Too Hot To Handle

by Elizabeth Lowell

  “No. But you should have,” he said tightly. “You should have made me promise you the moon. I would have. I wanted you so bad I was all but blind.”

  Anger burned through Tory. “Do you think that’s why I’m still a virgin? Is that how little you think of me? Do you believe that I want to drive a man out of his mind with desire and then hold out on him until I trap him into marriage? You’re wrong, Ethan Reever,” she said harshly, the words tumbling out in a heedless rush, driven by the three words she could not say: I love you. “I’m a virgin because I’ve never lov—­I’ve never wanted a man enough to let him undress me and touch me until I can’t breathe for wanting more. I’ve never wanted a man to know my body in ways that even I don’t, to be moving inside me, a part of me. I’m nearly twenty-one years old, and I’ve never wanted a man in any way at all. Until you.”

  His eyes narrowed until they were slits of glittering ice. “Haven’t you been listening? I have nothing to give you but passion.”

  “Why should I want anything more?” she whis­pered raggedly, touching his cheek with her fingertips. “I never expected to have even passion from you. I want you to be my first. I want you to be the one to teach me. I want it all to happen with you, even the things I can’t imagine. Especially those things.”

  “Tory—” He goaned, fighting for control.

  “No,” she said quickly, interrupting him by put­ting her fingers over the lips that were barely half an inch from hers. “Listen to me, Reever. I know myself. I know that I’ll never—want—another man the way I want you. Don’t refuse me. I promise I won’t ask or expect anything else from you except your hands, your mouth, your body teaching me how to worship yours.”

  Tory trembled as Reever brushed aside her fingers and kissed her so deeply that she couldn’t breathe. After a long, long time he lifted his head and spoke in a shaking voice.

  “You sweet, sweet little fool, don’t you know what it does to a man to be told that he’s wanted like that?”

  “What does it do?” she whispered huskily. “Teach me, Reever. Teach me everything.”

  7

  Reever closed his eyes. He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t speak. From his clenched fists to the soles of his feet, his body was as hard as steel, as motionless, and his expression was almost agonized.

  Tears scald down Tory’s cheeks as the certainty grew in her that he was going to reject her again. She wanted to cry out in protest, to plead with him not to turn away from the woman who loved him. Yet even as the words crowded her tongue, she knew that she must not say them.

  If she said I love you, she would drive Reever away from her. He would take her words as proof that she was too immature to give herself physically to a man without the fiction of love be­tween them.

  But it wasn’t a fiction for her. She loved him.

  She hadn’t wanted to fall in love with any man, had never really expected to, but she had come to love Reever just the same. Deeply. Passionately. That was why she hadn’t been able to save enough money to leave the Sundance. She didn’t want to leave. She had seen Reever watching her, wanting her, and she had kept hoping that he might be falling in love with her as she had fallen in love with him—one day at a time, one glance, one look, one touch.

  It hadn’t happened that way after all. She had fallen alone.

  She was still falling.

  Tory shut her eyes and fought to control herself in the face of Reever’s rejection, but it was impos­sible. She couldn’t even turn away, for she was still pinned to the bed by the weight of his big body. Helplessly she began to cry, her body shaking with tearing, silent emotion.

  He rolled aside and gathered her into his arms, holding her very gently.

  “Don’t be frightened,” he murmured, stroking her back slowly, nuzzling her mouth with a tender­ness that made her shiver. “I want you until I’m crazy with it, but I won’t hurt you. I swear it. I’ll tease and love that sweet body until you’re shaking and wild, and when I finally take you...” He groaned and his hands tightened on her soft skin. “Oh God, little cat, when I take you, it will be like falling into the sun. You can’t feel pain when you’re burning alive with pleasure.”

  He looked down into her huge, tear-bright eyes. “I know it’s a lot to ask for after the last few weeks,” he said huskily, “but will you trust me not to hurt you?”

  She tried to speak through trembling lips, couldn’t, and nodded instead. When she could trust herself not to blurt out her love, she tried to ask him to be patient with her, not to cut her up for being clumsy. At first all she could say was his name, the word a question trembling on her lips.

