by Nancy Warren
He shrugged and leaned back in his chair to stare at the curving glitter of moon and the few scattered stars. “Marriage isn’t for me. Doesn’t mean it doesn’t work for some people.”
Sadness trickled through her. His words were matter-of-fact, but she sensed his seeming nonchalance blocked a heap of pain. Somebody had hurt him, and hurt him bad.
“Ready for coffee and dessert?”
She hesitated. It was barely ten. She couldn’t leave now. “I’m too full for dessert. I’ll do the dishes while you make the coffee.”
“Deal.”
She rinsed and put the plates and cutlery in the dishwasher, realizing that Luke was a much neater cook than she was. Once the coffee had brewed, she hesitated about going back outside. But that couch brought back memories that gave her a hot combination of embarrassment and desire.
He took the decision away from her by saying, “Come on. I want to show you something.”
Taking her hand, he led her toward a door. Since their apartments were identical, she knew what was behind it.
“That’s your bedroom.”
“I know. It’s where I keep my computer. I was hoping you’d read the passage in my book that I told you about. Let me know if the psychiatrist’s dialogue sounds like something a woman would say.”
This was either the cheesiest excuse she’d ever heard to get a woman into his bedroom or he actually wanted her to read a bit of his novel, which was fascinating, and possibly a window into how Luke felt about women.
But did she really want to go into his bedroom?
11
SHARI DECIDED TO be perfectly grown-up and professional about the fact that Luke’s desk was in his bedroom. She’d simply ignore the bed and see only the office part of the room. She really wanted a peek at the novel after hearing him talk about it. She was curious. Was it any good?
Her skirt felt as heavy as armor as they walked through the doorway. Of course, as in most bedrooms, his bed dominated the room. The duvet was navy-and-black plaid. Kind of Ralph-Lauren-meets-hunter’s-sleeping-bag lining—very masculine. The pillow cases, and presumably the sheets, were also navy, but she got the feeling he hadn’t tried to match them, it was more that he liked the color.
The bed and an old oak highboy were pushed off-center to make room for his office, such as it was—a black computer desk, a floor-to-ceiling bookcase and a file cabinet, all scrupulously neat. He was a lot tidier than she.
While she inspected his room, noting he had a lot of her favorite authors in his bookcase as well as reference books, grammar primers and dictionaries, he booted up his computer and called up the file of his novel. She glanced at the page total. “Wow. Three hundred pages.”
“It’s only a rough draft,” he explained, his diffident side showing again.
She smiled at the back of his head, and noticed that his dark brown hair was starting to curl over his collar. He needed a haircut, but she sort of liked his unkempt style. It suited him.
“Here you go,” he said. “It’s just this scene.” He stood and offered her the seat.
She took the computer chair and began to read.
Jenkins lit a cigarette from the butt of the one burning his fingers. He noted with casual contempt that both hands shook, hampering the simple procedure. Claire sat, still and composed, hands clasped on top of her prescription pad. He’d have to remind her to order him more sleeping pills.
“Say something, dammit. I asked you to marry me. If it’s no, say so. Let’s get it over with.”
She stared at him, as cool and untouchable as the Madonnas in the cathedrals his ma dragged him to when he was a kid.
“It’s no.” He didn’t have to remind her about the pills. She stared at him until he wanted to break something, then quietly wrote the prescription. Unlike all the other shrinks who’d treated him, she didn’t scrawl illegible symbols on the pad, but took her time, writing in flowing cursive the full name of the drug and the amount of oblivion he could have.
When she held it out to him he tried to snatch it from her, but she stopped him, laying a hand against his cheek. “I’m sorry.”
The funny thing was that, at the time, he believed her.
Shari continued reading, amazed at how quickly Luke’s story pulled her in, even though the scene was from somewhere in the middle of the book. She read rapidly, immediately caught up in the dilemma of the troubled cop and his psychiatrist.
She was vaguely aware of Luke pacing behind her.
