by Amii Lorin
"Adam." Her voice was a mere sigh against his lips.
"That's even more exciting." The words were spoken on her lips, into her mouth.
His kiss began as gently as the one he'd given her on the dance floor, but within seconds his lips hardened with command and his chest crushed her breasts. As the kiss deepened, long fingers slid into her hair, the tips pressing against her scalp as if to urge her closer, closer.
Jen's mind was beginning to feel disconnected from her body when her mouth was suddenly released. Lifting his head, Adam's eyes fastened onto the backs of the last two customers at the bar. Untangling his fingers from her hair, he slid his hands back to her shoulders.
"I don't want to be interrupted," he murmured as his clasp on her shoulders tightened. "Or watched."
Moving her gently, he slid her down until she was lying flat on her back. Fingers sliding back into her now disordered mane, he slowly bent over her.
Cold with a mixture of excitement and nervousness, Jen, her breathing growing more and more shallow, watched as his face came closer. What am I doing here? she thought distractedly. I shouldn't be here. A strange, desperate fear gripped her and her eyes flew to his. It was a mistake. Like a small frantic animal caught in quicksand, Jen's eyes became caught in the hot molasses depths of his. She didn't speak—she could not—but she didn't have to; Adam read the panic in her hazel eyes. Inches from her, his head dipped lower and his lips pressed to the wildly fluttering pulse in her neck.
"Don't be afraid, Jennifer." Adam's voice, muffled against her skin, had a soothing, hypnotic effect on her. Feeling as though everything inside was beginning to melt, Jen moaned softly as his lips left a trail of heat up her neck to the ticklish, tender skin behind her ear.
"But I am afraid, Adam." Jen's whisper had the sound of a very young girl. "I've never felt like this before and— and I don't understand what's happening to me."
"Don't you?" His murmured tone challenged her ignorance. "You've never wanted a man, physically, before?"
Jen's breathing was so constricted she could barely whisper, yet she had to answer, make him understand.
"No. Not like this, anyway. This—this frightens me, Adam."
"You are—" Adam paused while he lifted his head, his eyes searching her face—"you are still innocent?"
"Yes."
Jen's cheeks grew warm under his steady regard. Why did having to make that admission embarrass her? She knew the answer to that one, of course. How many times had she received pitying glances from young men she'd refused? And it wasn't just the men .either. Although she was closed-mouthed about her personal life, her friends knew, somehow, that she'd never—in the words of one outspoken friend—"come across." That same friend had laughingly dubbed Jen "the citadel." And all her friends seemed to regard her with genuine sympathy.
Hadn't she heard of the liberated woman? Jen had been asked repeatedly. Didn't she know she had as much right to sexual freedom as any male? Wasn't she—for heaven's sake—frustrated? Jen had answered yes, yes, and no to those questions—always basically the same, if couched differently—so often that her responses had reached the point of automatic flatness.
Now, with Adam's eyes searching her face, Jen questioned herself. Why had her admission made her uncomfortable? Was she frustrated? And had that unrealized frustration been the cause of her strange and immediate reaction to Adam? Did she, subconsciously, long to, as Ted said, kick over the traces, cast off the shackles of her state of innocence?
Her thoughts made her even more uncomfortable and she moved her head restlessly. On making her murmured reply Jen had lowered her eyes, unable to face the derision she was sure Adam would not be able to hide. Now, after his long silence, she lifted her lids.
"Why are you blushing?" There was not a hint of pity or derision in his tone or expression. "And why did you look away from me?"
Something about his stillness told Jen that he already knew the answers but wanted vocal confirmation from her. And what would he do if she gave him that confirmation? Laugh? Deride? Jen knew she could not take that. Not from him.
"Let me sit up, Adam." What had been meant as an order slipped out as an agonized plea.
"No." No lack of firmness in his tone. "Answer me, Jennifer. Why should admitting to your virginity make you this flustered?"
