Heart of the Night

by Barbara Delinsky

  But she didn’t want him to stop. For too long she had dreamed of being loved this way. So many nights she’d lain awake, alone and lonely in the heart of the night, lost in fantasy. She half thought she was fantasizing now, because what she felt was so good. The insecurity that had plagued her was forgotten, crowded out by the wealth of sensation he created with only the movement of his mouth.

  The gentleness of his hands as they held her head, the strength of his body as he bent to her, excited her. The brush of a night’s growth of beard, the chill of the morning’s air on his cheek and the scent of heated male skin beneath his clothes intrigued her. She remembered the rasp of his voice in the night and the darkening of gray flecks in his blue eyes, and she felt his arousal pressing against her.

  She strained closer. The movement brought a low groan from deep in Jared’s chest. Within seconds, he’d drawn back and was dazedly searching her face. Then he was kissing her eyes, her nose, her cheekbones, her chin, until, with a searing hiss, his lips bonded to hers once more.

  Somehow he’d known it would be this way, known that once he kissed Savannah there would be no holding back. He might have been frightened by the strength of what he felt if he’d been capable of thought, but sensation overrode thought. There was nothing but the heat of the moment, burning from one touchpoint to the next.

  Then something contradicted that heat, a fine trembling in Savannah’s body, a reminder of where they were, what they wore, and the early morning chill that surrounded them.

  “Let me in?” he asked against her mouth.

  Taking his arm, she drew him into the house. The instant the door was closed, their lips met again. They were both breathing heavily, pausing to gasp before returning for another kiss, another touch. The flowers Jared had brought had become an extension of Savannah’s hand, held tightly against his back but forgotten amid the flames.

  When he drew back this time, he pressed his temple to hers and dropped his gaze. His large hands stroked her neck, then slid inward, parting her robe to reveal the prim white nightshirt beneath. He went at the buttons one by one, his fingers unsteady in the effort to take care. His breath came in uneven sighs that echoed Savannah’s own.

  When he had released three buttons, he spread the material to the side and bared her breasts. For several seconds, he didn’t move. His hands seemed intimidated by the tender ivory flesh he had uncovered. Then, with a tentative, reverent touch, he slid his fingers around her soft outer curves.

  She was beautiful, he thought, not voluptuous, but firmly rounded like a delicately sculpted figurine—only she was alive, swelling at his touch.

  His hands grew bolder, caressing her flesh. He traced the intricacies of her shape, running a thumb over each rosy nipple until it hardened. He heard the quickening of her breath; heard her gasp. The sound was as great a turn-on as her free hand desperately clutching his sweatshirt near his waist.

  The fire spread. Hastily, he pushed aside her robe and freed the last of the nightshirt’s buttons. When he looked at her then she was a breathtaking expanse of soft flesh with only a wisp of lace at her hips.

  He breathed her name in a rough whisper, and while he took her mouth, his hands slid down her body. He felt the texture of lace, but beneath the lace was the heat he sought. He palmed it, stroked it, sent his fingers around and through it.

  Savannah cried out. She was trembling again, but this time not from a chill. Her body was begging him for release.

  Slipping one arm beneath her knees and another around her back, Jared lifted her and started up the stairs. His kiss was as fluid as his step. It flexed with the movement, yet maintained a near-steady contact until he reached her bedroom.

  Very gently, he set her down on the bed. Her robe and nightgown fell open. He made no attempt to take her arms from their sleeves; instead he simply stripped her of the lace panties. Within seconds he had whipped his sweatshirt over his head and kicked off his sneakers and shorts. Naked, he came down to her.

  The first touch of their bare bodies was electric. In the sizzling wake of that touch, he found his place between her open thighs and thrust upward. Savannah arched off the sheet with a choked cry, but when he would have withdrawn, she clamped her legs around his hips and held him tight where he was.

  She squeezed her eyes shut. The focus of her being was the part of her that felt so full. Sensations of newness became sensations of excitement that, in turn, became full-blown desire. Her legs relaxed their grip to allow him movement.

