Only by Your Touch

by Catherine Anderson

  Ben wanted her so much that he didn’t need any more encouragement. Not her dangerous time. That worked. He lowered himself beside her and gathered her close. The instant his arms closed, he felt her shiver with delight. Flesh to flesh, they turned to face each other. She trailed kisses up the center of his chest, setting his skin afire. “You’re like a drug,” she whispered against his neck. “Or wine. Yes, wine with electrical surges going through it.”

  He smiled against her hair. Chloe. She had no idea how much electricity he could actually generate. What he was putting out right now was involuntary. With a little concentrated effort, he could easily heighten the effect.

  Thinking along those lines drew Ben’s gaze to the room around them. He could only hope she didn’t notice the blue glow that radiated from him. It was more obvious in the dark like this, especially with the moonlight to emphasize it.

  “Love me, Ben,” she whispered.

  He didn’t want to rush this. The first time between them needed to be savored. Slowly, ever so slowly, he set himself to the task of igniting each and every one of her nerve endings. He began by trailing slow, feather-light kisses up her arm, lingering at the sensitive bend of her elbow and then moving higher to nibble at the satiny flesh that led to her underarm. She shivered and lay perfectly still, her breaths coming in shallow, jagged spurts that told him he was pleasing her. He loved the way her lashes fluttered closed and the soft moans she made. He loved even more the way she surrendered herself to him. Her absolute trust in him nearly brought tears to his eyes.

  He kissed his way back down to her wrist and then trailed his lips lightly up her side until she shivered again and arched in the sweetest of ways, offering him her breasts. Gently, carefully, he took her left nipple into his mouth. The dusky tip went as hard as a rivet against his teasing tongue.

  She gasped at the shock. Her spine arched, and her body sprang taut. “Oh, Ben! It’s like lightning going through me.”

  He wasn’t sure if that was good or bad. Raising his head, he asked, “Do you want me to stop?”

  She made fists in his hair and drew him back down to her. At that point, he stopped trying to control the power inside him. With Chloe, it just happened, an unleashed energy that arced between them like bolts leaping from one cloud to another. It had never happened this way with Sherry. Ben knew now that it was because he’d never loved Sherry like this—with all his heart and with such intensity that every cell of his body awakened when he touched her.

  “I love you, Chloe,” he whispered. “I swear to God, I’ll never hurt you. Never. I’d sooner cut off my right arm.”

  “I know,” she said simply. “I know. Just show me how much you love me, Ben. Just—show me.”

  The words worked like a key to a complicated lock inside him. No longer afraid to let go, no longer concerned about how it might screw things up, he closed his mouth over her nipple, gently seized the tip in his teeth and laved it with his tongue, giving her everything he had. Her hips bucked, her spine arched, and with a strangled sob, she cried, “Oh, God!”

  All Ben registered was that her cry was one of pleasure, and for the first time in over twenty years, he gloried in his gift.

  He abandoned her breasts to trail kisses down her belly. He knew by the convulsive spasms of her body that she’d already come, and he wanted to taste the sweetness that he had wrought. He smiled to himself at the shudders that ran through her with every brush of his lips over her taut belly, anticipating the moment when he would reach his ultimate target, the most sensitive place on her body.

  At the press of his hand there, she parted her legs for him, allowing him access. He cautiously nuzzled the nest of curls at the apex of her thighs, eager yet cautious, for he’d never taken a woman this way and had no idea how she might react.

  The instant he found that feminine nubbin with his tongue, she gave a muffled, strangled cry and lifted her hips, offering herself to him. He could no more resist what she offered than he could stop breathing. He moved down on her, drawing her firmly into his mouth. With another strangled cry, she climaxed almost instantly, and then, with a violent shudder, he felt the tension in her body mounting yet again. With a few more passes with the tip of his tongue, he made her cry out again, and she arched even higher, climaxing even as she silently pleaded for more.

  All his life, his mother had been telling him that he had a special gift, something extraordinary that he should embrace and rejoice in. Until now, Ben had never believed that, never felt special. He’d made love with women, but always with the power tightly leashed. With Chloe, he couldn’t hook a collar around it. It was simply there, pulsing from his skin, radiating from his pores, as uncontrollable as the beating of his heart.

