."

  "Of course, if you want it back," she said with a surprisingly provocative smile, "you'll have to take it off me."

  His gut tightened. His throat closed. His brain shut down and another organ happily seized control. Take it off her?

  Oh, man.

  He took a long, deep breath, fighting every cell in his body that wanted to smother her with kisses and end this agony by pounding himself into her. Take it off her?

  "You really don't know what you're doing, Gracie. You don't want to do this."

  "Yes, I do." The look in her eyes was pure honesty. Deep forest-green and as hungry as he felt, yes, but she was telling the truth.

  "You want love," he ground out. Didn't she? "You told me you were waiting for your first true love."

  She reached over and lifted a strand of his hair, then twirled it around her finger. "I want you, Colin McGrath. I've been waiting for you."

  Humor and control and good old-fashioned morals vaporized in the face of that declaration.

  She wanted him. "Are you sure?"

  "I've never been more certain of anything in my life."

  She thought she was sure. But, tomorrow, how would she feel? Once she'd experienced this, would she still want him as much? What if that look of pure desire disappeared after she'd lost her virginity, only to be replaced by that icy protective shell she'd wrapped herself in last time they woke up together?

  Could he take that risk?

  Could he not?

  "Are you sure, Gracie?" he forced himself to ask her again. "Are you absolutely, positively certain that you won't regret this and hate me in the morning?"

  She let out a tiny, surprised laugh. "I thought I was supposed to be the one who worried about that."

  "You never have to worry about that, Gracie. I could never hate you. I—I—" He what?

  Before he could complete the thought, she slithered into his body, flattened her palms on the planes of his chest and pressed herself against the full length of him. His breath caught at the incredible sensation of her bare legs against his. Silky. Her legs were like long, tight ribbons of silk wrapping around him.

  He ran his hands down her back, grazing the T-shirt—his shirt that she'd kept for ten years—until he reached … bare skin.

  She had nothing on under it. Nothing. The flesh of her backside was so soft, so indescribably smooth, he moaned as he curled his fingers into her, loving the feel of satin skin over her tight muscles.

  "I hope you know what you're doing, Miss Harrington." He guided her onto her back and balanced himself above her, supporting his weight by placing his arms on either side, trapping her under him. But she wasn't trapped. He'd given her every opportunity to change her mind. However, his superhuman restraint was damn near gone. "'Cause I am officially about to break some rules."

  She just looked at him, that brash little grin back in place. "Good. I've had all the rules I need for one lifetime."

  His mouth came down on hers with more force than he'd intended, but she sucked his tongue as her hips rose against him. She tasted like the spearmint of his toothpaste and smelled like flowery soap and lemon shampoo. And the sexy tang of female moisture.

  At the thought, his erection jammed between her legs and a panicked breath escaped her.

  "Don't worry, don't worry," he reassured her with a flutter of kisses, lifting himself a bit. He wiped her cheek where a drip of water from his hair drizzled, grateful it wasn't a tear. "I'm only losing control, not my mind. I know this is your first time." He had to find some measure of discipline and take this easy. He couldn't hurt her. Not after she'd trusted him.

  "We'll go nice and slow," he promised. Kneeling over her, he fluttered the bottom of the T-shirt. "By the way, you look really cute in this."

  "Thanks."

  "Now let's get rid of it."

  He raised the shirt, thanking God he hadn't closed the drapes. He wanted light. He wanted to drink in the sight of her. As he lifted the material, he saw a honey-blond triangle of hair and the most deliciously concave dip in her stomach. His jaw slackened at the sight,
but he continued to undress her, drinking in the sexy curve of her hips and her tiny waist. Her body trembled under his gaze, and he looked up at her, noticing the wonder and doubt in her eyes.

  And then it hit him. No one had ever seen her before, either. She was for his eyes only. He struggled with a ragged breath, as he exposed her beautiful breasts, small and round and, magically, as elegant as she was. He finally guided the shirt over her head, his mouth practically watering to taste and suckle her.

  She took the T-shirt from his hand and threw it over his shoulder to the floor, eliciting a surprised laugh from him.

  "Oh, no. I've created a monster," he said, kissing her eyelids, her cheeks, her lips and throat.