  His first strokes were slow and deliberate, a searing withdrawal and reentrance that made her hunger for more. Driven by a hunger of his own, he moved ever faster, ever deeper until he heard her catch in a sudden breath and go utterly still, then release that breath in a spate of ragged pants. The sound was all it took—that and a final intense thrust, to send him into a climax that shook his large frame from head to toe.

  The spasms seemed endless. When he was totally spent, he lowered himself to her side, taking her over with him.

  For several minutes, as he lay in the afterglow with his eyes closed, Savannah watched him. Her body still tingled, still felt his possession, but the mind-block that had seized her in the heat of passion had cleared. The old fears took shape.

  Finally, he opened his eyes. When he saw the way she was looking at him, he brought gentle fingers to her face. “What is it?” He caressed the tiny crease between her eyes with his thumb.

  “Was it okay?” she whispered.

  Astonished, he waited a minute before he asked, “Are you kidding?”

  She shook her head on the pillow.

  He shaped the curve of her ear. “It was incredible. Couldn’t you feel it?”

  “I knew you’d come, but—”

  He put a long finger to her lips, then replaced that finger with his mouth and drank a deep kiss from her lips. “How about for you?”

  “Special,” she whispered, dazed from his kiss. “Powerful. A little frightening.”

  “I’ve wanted that since Wednesday night.”

  “I’ve wanted it longer than that.” At his curious look, she said, “You’ve been seducing me with your voice for the past two years. How could I help but fantasize about what it would be like with you?”

  “Was that why you did it—just to see?”

  “You know it wasn’t,” she chided, and as he thought about it, he realized she was right. The attraction between them was an irresistible force. She hadn’t been in control of what had happened any more than he had.

  “It’s been a while for you.”

  She colored. “Was it obvious?”

  For the second time in minutes, Jared sensed she was unsure of herself when it came to sex. He smoothed a long strand of hair from her cheek. “Not in technique.” He kissed the tip of her nose. “Any more perfect and I’d have gone up in smoke. But I was worried I had hurt you at first.”

  Her cheeks were pink. “Not hurt. I’m not sure I can describe the sensation.”

  “You could try wonderful,” he said, and it occurred to Savannah that maybe, just maybe, he had some insecurities of his own.

  “Wonderful, incredible, deep, hot, new—” She arched a brow. “How am I doing?”

  “Just fine,” he said and hugged her close for a minute. Then the minute stretched into several, because the feel of her body against his was so remarkably right that he had to savor it longer. But the more he enjoyed it, the more curious he became, and before long he was exploring all the little curves that made her so special, and that led to a resurgence of passion.

  He was slower this time, touching her body more leisurely. He wanted to see her response when he drew the backs of his fingers over her breasts, when he dipped his pinkie into her navel, when his thumb disappeared in the nest of chestnut curls between her legs. He wanted to watch the slow rise of heat, wanted to see her when she came. But his own desire took over before then, and all he was aware of was clasping her bottom and directing her hips before he exploded again.
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br />   He wasn’t the only sweaty one this time. Savannah’s skin was dewy. Jared loved it. Once he’d begun to breath normally again, he propped himself on an elbow and looked down at her. Her hair was a wild tangle on the pillow, her nightshirt and robe were rumpled beneath her, her eyes were closed, and her face glowed.

  “You look,” he said, still slightly short of breath but thick of voice, “absolutely beautiful.”

  Though Savannah didn’t believe him for a minute, she was feeling too satisfied to argue. She opened an eye. “You’re supposed to be sleeping.”

  “And miss this?”

  “Men sleep after sex.”

  “Not me. I’ve got adrenaline picking up where testosterone left off.”

  She couldn’t help but laugh as she grabbed a fistful of his hair and held on. “But you haven’t slept all night.”

  “I slept yesterday afternoon.” He touched her neck, explored the hollow formed by her upraised arm, climbed to trace the delicate line of her jaw.