  And it was beautiful.

  As Chloe convulsed a fourth time, tears came to Ben’s eyes. In bed, at least, with the woman of his heart, the power within him was an extraordinary thing.

  When he finally drew away to let her catch her breath, she stared up at him with unfocused eyes, relaxed and glowing. “Oh, Ben,” she whispered. “That was—” She broke off and blinked sleepily. “That was incredible.”

  He couldn’t help but grin. She was about to drift off to sleep in a puddle of contentment. He had news for her. The satisfaction thus far had been one-sided, and now it was his turn. He nudged her thighs apart, settled himself into position, and slowly thrust himself into her. The moist heat and tightness almost undid him, but if her reaction was any indication, the feeling was even more intense for her. Her eyes flew wide, and she stared up at him in startled amazement.

  “You okay?”

  “Oh, Ben! Oh, God, I feel like I’m soaring.”

  Ben hadn’t even begun to show her how high they could fly. He shoved forward, exulting in the thought that he was completely in control, if not of his power, then of the act itself.

  He had a surprise in store. Chloe generated an electricity all her own. When the soft, wet walls of her convulsed around him, the sweet jolt immediately sent him rocketing toward orgasm, and all thought, all maneuvers, went up in a flame of need he couldn’t orchestrate or hold back. He came with a violence that shocked him. Hard thrusts brought an excruciating tightening of his body, and then—a violent release that hurtled him into oblivion.

  Afterwards Ben collapsed on top of her. Ever so distantly, the thought occurred to him that he outweighed her by at least a hundred pounds and was probably squashing her. But, God help him, he couldn’t put bones into his arms to lift himself off her. When he tried, she hugged his neck and whispered, “Don’t. Stay with me. Please, I don’t want you to leave me.”

  He relaxed, shifting one hip to rest most of his weight on the mattress. My Chloe. He gathered her to his chest, rained kisses over her face, buried his nose in her curls. Dear God, how he loved her. When he tried to think of words to describe the depth of his feelings for her, he came up blank.

  “I love you,” she whispered. “I love you, love you, love you.”

  He managed a throaty response. “And I love you, Chloe. You’re my everything.”

  Then black folds of exhaustion overtook him.

  Chloe drifted up from a deep sleep sometime later to find herself right where she wanted to be—closely enfolded in Ben’s arms. Even relaxed, his hands limp in sleep, the weight of his palms and the loose press of his fingers made her skin hum with pleasure. It was the only way to describe how his touch made her feel—a fabulous, magical glow that permeated to her bones. He was thunder. He was lightning. He was the blue, electrical glow she’d seen hovering around him in the moonlight that first night, someone magical and otherworldly, yet hers, entirely hers, and so solid, she reveled in every breath he drew and every rise of his chest against her own.

  In the shadows, it was so easy to imagine that the world had fallen away, that they were the only two people on earth. Just her Shoshone warrior and her—lost in feelings of discovery and need. They had joined together in a marriage of flesh, strength and softness melting in
to each other and becoming one in a way that she hadn’t thought possible.

  She’d felt no shyness with him. When he’d lifted her breasts to suckle and tease the tips, she’d arched shamelessly up to him, wanting and needing him in a way that couldn’t be denied. Never had she climaxed merely from the draw of a man’s mouth on her nipple, but she had tonight, with a combustive surge that had ignited her and made her crave more.

  Now, even in the lethargic aftermath of deep slumber, she wanted him again. Sleepily—lustily—she kissed his neck and nibbled on his ear. He groaned and moved a big hand up the curve of her back, yet even as he mumbled a protest, she felt his body awakening. Chloe pressed closer, undulating her hips against him. He responded with a throaty growl. The next instant, she was flat on her back, his dark face hovering only inches above hers.

  “You asking for trouble, lady?”

  Chloe looped her arms around his strong neck. “You got any to dish out?”

  He chuckled sleepily and bent to kiss her. With the first brush of their lips, Chloe was ready. At the back of her mind, a voice of reason whispered that it was only the newness of it all that made his kisses seem so potent. In time, when their lovemaking became old hat, she would no longer thrill to his every touch.