She read about ten pages before Luke’s hand settled atop hers, stopping her. She glanced up to where he stood over her. “That’s it? That’s all I can read?”
“Yeah. It’s the part that’s bothering me. What do you think?”
“I want to read more. This is only enough to tease me.”
“But is that how a woman would react? How, say, you would react?”
“If a man asked me to marry him, I hope I wouldn’t be as cold. But since I don’t know the rest of the story, it’s hard to understand her motivation.”
She went back and read the opening of the scene again, slowly, seeing hints she’d missed on the first read. “This isn’t about her. It’s all about him. Maybe that’s why she’s turned him down. Look at the way he describes her. He’s not looking for a lover, he sees her as a maternal figure. He likens her to the Madonnas his mother took him to see. With the psychiatrist’s desk and prescription pad, she represents authority. And what’s he doing? Chain-smoking. He knows damn well you can’t smoke in a hospital. He’s being a naughty boy, pushing her away even as he needs her.”
“A mother figure?” Luke asked in amazement.
“Well, that’s the way I’m reading it. And I’m guessing she sees through him, too. Does she love him?” She shrugged. “Maybe. I haven’t read enough. But I’m guessing he needs to love her as a man loves a woman, not as a child loves his mother or as a patient looks up to his shrink.” She sent him a half smile. “He’s a fascinating guy, Luke. Are you sure I can’t read some more?”
He was smiling at her, white teeth gleaming, the cleft in his chin shadowed. “And you’re a fascinating woman.” Even as she opened her mouth to reply, he leaned forward, slipped a hand behind her head and covered her mouth with his.
A breathy murmur broke from her as she tried to remember why this was a bad idea. The feel of Luke’s lips teasing hers, warm and sure, broke her concentration. Her mind might have some vague ideas about saying no, but her entire body was screaming, yes.
He swiveled the chair until her knees bumped his, then deepened the kiss. She threw her arms around his neck, pulling him against her. Whatever his other shortcomings, the man could surely kiss. In fact, the man tonight was totally unlike the man she knew. Except, of course, for the odd glimpse of vulnerability that reminded her he was there—like a homely undershirt peeking out from the neck of a designer shirt. He was Luke, the unsure man who fainted at the sight of her nakedness, and he was Luke, the man whose kisses made putty of her knees. She tried to pull him closer still until the chair gave a warning squeak.
He pulled back, green eyes so intent she shivered. Then he dipped and, putting a hand under her knees and another behind her shoulders, lifted her as though she weighed nothing.
She giggled with surprise and delight before the giggle changed to a whimper as he laid her on his bed. Now it was her turn to be uncertain.
Was she ready for this? What if it was terrible? What if he had some kind of awful performance anxiety, what if…?
He kissed her again and joined her on the bed, turning her so that they were on their sides, facing each other. It was quickly apparent that he wasn’t suffering any performance anxiety at the moment. He was rock-hard in all the right places, snugging against her and nudging all her softest parts.
Dimly she realized they’d been on this path since the first day they’d exchanged mail. Plus, she knew herself. She was a kind and decent person. If Luke had a problem she could help him with, she would.
Her lips curved against his as she thought about what a good teacher she was. Taking an inept man and turning him into an exquisite lover was pretty heady stuff. She felt her power and decided to have some fun with this most intimate lesson of all.
“Touch me,” she whispered.
“Where?” Uncertain or teasing? She couldn’t decide and didn’t care.
She rose to sitting and yanked off her sweater, which was going to Goodwill the first chance she got. She felt as if she’d been walking around in a bedspread.
She watched his face as his gaze roamed her torso, his eyes crinkling with humor as they took in her lacy pink bra from the latest Victoria’s Secret catalog.
“What?” she asked, a bit incensed. He had the oddest reactions of any man she’d ever known.
“After the sweater and skirt, I thought maybe you had corsets and a girdle under there.”
She chuckled softly and decided to crawl out of the six-man denim tent.