  Covering his hand, she held it still against her throat. She had both eyes open and couldn’t look at him enough, couldn’t quite believe that he was real, rather than a fantasy. “Do you run every day?”

  He nodded. “It’s therapeutic—like aerobics.”

  She gave a small, puzzled smile. “You seem so totally laid-back and at ease. What’s the therapy for?”

  He shrugged. “Midlife thoughts. The usual.”

  She couldn’t imagine that he was having to make career choices, which meant that his midlife thoughts were more personal. “How long have you been divorced?”

  “Four years.”

  “Tell me about her.”

  Sitting up, he tugged the pillow from under Savannah’s head, turned it vertically and layered it with a second pillow against the headboard. Then he leaned back and drew Savannah under his arm, against his chest. “There,” he said, satisfied with the position.

  She ran a hand over the contours of his chest. His muscles were solid without being bunchy. His skin had a tawny hue that made the sprinkling of hair look almost golden. He was beautifully male, and she felt suddenly and strangely possessive. “Jared?”

  “Yes?”

  “Tell me.”

  “You don’t have to have Elise in your bed.”

  She tipped her head back against his arm and looked up at him. “I don’t have to have you either, but I want you, and she’s part of who you are.”

  “She’s part of my past.”

  “And your past is what makes you you. I’m curious.”

  Put as innocently as that, he wasn’t sure he could argue. Savannah had just given of herself with an honesty he had never run across before. He owed her.

  “Elise was a driven woman, a typical type-A personality.”

  “Like me.”

  “No. Elise was driven. She came from a family of lawyers. Her father was one, two uncles, three brothers. She was determined to be the lawyer to outdo all of them.”

  “Was she?”

  “She was a fine lawyer, but I think she’s still working on the outdoing part. She picked litigation to be different—the others do corporate work—and she had enough style and determination and sheer nerve to develop an extraordinary practice. She had her eye on Congress. Last thing I heard, she had her organization in place and was about to announce.”

  “Sounds like she was a busy lady. Where did she find the time for marriage?”

  “She didn’t.”

  Savannah studied the glittering lights in his eyes. “But she married you.”

  “And I married her. It was a mutual mistake, which is why we’re no longer married.”

  She considered that for a minute. “You don’t sound upset.”

  He shrugged with his face. “It’s over.”

  “Were you upset at the time?”

  “At the time I was relieved. Elise is exhausting to be with.”

  “Didn’t you know that when you married her?”

  “Yes. But it worked two ways. At the time, I saw myself as an up-and-coming real-estate tycoon. Elise was a stunning woman; she was as good for my image as I was for hers. But over five years of marriage, that was pretty much all we were to each other—images—and by the time it ended, I’d realized that I didn’t want to be a tycoon at all.”

  “What did you want?”

  “Quieter things. More private things. I wanted to have kids. Elise couldn’t bear the thought. She actually became pregnant, but she had an abortion.”

  “Without consulting you?”

  “There was no need. I wasn’t the father.”

  His words ended in an abrupt silence. Searching his face for remnants of anger or pain, Savannah found none. But the beat of his heart had quickened beneath her hand, telling her that despite his outward complacence over the demise of his marriage, Jared had been hurt by his wife’s betrayal.

  “I’d have your baby,” she said.

  He gave her a crooked grin. “You may just do that. I didn’t exactly run over here with a rubber in my sock. Unless—”

  “I’m not.”

  “How’s our timing?”

  She tilted her head from side to side in a could-be-better, could-be-worse gesture.

  “You don’t look worried,” he said.

  She didn’t feel worried, either. “I wouldn’t mind a baby.”

  “A career lady like you?”

  She shrugged.

  Jared felt a sudden tightness in his throat. He coughed to relieve it. “DeBarr would love that.”

  “Paul wouldn’t have a say in it.”

  “He’s your boss.”

  “What I do with my body,” she said with surprising force, “is none of his business.”