  “R-Reever?”

  “Yes?” he breathed, kissing the corner of. her mouth with exquisite care.

  “I’ll try not to—to be clumsy, but please don’t—”

  “Hush, little one,” he said, licking up her painful words with the warm tip of his tongue. “You aren’t clumsy at all. You’re as graceful as sunlight on water. Watching you made make me ache until I felt like something was tying my guts in knots. I’d lash out at you, trying to keep you away, trying to make you hate me instead of want me, and then I’d have to watch the light in your eyes die as you turned away from me.” He shuddered. “Innocent little green eyes,” he whispered, sipping at her mouth with tiny touches of his lips and tongue. “I’ve never seen anything half as graceful or lovely as you. Remember that. Forget the lies and remember that truth because it’s the only thing that matters.”

  He fitted his mouth exactly to her trem­bling lips, cherishing her with a gentleness that brought more tears to her eyes. He rocked his head slowly back and forth, changing the feeling of the kiss with each small movement, sensitizing her lips until she felt like she was on fire. She wanted to put her arms around him, to bury her fingers in his hair and hold his teasing, beautiful mouth against hers. But despite his assurances she was afraid that he would think her clumsy whether he said it aloud or not.

  “So soft,” Reever murmured, biting Tory’s lips with tender care. “And even softer inside. Open for me, honey. I’ve been driving myself crazy remem­bering how sweet you taste, how soft you are, how warm and giving.”

  She whispered his name.

  “More,” he said, nuzzling her mouth. “I want to see you ready for me, waiting. I have to know you want my mouth.”

  With a shudder she parted her lips. She watched his eyes widen and darken to a smoky gray. She looked at the sensual lines of his mouth and remembered how it had felt when he had kissed her so deeply that she hadn’t been able to breathe. She wanted that again. She wanted the hard, complete claiming of his mouth, the taste and scent of him filling her until she couldn’t tell where she ended and he began.

  “What are you thinking?” he asked huskily, watching her eyes and her parted lips, wanting to taste and feel her tongue sliding over his.

  “Your mouth,” she said, her voice trembling. “It isn’t fair that a man should have such a beautiful mouth. And what you can do with it—” Her breath came in sharply with another burst of memories, of the heat and intimacy of him cherishing her breasts. “That isn’t fair, either.”

  Reever’s laugh was low and very male, a sound both sensual and triumphant. “Do you want my mouth?” he asked, nuzzling her teasingly.

  “Yes,” she breathed, watching him.

  “How? Like this?”

  The gentle torment of his lips and tongue contin­ued, but other than tracing the line of her teeth, he made no move to claim the parted lips that she of­fered him. Tory put her arms around Reever’s neck and tried to pull him closer. He was too strong. No matter how she tugged, he kept on teasing her, pin­ning her gently to the bed, not allowing her to come closer.

  “Reever,” she said urgently against his lips.

  As she said his name, he took her mouth with a hot, slow movement of his tongue, teasing and caressing her
even as he absorbed her into himself. She shivered uncontrollably at the sweet consum­mation, giving him even more of herself as she sought to taste more of him. The impact of the kiss left her disoriented, trembling, able only to hold on to him as the rest of the world fell away.

  Gradually she began to move her tongue as he did, caressing him as he was caressing her. He made a thick sound of pleasure and deepened the kiss even more, exploring every dark, soft curve of her mouth until the kiss became an act of intimacy that made her feel both ravished and cherished. When he lifted his mouth, she tried to follow him, wanting more of him, trembling with her wanting.

  “Easy, little cat,” he said, his voice ragged. He looked down at the sweet young mouth blindly seeking his and didn’t know whether to swear or shout with triumph. “So innocent. So hot. God.”

  Her eyes half opened, shadowed by a thick fringe of lashes. She ran the tip of her tongue over her lips, and her eyes widened in surprise. “I taste like you,” she whispered.