  But she just arched into him and pushed his head lower. He took one dark-pink nipple into his mouth and began to suck gently, licking it to a hardened tip, then devouring it again. His hand covered her other breast, kneading the delicate flesh, grazing the peak with his palm. Her hips had developed a rhythm of their own, rising and falling, rocking and pushing against him, rubbing his shaft with each heart-stopping contact.

  He took her hand and guided it between them. "Touch me, Gracie." As her fingers wrapped around him, he closed his eyes and groaned softly. She could barely encircle him and the thought made him instantly harder. And scared. Would he hurt her?

  He would be so careful. He would. But now he quaked and stiffened in her hand, burying his face in her hair and covering her with hot, insistent kisses. Lovingly, effortlessly, she stroked him. He lifted his head and their gazes locked, a million tender, unspoken words passing between them.

  Her hand curved around the tip of him, gliding over the slick surface. "I want you to be inside me, Colin."

  The amazing honor of it struck him again, and he longed to promise her to be worthy of this.

  Closing his eyes, he gently kissed her. "Thank you," he whispered into her mouth. "I'll take care of you."

  He deepened the kiss, tracing her teeth with his tongue, sucking gently on her bottom lip. He touched her everywhere he could reach, letting his hands take a torturously slow journey over her skin, filling himself with the pleasure of feeling Gracie under him. He suckled her breasts again, holding each in one hand and nuzzling his face in her cleavage just to inhale the sweet fragrance of her sweat-dampened body. He licked her tummy, kissed her hipbones and paused to worship her navel.

  With each caress, each kiss, her fingers buried deeper into his hair. Blood coursed through his body at a wild rate, singing and screaming so loudly he could barely hear her murmurs of appreciation and pleas for more.

  Once again, he leaned above her, and carefully nudged her legs apart. Holding her gaze, he curled his fingers into the soft tuft between her legs.

  She closed her eyes and sucked in an uneven breath, then relaxed to let him tease the slick folds of her skin. She quivered and squeezed against his finger, making the achy need to be inside her suddenly so primal and driving, he couldn't breathe.

  But he had to take her at a pace she could handle. Not the one his body was demanding. He whispered her name, coaxing her along. "Do you like that, honey?"

  She nodded, a helpless, faraway look on her face as he felt her body begin its complete surrender.

  He slipped one finger inside her and she rocked into it, muttering a plea for more. He kissed her mouth, matching the strokes of his finger with his tongue. His shaft pulsed against her leg as he opened her wider and tenderly inserted two fingers.

  She tightened as a tremor vibrated her swollen flesh. She turned her head to one side, then the other, breathing his name. He had her at the edge, ready to shatter. Ready for him.

  "Gracie, are you sure you want me to be the first one?"

  "Yes, yes, please." The subtle break in her voice nearly did him in. "Colin."

  He eased his fingers out of her and embraced her tightly, fighting the sucker punch of emotion that ricocheted through him. "Promise me, Gracie," he whispered. "You won't hate me tomorrow."

  She moaned a half laugh and shifted into him, enveloping his erection with her thighs. "I promise, Colin. No hate. No tomorrow. Just, please. Don't stop."

  She arched her back, forcing the tip of his penis into her slick folds.

  "Wait." He eased off her to open the drawer of the nightstand and she groaned in frustration, making him smile. "I was actually prepared for this," he said softly, grabbing a foil-wrapped condom he'd bought the day he'd moved to the carriage house. Before he knew he'd be her first.

  "You were?"

  "I didn't know—" He shook his head, unable to discuss anything coherently. "Later, honey. I'll tell you later. I'm gonna die if I don't make love to you."

  Make love? Is that what they were doing?

  It sure felt like it to him.

  He rolled the clear sheath over his erection, then he levered himself on top of her. "I want this to be so amazing for you, Gracie," he said as his shaft found its natural home at her opening. "But you might—it might hurt."

  "Shh. It's already amazing." She lifted herself again, and he inched into her. "It doesn't—" She bit her lip and looked at him, a flash of pain and surprise in her eyes as he felt her flesh stretch to accommodate him.

  He started to back out. "Oh, Gracie, I'm sorry."

  But she shook her head furiously, grabbing his buttocks and pushing him back inside her. "Don't stop. It's okay. I want all of you, Colin."

  Her words—her honest pleas—were too much for him. A white light exploded in his head and he burrowed deeper into her, giving in to the clutch that controlled his body.