  But that was for later, and this was now. As she melted into the kiss—and into him—she dimly registered that the world itself was celebrating their union.

  In the night sky there hung a gorgeous blue moon.

  Chloe awoke the next morning alone in bed. She ran her hand over the sheet where Ben had lain beside her during the night, and a feeling of magic engulfed her again. She smiled, yawned, and sat up. Sunlight poured through the window, as yellow as the filling in a lemon meringue pie, and Chloe felt as light and airy as the topping.

  She slipped from bed, grabbed her T-shirt and jeans. In seconds, she was dressed and stepping from the bedroom, her hair a wild tangle that fell over her eyes. The house was silent. She almost felt like tiptoeing. Once in the kitchen, she saw that the coffee in the pot was cold. She set herself to making fresh, thinking how right this felt. Ben, the house, and the titter of Einstein, who watched her curiously from his perch, all combined to give her a feeling of having come home. The feeling moved through her as surely as her blood through her veins. She belonged here.

  With a start, she noticed the time on the kitchen clock. It was ten of twelve. Chloe couldn’t believe she’d slept so late. She was due at work by noon. Her hands flew to her hair. She’d never make it on time. It was a twenty-minute drive.

  She raced back to the bedroom, found her pillowcase of clothes, and searched for something suitable to wear. Ben had packed, helter-skelter, taking things only from her drawers. All her nice things hung in the closet. Chloe settled on a blue knit top and jeans. Hattie would understand once she heard about last night.

  Chloe stepped into the bathroom to quickly brush her teeth, comb her hair, and wash her face. On the counter, she found a note. Go back to bed, the masculine scrawl read. I told Hattie what happened, and she called in Ethel Martin to sub for three days.

  Chloe laid down the comb and touched her fingertips to the Post-it note. It was yellow, like the sunshine outside and inside her heart. Smiling, she went to the kitchen for coffee. After filling two mugs, she went in search of Ben. She found him in his office working at the computer.

  Holding the mugs out to each side of her body, she crept up behind him, planning to surprise him with a kiss. Just as she reached her target, she glanced over his shoulder at the computer screen. He was typing furiously. The page was capped with a heading that flashed clear in her vision. BEAVER MARSH—BRETT CALDWELL—SYNOPSIS. Chloe straightened so quickly, she slopped coffee onto her hand and scalded herself, which made her yelp and brought Ben lunging from the chair.

  “Chloe.”

  “Ben.” Brett. Chloe stared up at him. Then her gaze shifted to the collection of Caldwell books on his bookshelf. “I see.”

  He whipped around, moved the mouse, and minimized the program window. But he was too late.

  “Oh, Ben,” she whispered.

  “It’s not how it looks,” he said, shoving a rigid hand through his hair. “Well, actually, it is how it looks, but I can explain.”

  Chloe set down the mugs of coffee before she spilled them entirely. “I know you tried to tell me last night. I’m not upset. Really.” As she uttered those words, she knew they were the absolute truth. She wasn’t upset, just—well, shocked, she supposed. “You’re the Brett Caldwell?” She studied him through new eyes. “Of course. It makes perfect sense. I always knew when I read his books that he loved animals. It comes through in everything he—everything you—write.” She laughed shakily. “Why don’t you have brick walls around your estate and drive a Rolls?”

  “I’m not famous. Brett Caldwell is a fabrication. He doesn’t really exist.”

  Chloe stared hard at the computer. “And writing is the ‘this and that’ you wouldn’t elaborate on? For weeks, I thought maybe you made a living doing something illegal. Why didn’t you just say you were a writer? I’ve never known a writer. It’s incredible.”

  “That first night when you asked what I did for a living, I couldn’t possibly tell you.” His eyes ached with regret. “I wish now that I had because I do trust you, Chloe. But at the time, I didn’t know very much about you, and you didn’t know me. My career hung in the balance.” He rubbed a big hand over his face and blinked. “It’s not just about the writing. There was an incident in my life before I sold the first book, something that could seriously damage my career as a children’s writer if the news media ever found out. I write under the pen name to protect my anonymity, and I rent a post office box in Pineville to receive all correspondence from my publisher. There are a lot of people in this town who would delight in ruining me. One phone call, that’s all it’d take, and my sales could plummet.”

