by Diana Palmer
But seconds later, his hand stilled and he looked down at her with shock.
She realized that he’d stopped touching her. She opened her eyes and could barely talk. She almost vibrated with delight.
“Don’t stop,” she whispered brazenly.
He moved closer, his black eyes biting into her light ones. His hand moved, hard.
She gasped and ground her teeth together.
“Yes,” he bit off. “Apparently your one-night encounter wasn’t quite as reckless as you told me it was, Phoebe,” he said accusingly.
He drew away from her with a harsh breath and sat up, resting his head in his hands. His body ached with frustration.
CHAPTER TEN
SHE DREW IN A LONG BREATH, watching him. He was hurting. She could see it in the stiff lines of his body.
Her hips moved involuntarily on the sheets, restless for more of the delightful sensations he’d been arousing in her.
“I’m twenty-five,” she whispered.
He drew in a rough breath of his own. “And still a virgin. I can’t, Phoebe.”
She sat up, shivering with desire, and looked down his body. “Yes, you can,” she breathed. “Oh, yes, you can!” She moved, pressing her breasts against his back, her arms linking around his broad, hair-covered chest. She had no pride left at all. “I can’t do this with anyone else! I just can’t! Please,” she whispered in anguish.
His back arched closer to her breasts. “Phoebe, I don’t have anything to use,” he ground out.
She stilled. Neither did she. But she ached so terribly. Worse than she’d ever ached in her life.
He turned and pulled her down across his body, so that her head rested in the crook of his elbow. His fingers traced over her belly, over the bruise where the bullet had hit her, up across her hard-tipped breasts. He groaned.
She arched backward, her eyes closing to slits. Her hips moved helplessly. “I’m dying,” she cried.
“So am I,” he replied roughly. He traced around a hard nipple, watching her heart race at her throat. “When was your last period?” he asked almost in desperation.
“Two weeks ago,” she moaned.
“This is the worst possible time,” he muttered.
Her pale eyes met his dark ones. She thought about a baby. It softened her body, made it shiver with the possibility of a child of her own.
His face tautened as he saw the hunger in her eyes. “I’ve never thought of deliberately making a baby.”
She swallowed. “Neither have I.”
His hand cupped her soft breast, moving so that he could feel the nipple hard in his moist palm.
She tried to breathe normally, but she couldn’t. Her hand went to his broad chest and moved involuntarily over the hair-roughened muscles. Her head tilted back, inviting his mouth.
He shifted her back onto the bed, sweeping the pillow out of the way. Slowly, deliberately, he knelt between her soft thighs and pushed them wide apart. His black eyes stabbed down into hers. His breath was audible as he looked down at her with possession.
She shivered as he caressed her with slow, tender movements and watched her reactions.
“Your maidenhead is almost intact,” he bit off. “You’re going to feel it when I go into you.”
“I don’t care,” she whispered feverishly.
“I do.” He moved down over her, catching his weight on one elbow while his hand continued its maddening sweep against the moistness of her body. “I’m going to make you climax. When you do, I’m going inside you.”
The blunt statement made her flush, even through the desire that was overwhelming her. Her lips parted on a shocked breath.
“It would have been hard, in any case,” he whispered, bending to her breasts. “You’re going to be tight, and I’m unusually aroused.”
She wondered if she could faint lying down. What he was doing to her body was like slow torture. She opened her legs even more, coaxing him, as the pleasure began to build into something frightening.
Her helpless little cries of pleasure were arousing him intensely. His mouth opened on her breast and his tongue worked at the hard nipple while his hand became insistent on her body.
She was shivering rhythmically now, lifting her hips to encourage him, incite him, to give her pleasure. Her head thrashed on the pillow. Her hands gripped it on either side of her head. She moaned harshly, her teeth clenching, as she started up a spiral of incredible tension.
He lifted his head and looked straight into her eyes, feeling the tension build. “Open your eyes and look at me,” he bit off.