  He heard her gasp and he tried to stop moving again, but she wrapped her legs around his hips and rocked against him until he was fully hilted, her hot, taut opening enveloping him.

  Calling out at the intense shock of pleasure, he froze for a second, waiting for her reaction.

  "Don't stop." She mouthed the words, apparently unable to find her voice, as she guided him in and out, refusing to allow a pause in their dance. With each gradually increasing stroke, her breathing steadied, her grasp relaxed and her expression transformed from surprise to arousal to mindless pleasure.

  He and Gracie were finally connected.

  The thought squeezed his heart. He drove into her with more confidence and abandon, letting their perfect synchronization increase in speed, as their slick, heated bodies entwined and their breathing grew rough and loud. They clung to each other, riding an unstoppable wave to the same place.

  Sweat stung his eyes and he squeezed them closed, clenching his jaw as the pressure built up to something wildly close to pain. His lower back tingled and tightened, he was bursting with the need to explode.

  Gracie's fingertips impaled his arms and her legs tightened in a vise grip around his hips.

  Her flesh squeezed and spasmed around him, her eyes fluttered, and she sunk her teeth into her lower lip as she finally, blessedly lost all control. She slammed against him again and again and again, thundering with an orgasm, just as his own unrelenting need for release obliterated everything but the insane, impossible reality of losing himself inside Gracie.

  * * *

  Nine

  « ^ »

  A vague awareness of déjà vu floated over Grace before she was fully awake. She'd been in this place before. Involuntarily, she steeled herself against the inevitable fleeting terror, followed by the nauseating sense of self-loathing.

  She opened her eyes, and squinted into the early rays of dawn. Without moving a muscle, her gaze slid to the floor and landed on the T-shirt, inside out, balled up next to the bed. The impulse to dive out of bed to right that wrong was stopped dead by the powerful arm locked around her stomach. And the hard, unyielding body that curled into her back.

  Colin.

  She closed her eyes again and waited. Terror. Self-loathing. Nausea. Directly ahead.

  But there was … none.

  No terror at all. On the contrary, she felt wrapped in a veritable envelope of safety. She didn't loathe
anyone. In fact, a surging of goodwill for all mankind tingled in her chest. Nausea? The only thing going on in her tummy was … oh. That delicious achy, twisty, pulsing thing that happened every time she was in the same room as Colin McGrath.

  Her first lover.

  She closed her eyes and remembered the long marvelous night they'd shared. She thought of how he'd brought a warm, damp washcloth to the bed after they'd made love and held it between her legs. There'd only been a few streaks of blood, and the pain was minimal. But his caring had touched her beyond description.

  And when he woke her in the middle of the night, his kisses had covered her body so thoroughly she thought she'd scream into the darkness, as he suckled her into an incredible vortex of another orgasm with his mouth and tongue and magical hands. Then they'd made love so slowly and so tenderly, she'd had to fight tears as he released himself inside her, repeating her name like some kind of prayer.

  This wasn't the love she'd been holding out for, she reminded herself. But she hadn't sold out. She hadn't. It might not be love, but it was the most satisfying thing she'd ever experienced.

  He stirred behind her, shifting his position. "Tell me something, Gracie." His lips seared her shoulder with a kiss. "What made you change your mind?"

  She turned slowly in his arms, closing her eyes and adding a sleepy, throaty moan, prepared to feign slumber rather than answer questions that she … couldn't answer. He pulled her directly into his chest, surprising her with the steady—and rapid—beat of his heart. Not the thumping she'd felt against her when they made love. This was more like … anxiety? The possibility that anything, anything at all, could scare Colin filled her with the strangest sense of wonder.

  She fluttered her eyes open. "Oh. Hi." She smiled, amazed again at how handsome he was, his morning stubble and sleepy eyes as sexy as his post-shower sleekness the night before. "Did you say something?"

  His look told her he wasn't the least bit taken in by her act. "You heard me."

  She mentally rummaged through a dozen possible responses, discarding each. What could she tell him? That a piece of her heart had broken off when he'd kissed his ailing grandmother's hand? That she'd just grown tired of clinging to some arbitrary rule she'd made up after she'd been hurt in college? That he'd simply sucked all common sense out of her brain and wakened a woman who'd been asleep for twenty-eight years?