  With a low groan Reever arched his hips into Tory, trying to ease the pain that was also pleasure.

  “Don’t say things like that,” he grated. Then he saw her face change, passion draining into hurt. “Tory,” he said, kissing her swiftly, repeatedly, calling her name between kisses. “I didn’t mean it like that. I’m trying to go slow with you, but you’re so damned sexy and giving and honest that I—” He took a shuddering breath and slowly lowered his hips into the soft cradle of her thighs. “Tell me again,” he whispered thickly, licking her lips with hot touches of his tongue.

  “Reever—”

  “Tell me, Tory. Feel what it does to me.”

  Hesitantly his tongue touched her lips. She shiv­ered as the tip of his tongue met hers. “I was wrong,” she whispered. “We taste like each other.”

  The words ended in a tiny cry as she felt his pow­erful body tighten like a drawn bow. The hard length of his arousal caressed her intimately, separated from her only by his clothes and the thin satin smoothness of her underwear.

  “You’re right, little cat,” he groaned. “I taste like you and you taste like me.” He bit her mouth gently, hungrily. “Say whatever you like. Say it whenever you like. I want to hear you. I want everything you think, everything you feel, every­thing you are. I want—” He laughed shortly and shook his head. “The things I want would shock you now. But not in a while. Then you’ll want everything I have, all of it, all the way, and you’ll want it until you scream.”

  Tory’s fingers flexed on his shoulders as she shivered at the hot words flowing over her, making her burn. She watched his mouth hungrily. She loved the feel of it, hard and resilient, warm and skilled, teaching her things about hunger and satis­faction that she had never suspected could be learned from a kiss.

  Hesitantly she ran her fingertips over his lips, tracing their clean outline until she touched his teeth. The difference between his lips and the small ser­rations of his teeth fascinated her. She ran her fin­gertip over him again. When the tip of his tongue licked hotly over her, she made a small sound of surprise and pleasure. She dipped into his mouth again and then again, enjoying his changing tex­tures, touching him slowly, rhythmically, not know­ing that her whole body was moving beneath his in the same slow rhythms of discovery.

  He took as much of the sweet torment as he could before he turned his head away sharply, fight­ing for control. He felt her flinch and snatch back her hand.

  “Tory—” he began, trying to explain.

  “No,” she said in a raw voice, covering his mouth with her hand. “Don’t say it. Please, don’t say it. I know I’m clumsy. I’m sorry, it’s just that I’ve never done this before. I don’t know what I should or shouldn’t do.”

  He saw the legacy of pain in her eyes, pain echoing from his cruel remarks ever since he had first seen her, wanted her like he had never wanted another woman, and known that he shouldn’t even kiss her.

  And the worst of it was realizing that he had sav­aged her more deeply than he had ever intended. He hadn’t really believed that he could hurt her at all. Not like this, her humiliation strong enough to taste.

  The realization that she had no defenses against him shocked Reever even as it humbled him. He felt the same with her and had from the first moment. No defenses. Just a need and a fire that transformed him, giving him a strength and gentleness that he had never dreamed was possible for him.

  “Tory,” he murmured, kissing her softly with each breath, each instant. “My sweet, sensuous little virgin. I accused you of being clumsy because I was afraid to have you know what your grace did to me. You made me—burn. No other woman has ever done that to me. A look. A smile. A word. You didn’t have to touch me. All you had to do was be there and my body—changed. God, honey. I got so hard I thought I’d die unless I undressed you and eased into that slender, perfect body. I almost took you the first time I saw you. And then on the ride back to the ranch, all I wanted to do was turn you around on Blackjack and slide you down over me and—”

  With a shudder Reever stopped the reckless words, afraid that he would frighten Tory. “You are not clumsy,” he said, biting off each word. “I pulled away just now because your sweet, sexy little moves almost made me lose control. I want you so much I’m afraid I’ll hurt you.”

  Her eyes widened as she saw the truth written in every hard line of his face. She believed him. She believed that he wanted her so much it was an agony inside him.