She could barely focus. Her body was lifting and falling with every throb of pleasure. She ached for something just out of reach. Her mind was focused on the distant goal that was so very close. She gasped with every touch, her dazed eyes staring into his almost fearfully.
“Tell me when,” he whispered roughly, unblinking. His own heart was shaking him. He felt his body throbbing with insistence.
The words didn’t make sense, and then they did. She was reaching, reaching, almost there, almost…there…!
“Oh!” she cried hoarsely as her whole body suddenly convulsed on a wave of pleasure so intense she thought she might die of it.
“Yes,” he moaned. He moved suddenly, pushing down, impaling her.
She felt the sharp intrusion, but it was only part of the pleasure, part of the throbbing heat that shook her body.
His lean hands gripped her wrists and his weight crushed her into the mattress as his hips moved roughly, his body penetrating in a fever of anguished need.
She stared into his eyes as she convulsed, seeing his face harden, tighten, his eyes like glittering black diamonds. He was groaning, his body shivering as the rhythm became insistent, urgent, fiercely demanding.
He bent to kiss her bruisingly, his breath mingling with hers in the anguished rush for fulfillment. His body was throbbing in time with hers, his powerful legs trembling as he drove into her.
He lifted his head and looked into her eyes at point-blank range as the rhythm built to utter madness and the sound of the springs was as loud as their rough, frantic breathing.
Suddenly he arched down into her and stilled, his eyes wide and black as his lean body began to convulse.
“Phoebe,” he ground out hoarsely. “We’re making a baby,” he whispered unsteadily, holding her eyes while the world went blazing into oblivion.
The words made the fever burn even higher. She watched him as satisfaction shook him above her, his face clenched hard, his eyes closing finally in the maelstrom of passion that rocked his own body.
It was beyond imagining. She felt him burst inside her, felt the heat of their passion explode. He cried out and she watched until he blurred in her wide, shocked eyes. She relaxed suddenly, feeling him impale her even farther as he drained the climax of its final weak throbs.
He collapsed into her arms, damp with sweat, shivering in the aftermath, as she was. She held him weakly, tears rolling down her cheeks as she moved involuntarily against his still-aroused body to hold on to the echoes of fulfillment that stabbed into her with exquisite little thrills of pleasure.
He lay over her, feeling her body move. He was awed. No sexual experience of his entire life compared with it. He pushed against her gently, groaning as the pleasure shot through him again.
Her long legs slid over the backs of his, increasing both his potency and his possession.
He lifted his head and looked into her wide eyes. He moved again, watching her face. He realized that he still had her wrists in a death grip. He released them, letting his hands take his weight as they rested on either side of her head. He lifted up deliberately and looked down at their bodies, to where they were still completely joined.
He caught her eyes with his and lifted again, not quite enough to separate them. “Look,” he coaxed.
She did…and her breath caught. She’d never dreamed it would even happen, much less that pain would be the least of her concerns.
“Would you like to tell me again about the wild encounter you had the night you got my clipping?” he asked roughly.
“I did try,” she muttered. “He wasn’t you. I couldn’t.”
“Neither could I,” he bit off.
She stared up at him in the soft afterglow of satiation. “You were married,” she said slowly.
“She loved my brother. She didn’t want anyone else. Neither did I. I wanted you, Phoebe. I still do.”
“It’s been three years!” she cried, astonished.
“Yes, I noticed.” He looked down their damp bodies again. “I’ve had you, and I’m still aroused, can you feel it?”
Her face flamed. “You’re…very blunt.”
He met her eyes. “Very hard, too,” he murmured, moving his hips. He caught his breath as the movement increased what was already an alarming capability.
Phoebe’s lips parted.
She was intimidated by him; that would never do. He smiled tenderly. “It won’t hurt at all this time,” he whispered softly, lifting so that he slid against her in the most arousing sort of way, watching her expression change from apprehension to anticipation.
She looked at him while he moved on her, feeling her body quicken, feeling the pleasure build all over again.
“We didn’t use anything,” she managed weakly.