"Don't you know?" Feeling trapped, Jen flung the words at him defensively. "Don't you know that in this bravest of brave new worlds, in this sexually enlightened generation, I'm an oddity? A museum piece? A holdover from the Victorian age?" Her spark of defiance died leaving her voice strained, shattered. "Don't you want to laugh or shake your head sadly and tell me I don't know what I'm missing?"
"No, I don't want to laugh or shake my head sadly." Adam's hands, grasping her head, forced her to look at him. "Actually I feel like shouting in sheer relief." A gentle smile curved his lips at her confused, wide-eyed stare. "What you've just said so bitterly is true. You don't know what you're missing, but I'm delighted you've missed it."
"Why?" Jen blurted nervously. "I thought—well, I've been told that men prefer a woman with some experience."
"I'm sure some do, and to be blunt, I've enjoyed my share, but—" Adam stopped speaking abruptly. Dipping his head swiftly, he caught her slightly parted lips with his. The feel of his tongue gliding along her lower lip drew a shuddering response from her. He pulled away at once.
"Did you like that?" he asked with almost clinical detachment.
Always before, the smallest foray of a male tongue had repelled her. Yet now she felt cheated by his withdrawal. If she was honest with herself as well as with him, there was only one answer she could give.
"Yes."
"That wasn't even the tip of the iceberg," Adam murmured softly. His fingertips gently massaged her scalp. "Jennifer, the world of the purely physical, the sensual, is a world apart. The only confines of that world lie within the individual imagination. It can range from a hurried, frantic, almost animalistic coupling to an exquisitely beautiful experience. I want to be the one to introduce you to that world." His mouth brushed hers gently. "You are my darling, and I want you." The uneven tremor of his tone sent an expectant shiver through Jen. "But I want more than mere willingness. I want even more than eagerness."
He paused to draw a ragged breath, affording Jen the opportunity to insert, more than a little fearfully, "Adam, I don't understand. What is it you want?"
"Exactly what I'm willing to give," he answered without hesitation. "Unconditional surrender."
Jen went stiff with apprehension. Did he mean now? This minute? But she couldn't, she thought frantically, she wasn't ready. His calming voice cut into her scuttling thoughts.
"Don't panic, Jennifer. I will not use force. I will not use coercion." A fleeting smile touched his firm lips. "I am not turned on by the idea of dragging you into that physical world. We will journey—together—or we will not journey at all." One dark eyebrow arched. "Will you go with me?"
"I—I—" How could she answer when she wasn't quite sure she even understood him?
"You may pause, or come to a complete stop, anywhere along the way, but"—his eyes bored into hers—"if you decide to embark on this venture with me, I expect your complete honesty."
"In what way?" Jen's voice was a shakily expelled whisper.
"If anything I do to you displeases or frightens you in any way, you must tell me." His voice grew husky, intimate. "By the same token, if I please you, you must let me know, either verbally or—or in any way that feels natural to you. Now do you understand?"
Closing her eyes against the hot velvet lure of his, Jen lay perfectly still. If this was a line—a new, refined way of making a proposition—it was a very effective one. For without knowing quite why, Jen trusted him implicitly. Still she hesitated.
"I may cry 'halt' at any time?" she asked softly.
"Yes." Adam didn't elaborate any further. He didn't have to. She believed him.
Taking him at his word she whi
spered, "When does this journey begin?"
"Now."
Jen felt the word like a wisp of silk ruffle her lips. Adam's mouth opened over hers invitingly. After a very brief hesitation Jen's lips parted to join with his.
There were no wildly ringing bells. No explosion of skyrockets. Unlike his kiss of a short time earlier, Adam's firm lips made no demand. Sweetly, gently, with a slowness that was, in its very languidness, exciting, Adam explored the outer edges of her mouth.
"Adam?" The pleasant, though uncertain, sound of Bill Wakefield's voice separated them. "Miss Lengle?"
"Right here, Bill." Releasing the cradling hold he had on her head, Adam straightened, placing a restraining hand on her shoulder when she made a move to sit up.
"I'm sorry to intrude," Bill said quickly, "but I wanted you to know that the bar's closing."