  Understanding dawned. How many mothers would buy his books if they knew a killer had written them? “Oh, Ben. Surely, after a time, you realized I wouldn’t tell anyone.”

  “Yeah. Early on, I realized you wouldn’t. But it goes deeper than that, Chloe. You seemed so in awe of Caldwell when you talked about him.” He shifted his weight and looked away. “I needed you to fall in love with me. I didn’t want the Caldwell thing to enter into it—not the fame, not the money. I wanted you to love me.” A suspicious brightness entered his eyes. “No one ever has. You know? Only my mom, and a man’s mother doesn’t count.”

  Chloe had never met anyone more extraordinary than Ben Longtree. But since her divorce, she’d experienced her own share of insecurity, and she understood that feelings weren’t always rational. “Well,” she managed to say with a note of levity, “at least now you know that I loved you with all my heart before I found out you were famous.”

  “Yeah.” He smiled slightly. “And that feels really good.” He cleared his throat and rubbed beside his nose. “I, um—I suppose now you’d like to know more about the incident I mentioned.”

  “It’s common knowledge in Jack Pine. I know that you accidentally killed a man.”

  His gaze sharpened on hers. “Without hearing the details, you automatically believe it was an accident?”

  “I know it was an accident.” The incredulity that crossed his dark face made Chloe’s heart hurt for him. “I was a little wary at the beginning, I admit. But once I got to know you a little better, I knew you didn’t have it in you to deliberately harm anyone or anything. It follows that it had to be an accident.”

  “It was an accident,” he acknowledged. “But that doesn’t negate the fact that he’s dead, or that it was my fault. People in town think I got off scot-free without any punishment. They’re wrong. I have to live with what I did for the rest of my life.”

  Chloe understood exactly what he meant. “We all make mistakes, Ben. An unfortunate few of us make fatal ones.” She hugged her waist. Her next words weren’t easy to say. “Roger’s accident was my fault. I was
manning the controls. The tide was going out, and as we headed out for the deeper water of the sound, I slowed down just a bit. I didn’t know that speed made the boat skim over the surface of the water. When I backed off the throttle, the prop caught on a sandbar. We tried shifting from forward to reverse several times, hoping the rocking motion would free the blades, but it didn’t work, and Roger had to use a pole to push us clear. When we finally floated into deeper water where the prop was free, I gave it too much throttle. Roger was still standing on the seat at the back of the boat. He lost his balance and was thrown overboard.”

  “Oh, sweetheart,” Ben said, his voice barely more than a whisper. “How awful for you.”

  Chloe had long since learned to live with what had happened. “We all have our crosses to bear, I guess. A split second, and you can regret it for the rest of your life. A person’s whole life can change with a shift of the wind or a turn of a leaf.”

  He nodded.

  “I understand that it can’t be easy for you to talk about,” she added, “so we needn’t discuss the details.”

  “I want you as a permanent part of my life, with a ring and promises and a license framed on the wall. How can you wave it off and say we don’t need to discuss it? I killed a man. Surely you at least want to know how it happened.”

  Chloe thought about it for a moment. And while she was thinking, she remembered what he’d just said about needing to feel loved for who he was. “No,” she said softly. “If the time comes that you’re burning to unload it, I’ll listen, but I don’t need to know. It’s a nonissue as far as I’m concerned. You’re a beautiful person, Ben. You try to save baby chipmunks from certain death because they were born too late to survive the winter. You can walk up to a fawn in the woods, and the fawn trusts you implicitly. How can I do less?”

  He hooked a hand behind her neck and hauled her against him. For several seconds, he just clung to her, his big body vibrating with the intensity of his emotion. That wonderful feeling of electrical warmth moved through her. “I love you, Ben. Just you, Ben Longtree, for better or worse, no matter what. I’m sorry I pestered you to tell me about your work. It seems so silly of me now.”