“You love children,” he said quietly. “So do I.” He pushed down against her in a long, slow thrust that made her shiver with pleasure. “I want to make a baby. I didn’t say it to bring your blood up. Although it did, didn’t it, honey?” he whispered, bending to kiss her with lingering pleasure. “It brought my blood up, too.” He nibbled her lower lip. His breath was coming roughly now, echoing the sharp, hungry rhythm of his body on hers. “I’ve never made love like this, Phoebe,” he whispered unsteadily. “I’ve never felt anything like this!”
“Neither…have I,” she whispered, arching suddenly. “Good…heavens!” she exclaimed as the movement suddenly convulsed her.
“Your body is sensitized, like mine,” he breathed into her mouth. “If I’m slow enough, I may be able to give you an orgasm.”
She didn’t answer. She couldn’t. The pleasure had her on the rack. He looked into her eyes as his movements became slower and deeper and more powerful. Her face was flushed, her eyes wild, her body answering his in a silence thick with delight.
All at once, her mouth opened wide and she gasped. She’d thought the pleasure had reached a peak, but it was only a plateau. She hung there, helpless, terrified that he might stop moving. Her small hands gripped his wrists as she arched, pleading wordlessly.
“I’m not going to stop, baby,” he whispered, reassuring her. “You’re not quite there, even yet, are you? Lift up. That’s it. Lift up. Do it again. Do it again. Yes!” One lean hand went under her, to catch her thigh and jerk her hips up into his. She was gasping helplessly, her eyes blind, as she grasped for fulfillment.
“Jeremiah!” she cried out, her voice throbbing with mingled fear and delight.
“Yes, baby,” he whispered urgently, pushing against her intently. “Yes!”
She stiffened suddenly, her eyes stabbing into his as she stopped breathing, her teeth clenched, her face fiery.
“Beautiful,” he whispered while he could, fascinated with the joy he saw almost tangibly in her face. And then the pleasure took him, just as fervently as it was taking her. He groaned harshly, his body going rigid as he convulsed.
It was almost pain. He felt her body so close that they seemed to share the same breath, the same soul. He wanted to watch her, but he couldn’t. His eyes were closed tight as he savored every silvery throb of the delight that sent him as rigid as steel above her.
Blinding light flashed behind his eyes. Finally he collapsed on her, spent, wrung-out. He could barely breathe. Under him, he felt her own ragged breathing, her frantic heartbeat. He rolled off her and pulled her to him, lying on his side with one powerful leg thrown over hers while they fought to get a whole breath of air.
“I can’t believe you let me do that,” he whispered shakily.
“I can’t believe I felt that,” she whispered back, shivering. “I thought I was going to die.”
His hands smoothed over her soft skin. “Me, too,” he murmured. “I’ve never experienced this kind of passion before.”
Her face flushed and became radiant, but just as soon, her expression fell. “You aren’t saying that because we just made love?” she asked suspiciously. “I read this article about how men say a lot of things they don’t mean in bed.”
His eyebrows lifted and he smiled, amused. “Probably some men do. I never have.” His hand smoothed over her cheek. “But we do have a new complication now.”
She grimaced, searching his dark eyes. “Neither of us was thinking about how complicated the lack of protection could be.”
“That’s exactly what I mean.” He groaned silently as he recalled what he’d said to her in the heat of passion. At the time, creating a child had been irresistible. Now, it felt as if he’d railroaded her into an intimacy she might not have wanted, subconsciously. She wasn’t the sort of woman to have a termination. She’d have the child and resent it, and him, for the rest of his life. He felt guilty.
She traced his wide, firm mouth with her forefinger. He was beautiful to her. She loved looking at him, touching him. She was keenly aware of the powerful lines of his body so closely pressed to hers, of the lazy strength of it. She felt safe with him.
She thought of his child growing inside her, and her breath caught. She wanted to tell him that, but all of a sudden, he seemed remote. He’d withdrawn from her without moving away an inch.