"And you'd like us to vacate the room?" Adam asked quietly.
"Not at all." Bill snorted. "Hell, I don't care if you stay in here all night. I just wanted to warn you that the lights in here will be turned off shortly, and to ask if you'll make sure the fire screen is in place before you leave."
"Will do, Bill."
"Okay, thanks. Good night."
Jen's soft voice blended with Adam's in wishing Bill a good night. A moment later his voice filtered through the empty room.
"Oh, by the way, it has started snowing again."
"Well," Jen murmured, "I guess that answers the question as to our going on to the lodge tomorrow."
Turning his head slowly, Adam stared down at her, his face free of expression.
"Does that disappoint you?"
Remembering his cautioning words about honesty, Jen shook her head.
"No" Then, with a teasing note she added, "I don't ski very well anyway."
"I'll teach you to ski," Adam offered as he lowered his head to hers. "Among other things," he added as his mouth touched hers.
This time he let the kiss deepen, his lips hardening on hers when he felt her response. Caught suddenly in a maelstrom of new, exciting sensations, Jen curled her arms around his neck, her fingers digging into his hair. And now it was her fingers that pressed against his head urging him closer. She was breathless and trembling by the time his mouth left hers.
Moving leisurely, his lips explored her face before, trailing moist fire across her cheek, they found her ear. She gasped when his teeth nipped gently at her lobe, and she moaned softly when the tip of his tongue followed the outer ridge of her ear. And all the while his hands slid caressingly over the silky material of her blouse, warming the skin of her shoulders, her arms, her waist.
Her breasts seemed to fill achingly as his hands moved slowly over her midriff. When his hands cupped the expanded mounds, she shuddered with the intensity of pleasure that skittered madly through her entire body.
His hands were removed instantly and his breath tickled her ear as he softly questioned, "No?"
"Oh, yes." Jen's gasped reply was barely audible, as was her soft sigh as his hands returned to stroke her breasts. Turning her head, she kissed the corner of his mouth to draw his lips coaxingly to hers.
His mouth touched hers, retreated, touched again, over and over. First her lower lip was caught, caressed, inside his mouth, then her upper lip received the same loving attention. They were both breathing in short, ragged gasps when he pulled himself away. Turning from her, he slid off the edge of the sofa onto the floor.
"Cooling off period," Adam rasped tersely. "I think we'd better talk for a while."
CHAPTER 5
Talk? Talk!! God, she could hardly breathe. And even if she could breathe, the way her mind was whirling, she doubted her ability to put together a lucid sentence.
Drawing his legs up, Adam sat, forearms crossed over his knees, chin resting on his arms, staring broodingly into the fire. Sometime during those mind-shattering moments while she'd been lost inside the euphoria of Adam's mouth, the lights had been extinguished and she had not even noticed.
Now, as her breathing leveled off and her rioting emotions cooled to languor, Jen studied the flickering play of dying firelight across Adam's face. What she viewed increased her pulse rate again. His strong face, alternately cast in shadow and light, had suddenly become the most important countenance in the world for her. Was it really possible, she mused dreamily, to fall in love within the time span of twelve or so short hours?
Yesterday she'd have laughed at the idea of love at first sight. Love grew as two people got to know each other, and deepened with the passage of time—didn't it? Yet she could no longer deny, even to herself, that something had happened to her the moment their eyes met. No, something had stirred inside her at the sight of his hand hours before their eyes met. But could it have conceivably been the first pangs of love?
Jen didn't know and at the moment was simply too lethargic to delve into it too deeply. What she did know was that merely looking at his shadowed profile sent the blood charging through her veins making her fingers ache with the need to touch him. Wiggling her body, she shifted to the edge of the sofa. Her movement broke through his concentration on the crackling Jogs.
"Talk, Jennifer." Adam sounded as shaken as she felt.
"What should I talk about?" Jen asked huskily, her eyes arrested by a small shallow indentation near the hairline at his temple. Before he could answer she murmured accusingly, "You should not have scratched."