At the sight of her matching pink panties, he sighed. “I was going crazy wondering what you were wearing under those clothes.”
He reached out to trace the edge of each lacy bra cup in a sweeping vee over her breasts. The slight abrasion of his finger on her sensitive flesh sent delicious shudders running through her. It was hard to tell in the dim light of his desk lamp, but he didn’t look pale or close to passing out. Still, she thought if she kept his mind off her imminent nakedness it might help him prepare to actually make love with her. If they even got that far tonight. She was determined to show patience and care with him.
“I’m going to donate them both to charity tomorrow,” she said, a shade huskily since he’d just leaned forward and taken her nipple in his mouth, silky bra and all.
He pulled back to stare at her. “Are you kidding? That’s one of the sexiest outfits I’ve ever seen. I was going crazy imagining your body underneath all that…fabric.”
She chuckled, realizing her plan to appear totally sexless had basically backfired. “You are a very strange man, do you know that?”
“Trust me. You’d look sexy wrapped in garbage bags.”
He leaned forward to her breasts again, but she stopped him. “Now you take your shirt and pants off.”
Without any finesse or teasing whatsoever, he dragged his shirt off, unbuckled his pants, kicked off his shoes and yanked off his slacks and socks in under about ten seconds. He rose and turned back to her wearing nothing but black briefs. She had only a moment to admire the utter beauty of his body before he was beside her again.
Where he’d seemed content to toy with her before, he now seemed barely controlled. His chest rose and fell rapidly, and his erection nudged insistently when he rolled against her once more. “I want you so much,” he murmured against her throat.
At his words, she realized the same was true for her. She did want him, and badly. She couldn’t remain still. Her pelvis seemed to have its own agenda, rocking against his hardness, teasing, damn near begging to be filled. He plunged a hand into her panties and touched her, but it wasn’t nearly enough. With a strangled moan, she grabbed the waistband and dragged the silky restriction off.
She reached for his briefs, but he’d beaten her to it, tearing them off before tossing them over his shoulder.
She checked him out and her mouth went dry. He looked even more fabulous naked than he did clothed. His erection was big and bold. She wanted to touch him to see if he was as hard as he appeared.
His fingers were fumbling with the bra she’d forgotten she was still wearing, and she wasn’t wearing it for long. “God, you’re beautiful,” he whispered, once more kissing her breasts.
His hand slid between her legs and, before she was beyond rational thought, she grabbed at his wrist. “Luke. Do you have condoms?” She had some upstairs, but getting dressed and trundling up to her place was a mood breaker if ever there was one.
Instead of speaking, he reached for his night table, opened the drawer, dug around without looking and pulled out two square packages.
She was so excited that they might actually get there this time that she threw her arms around him and pulled him on top of her. She’d tried to restrain herself, half certain some disaster would fall, but now it seemed all lights were green. She wanted him inside her and she wanted him now.
She couldn’t get enough of him, touch enough of his warm, smooth skin taut over tough muscle. She felt herself softening and opening for him, aching to be penetrated.
They kissed hungrily, crazily, until she was dizzy from lack of breath and anticipation.
Then he stilled.
No, no, no! What now?
Luke raised his head and stared at her with something like guilt in his eyes. Glancing at the package in his hand, he said, “Shari, there’s something I have to tell you. It’s about the book. I—”
She giggled and kissed him, cutting off his words, glad it was only a moment’s insecurity holding him back. Poor Luke, he was so passionate, and still so unsure. She was certain he was going to admit to some inadequacy that would make him feel stupid and tarnish this wonderful moment. She wanted to give him an experience so positive and blissful he’d never feel inadequate again. “You don’t have to tell me anything. Too much talk spoils the mood.”
He stared at her for another moment as though struggling with himself, then touched her hair. “You’re right. It’ll keep.”