She moved her hand into the hair at his shoulder, to bring him back to her.
He smiled and tested the soft texture of her hair even while her own hands slid into the thick, cool strands of his long, black hair.
“I love your hair,” she said softly. “I always have.”
“I loved yours long,” he replied.
She smiled sadly. “I cut it the day I got the newspaper clipping.”
His eyes closed briefly. “I couldn’t think at all, the day I mailed it.” He drew in a long breath as he studied her oval face. “Phoebe, there was more to it than just Isaac dying. He died running from the police. He’d been in trouble with the law for years. He drank to excess and didn’t know what he was doing until he was arrested. The day he died, he’d just robbed a liquor store and seriously injured the owner of the store. He’d have done time, if he’d lived.”
“Your poor mother!” she groaned. “And with a weak heart, too.”
“A violent death is the worst kind for any family to cope with,” he replied. “I went a little crazy. That’s why I didn’t write to you.” His eyes mirrored his sadness. “What happened broke my heart. I loved my brother.”
“I would have understood, if I’d just known what was going on,” she replied heavily.
He smiled faintly. “I realize that now…years too late.”
“I really tried to date other men,” she added. “But when it came right down to it, I didn’t trust men anymore. I’d given up on a happy, shared future when I came to Chenocetah. I planned to be a career woman and live for my work.”
“So I gathered, when I finally located you,” he replied with a rueful smile. “But knowing where you were didn’t help much. I couldn’t find a good excuse for coming to see you. Then fate arranged it for me.”
“Yes. Everything fell into place like links in a chain. You know, I really resented Joseph at first,” she confessed.
“I knew that,” he replied quietly.
“It didn’t last long,” she murmured, remembering little arms clinging around her neck. “He snuggled close to me and refused to let go. I was hooked.”
He laughed. “He has a way with women—Tina can tell you that.”
“He looks a lot like you,” she noted. “Only someone who knew for sure wouldn’t think he was your
own son. Are you going to tell him about his father, when he’s old enough?”
“Yes,” he said. “Isaac wasn’t a bad person,” he added. “He was just weak when it came to alcohol. He was one of those people who become violent when they’ve had too much. He started drinking when he was barely in his teens. We tried hard to get him away from it, but we couldn’t. We all felt guilty when he died the way he did.”
“You can’t fight fate,” she said absently. “I lost my grandparents two years ago in a train wreck in Europe, of all things. They’d gone on vacation. It was really hard for Derrie and me.”
“I didn’t know that.”
She searched his dark eyes. “I didn’t know about Isaac or your mother.”
He returned the curious, intent stare. She looked like a woman who’d just discovered the meaning of pleasure. He was glad that he’d given her that. But now he wondered if her surrender had been desire…or just curiosity. She was overwhelmed with the newness of intimacy. That didn’t mean she loved him, or that she wanted a traditional marriage. Hadn’t she just said that her goal was to become an independent career woman?
He stared past her, feeling uneasy all over again. He grimaced and let go of her, getting to his feet. “Not much sense in going to bed. It’s eight in the morning. We’d better have a quick shower and get out of here. You can have the bathroom first.”
She’d almost suggested that they shower together, but he was standing with his back to her and he didn’t turn when she got out of bed. With a worried sigh, she went toward the bathroom.
IT WAS A SILENT DRIVE to the museum. The intimacy of the past hour might never have happened. It had spoiled something between them. She’d thought it would bring them closer, but it had split them apart instead.
He pulled up at the door of the museum. “I need everything you can get me on the man who sold you the effigy figure,” he said. “The notes helped, but I need as much information as you can get from the other museum personnel if they saw him.”
“I’ll talk to the directors for you, too,” she told him. “One more thing. That woman who came here was tall and elegant and blond. She was wearing designer shoes and a designer purse—Aigner,” she added, naming a famous French designer. “She had a mole on her right cheek, just above her upper lip. She had a Southern accent, not thick but noticeable, and dark blue eyes.”