  “Take me,” she whispered, holding his face with trembling hands. “Take me where you’re touching me now, where you’re making me ache. Please, Reever. You can’t hurt me more than I hurt right now.”

  A few moments ago he would have taken her right there, ending his torment within her soft, will­ing body. But now he knew that there was no end to her vulnerability to him. Knowing that, he found the strength to be gentle.

  “I’ll take you,” he promised, kissing her slowly, joining their mouths as perfectly as he knew he would join their bodies. “Eventually. But I want to know you first. And I want you to know me.”

  His hand went from her back to her ribs. He hesitated there, savoring her suddenly taut body and the sound of breath wedging in her throat. Smil­ing, he watched her nipples harden until they thrust against the soft cotton nightshirt in silent pleading for his caress.

  “They remember me, don’t they?” he murmured. “Which do you want first, honey—my hands or my mouth?”

  She blushed at his sensual teasing even as her back arched reflexively, bringing her breasts closer to his mouth. He saw her helpless reaction and smiled.

  “Wild little innocent. So sweet. God, I could die finding out how sweet you are, and how wild.”

  He nuzzled one of her breasts, drawing a ragged sound from her. He smiled again and slowly caught her erect nipple between his lips, tugging rhythmically as he drew her deeper and deeper into his mouth, listening to her tiny cries. After a long time he lifted his head and looked down at her breast. Wet from his mouth, the cotton was nearly transparent. It clung faithfully to her taut nipple. The rose-tipped breast made a warm, inviting contrast with the cloth clinging to it.

  Groaning softly, he kissed the sweet peak once more before he turned his head aside and found her other breast. He suckled her languidly, deeply, hotly, wringing soft cries from her as she twisted in slow motion against him, seeking release for the ten­sion coiling more and more tightly within her with each movement of his mouth. After a long, long time he released her, only to bite lightly again and again at the sensitive nipple until he felt the unmis­takable shudder of true arousal take her slender body.

  Then his hands moved to the hem of her nightshirt, which had been drawn up above her hips by her movements. He brought the shirt up to her breasts a little at a time, nuzzling and teasing her with his mouth every bit of the way until he found her nipples again. They were still aroused, still need­ing him. As his warm
mouth closed over one, she shuddered and unconsciously rocked her hips against his as pleasure expanded through her.

  The movement tore a low groan from him. His mouth changed, caressing her with a lover’s fierce demand. He felt the fire rip through her, felt her body arch beneath his, felt her intimate heat pene­trating the heavy cloth of his jeans as he stilled her wild movements by letting his weight sink into her, pinning her to the bed.

  “Easy, little one, easy,” he said again and again, gentling her even as he fought his own vi­olent need to give her what she was silently, inno­cently, begging him for.

  “Reever?” Her question ended in a moan as his teeth closed with exquisite delicacy on her breast.

  “Am I too heavy for you?” he asked, tugging at her, watching ripples of sensation race over her skin.

  Her only answer was a husky sound as she eased her legs farther apart, trying to get even closer to him. The innocent sensuality of the movement made him groan. His hand swept down her body to her thigh as he attempted to hold her still. He saw her eyes widen in surprise when his palm brushed over the apex of her thighs. He knew in that instant that she had never been touched, never known a man’s hand caressing the softness of her inner thighs, never known the seeking and finding and ca­ressing of even softer flesh.

  “Little one,” Reever said huskily, biting at the shadow dimple of Tory’s navel, feeling the wild response coursing through her. “I’ve got to touch you. It may shock you at first, but when you get past that, you’ll find you want it as much as I do. You’ll know that you belong to me everywhere, no matter how secret.”

  His hand smoothed down her body again. The heel of his palm pressed against the sensitive feminine nub hidden beneath her tangled hair, and then his caress moved on to the smoothness of her inner thighs. He watched her face, not wanting to frighten her by a touch that was too new, too inti­mate for her to accept. He sensed the instant of her uneasiness and hesitation as his hand settled between her thighs. His fingertips stroked delicately over even more delicate flesh.