Wanting everything to go smoothly for their first time together, she took the foil package from his hand, opened it, then began to roll the condom on for him. She didn’t usually do this, and was surprised at how absolutely sexy it was. He was so hot and hard that she couldn’t resist squeezing and caressing him a little, until he moaned and she knew she’d better stop. As magnificent as his erection was, it wouldn’t do either of them any good if he turned out to be a premature ejaculator. So she smoothed the latex over his shaft and, while she had him on his back, straddled him.
Keeping her gaze on his, she wrapped her fingers around him once more and rubbed the tip of his penis against herself, letting him see how much it excited her. Normally, with a new guy, she’d be much too inhibited to act like this, but with Luke she knew she had to take control, especially this very first time. She felt as proud and careful as if she were initiating a virgin. She so wanted this to be good for him.
So far, it seemed to be very good for him if his heaving chest and pumping hips were any indication. He wanted to be inside her almost as much as she wanted him there.
She made them both wait while she rubbed herself up and down his length a few more times, increasing her own arousal to melting point, then she eased slowly onto him.
In spite of the fact that she was close to orgasm, and her body was as ready as it would ever be, she still felt the slight stretch as her body accommodated him.
He was a big man.
She took her time, and she felt his tension, sensing how badly he wanted to thrust, and that he was letting her take him at her own pace. Silently, she thanked whoever wrote the book for teaching him that all-important courtesy. Just when she thought she was so full she wouldn’t be able to take any more, she found herself settled tight against Luke’s hips, and knew he was in all the way. She didn’t think she’d ever forget the look in his eyes. It was almost shockingly intimate, and also tender. Wanting to increase the intimacy in every way possible, she leaned forward until they were touching everywhere, then kissed him deeply.
She started to move. She started off slow, feeling the pull and slide as she grew accustomed to his size, and the building friction as she increased the pace. She rose to her knees, taking him deep, faster and faster as the wonderful, unbearable tension rose. His hands were on her breasts, her shoulders, her hips; he was tossing beneath her and she could have sworn he was straining to go deeper still. Suddenly it was all too much. She couldn’t hold back.
“I’m going to… Oh… Oh, I’m going to…” Before she could complete the thought, the wave lifted her, churned her through
time and space, where she only vaguely heard panting, a woman’s keening cry and then the long groan of a man’s satisfaction.
When she came back to herself, she was slumped against him, her head tucked under his chin. She heard his harsh breathing, and watched his chest labor. “You’re not going to faint again, are you?” She was only half teasing.
He patted her shoulder and somehow ended up with her breast in his hand. She didn’t think it was an accident. “I might. If I don’t outright die.”
12
SHARI’S CURLS TICKLED his chin where she lay tucked against him, her smooth, warm limbs tangled with his. Her breath wafted over his chest. She felt good curled up against him. Right, somehow.
“Shari,” he said, knowing he couldn’t go on deceiving her, not when they’d just made love, not when they were about to enact a repeat performance the second he got his lungs functioning again. “There’s something I want to tell you.”
“Oh, me, too.” She tilted her head so she could look at him and, since he was only human and had just had some of the greatest sex of his life, he couldn’t resist kissing her.
“Mmm,” she said after what was supposed to be a friendly little kiss turned full-blown passionate, and he had to start over again retrieving his breath. “I want to tell you that most women really love it when a man talks to them in the bedroom.” She shot him a glance. “And I don’t mean talking dirty, though that can be fun.” She kissed him softly. “You’re really good at that. At talking.”
He stared at her. She was totally getting into this intimate tutoring role. He wondered if she even knew she was using a teacher’s voice on him. A startling possibility occurred to him. Was she so free and uninhibited with him because she assumed she had more experience and technique than he did? He could imagine that happening, and he loved the thought that by helping him, she was giving him all of herself. What a crazy idea.
He’d tried twice now to tell her he was the author of the damn book and both times she’d shut him up before he got a chance. Perhaps fate was at work here. There was no harm in his small deception, after all. It wasn’t as if anyone was getting hurt. He was having the time of his life—and the sex of his life—and she was quite clearly enjoying her role as teacher.