"What?" He jerked around to stare at her, his back rigid with tension. "I scratched you?" His eyes moved swiftly over the exposed skin of her face and neck. "Where?"
"Not me," Jen corrected with a soft smile. Lifting her hand, she placed her fingertip on the tiny hollow. "You have a scar from scratching when you had chicken pox. How old were you?"
"Seven or so—I was in the second grade." His hand came up to cover hers, pressing it against the side of his face. Her palm felt the play of small muscles that tugged a smile from his lips. "Is it your turn to play twenty questions?"
"May I?" The tremor that ran down Jen's arm was revealed in her shaky voice. Hesitantly she moved her fingers to outline his eyebrow.
"Sure." Adam's hand moved with hers. "I want you to feel free to ask me anything." His long fingers slid along hers. "Touch me—anywhere."
"How old are you?" The words came out in a breathless rush.
"Thirty-two." Adam laughed softly.
Giving in to the urge to imprint his likeness on her fingers as well as her mind, Jen's fingers explored his forehead before moving on to trace his hairline.
"Where were you born?" she asked in bemusement as she drew a line from his hair to the bridge of his nose.
"Tokyo."
That caught her attention.
"You were born in Japan?"
"Yes." Adam's voice held a smile. "And spent the first ten years of my life there."
While she digested this bit of information, her fingers gently probed the soft hollow under his left eye. When his eyes closed she tested the texture of his eyelashes.
"You have very long lashes, you know that?"
The laughter that erupted from him momentarily dislodged her hand. The pressure of his fingers guiding hers away from his lids allowed him to open his eyes again. "Is that a note of envy I hear in your voice?" he asked around his laughter.
"Of course." Her soft laughter joined with his. "It isn't fair, you know. Do you have any idea what we females have to do to make our lashes look that long and full?".
"Life's cruel," he teased, drawing her hand down to cover his mouth.
"And you males don't apprecia—oh!" The tip of his tongue against her palm stole her breath. "I—I thought you wanted to talk," she gasped the moment she got it back.
"No, that isn't what I want to do." His hand moved away from hers. "But I think that is what we'd better do." When she lifted her hand from his face he muttered, "Put it back. I didn't say we couldn't touch while we talk."
As he was speaking he shifted position. Turning to her, he imprisoned her
loosely by placing his left forearm on the sofa on her right side and his right hand near her head. During the shifting, her hand slipped from his face. Bending over her he repeated, "Put it back."
His hand moved in time with hers, and she felt his fingers touch her face at the same time hers touched his.
"Talk, Jennifer."
"I—you—" Jen had never realized the skin on her face was so sensitive. Yet it must be, for the feather-light touch of his fingers could, be felt clear through to the bone.
Marshaling her dissolving senses she whispered, "You came to the States when you left Japan?"
"Yes, to Philadelphia," Adam whispered back, a smile twitching his lips.
Covering the betraying twitch with her fingertips, Jen sighed, "Do I amuse you?"
"You delight me." The smile grew under her fingers. "You excite me," he murmured. "Talk, Jennifer."
"Your father was in the service?" Fingertips moving slowly, she delicately outlined his mouth.
"No." His breath tickled her palm. "Not then anyway. He was stationed there at the end of World War Two, before I was born. He fell in love with the country and its culture. When he came home, back to Philly, he formed a partnership with my mother's brother, opened a small showroom, and went into the importing business. As soon as the business was established he packed up most of his belongings, my brother, who was then two years old, and my mother, who was pregnant with me, and went back to Japan. I was born three months after their arrival there."
Adam's hand had not been idle while he was speaking. Moving slowly, his fingers had examined her facial features, as hers had explored his earlier. At the same time his left hand had awakened every nerve ending in her right arm with slow, caressing strokes from her wrist to her shoulder.
"And he stayed ten years?" Jen's voice had grown husky with the tightness invading her chest and throat. The incongruity of their conversation and the aura of sensuality surrounding them was creating havoc with her senses—physical and common.