  Looking down at her, Jared felt a swell of gentleness. She was a fighter. He rather liked her cause at that moment. Recalling Anthony Alt’s snide innuendo, he said, “You’ve never been with Paul.”

  “No. I work with him. It would be dumb to confuse the issues.”

  “If he turned you on, it wouldn’t seem so dumb.”

  “Maybe not. But he doesn’t.”

  “Do other guys in the office?” When she gave him a what-is-this look, he said, “It’s intimidating for me to think of you there in an office full of men.”

  “I don’t date them, and I certainly don’t sleep with them. I thought we’d established the fact that I’ve been chaste for some time.”

  “That doesn’t mean you haven’t been tempted. AIDS has wreaked havoc with temptation.”

  “I haven’t been tempted. Trust me. Besides,” she sighed and returned her cheek to his chest, “I’ve been too busy to get involved.”

  “If that’s so, how could you manage a baby?”

  “I’d do things differently if I had a baby.”

  “How?”

  “I’d go into private practice and work part-time. I’d move into a bigger place, hire an au pair, and have her stay with the baby while I was gone.”

  “You’ve mapped it out.”

  She was silent for a time before admitting softly, “I’ve dreamed.”

  Jared thought the dream was just fine, except that it was missing one major element. “What about the baby’s father?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Wouldn’t you like a husband along with your baby?”

  “Not for the baby’s sake alone. If the father and I were in love, we’d marry anyway. But I don’t need marriage. I’m loaded.”

  “What’s money got to do with it?”

  “If an unmarried woman becomes pregnant, she might look to marriage for financial security. I wouldn’t have to do that.”

  “What about emotional security? Raising kids is hard work. Wouldn’t you want someone to share the load?”

  “If that someone and I didn’t get along, the child would be worse off than being raised by a single parent.”

  “I don’t want my child raised by a single parent.”

  “I doubt I’m pregnant.”

&n
bsp; With no warning at all, Jared shifted her on the bed and loomed over her. Though his hold was gentle, his expression brooked no argument. “I want to know. If you are, we’re getting married. No child of mine is going to be raised by one parent when he can have two.”

  She swallowed. “I doubt I’m pregnant.”

  “Well, if you are, you know how I feel.”

  “Yes.”

  He was staring at her, but increasingly the stare was more indulgent. “Why do I get the feeling that I lost that one?”

  “Because I doubt I’m pregnant, and I feel foolish carrying on this conversation. We only met three days ago. Besides,” she winced, “I think I’m lying on my birthday flowers.”

  He rolled away and retrieved the flowers. Taking them, she slipped from the bed and went off in search of a vase and water.

  Jared watched her leave, watched the swirl of her robe behind her. Then he sat up and looked around the room. The last time he’d seen it, he’d been preoccupied with Savannah to the exclusion of all else. Now he wanted to see what clues the room gave.

  It wasn’t a large room, though the high ceilings gave that impression. Savannah had furnished it simply in white wicker with a dresser and dressing table, an easy chair, a low table with several magazines on top, and a pair of nightstands flanking the double bed. The accessories were pale blue, and between the swirls of the wicker and that blue, the effect was feminine in an airy sort of way. It reflected her personality, he decided. As professional an appearance as she made, she was refreshingly feminine inside.

  On impulse, he reached for the radio that stood on the nightstand. The music came through softly, a ballad that was high on the country charts. Grinning smugly, he flipped off the switch, climbed from bed and went to the window to see what it was Savannah saw when she awoke each morning. Propping an elbow high on the jamb, he gazed out over the chest-high, gathered sheers.

  That was how Savannah found him. Her steps faltered just inside the door, and she stared, awed by the magnificence of his shape. He was a sculptor’s dream, a masterpiece of long limbs and handsomely carved muscle. Her view was mostly of his back, a broad expanse of smooth skin made dynamic by the slant of his arms. His shoulders were corded, his back tapered to a narrow middle and waist, his buttocks tight. His legs were those of a runner, long, lean and solid.