THE MORNING SIDE OF DAWN

by Justine Davis

  "I'd say that chair needs a little more work," she said.

  "Or I do," he corrected dryly. "I haven't quite got the hang of this yet." Not to mention that my concentration seems shot lately, he added silently.

  "No kidding." She applied an antiseptic-soaked pad to his back and he sucked in a breath at the sudden fierce sting. "If you're really going to change over to this off-road stuff, you'd better start practicing now."

  "Yeah." He shook his head. "It's tougher than I thought it was going to be."

  She soaked a new pad and began on several other, smaller cuts he'd apparently acquired in that wild plunge. "Figured you'd just switch right over, huh?"

  He gave her a sideways look. He had thought that, but it hadn't taken long for him to realize what an arrogant assumption that had been. But she didn't sound as if she was accusing him of being arrogant. She sounded as if she was, quite simply, teasing him.

  "Something like that," he finally said.

  "Pride goeth before, and all that," Cassie quipped as she cleaned up another, smaller raw spot on his right shoulder blade.

  He chuckled ruefully then. "Well, mine sure did. Right before."

  "Didn't make the landing any softer, either, did it? A lesson we all seem to need repeated."

  She walked around his chair, looked him up and down, then knelt down with her bottle of antiseptic and another clean pad. He knew there was another scrape on his belly, just to the right of his navel, but other than that he'd escaped pretty easily on this side.

  "Looks like your back took most of the hits, Crash," she said.

  He gave her a baleful look. "If you have any idea of hanging that on me as a nickname, forget it."

  "Would I do that?" she said, feigning wide-eyed innocence.

  "Not unless you want to be Cassandra from now on."

  She laughed, a light, cheerful sound that made him feel rather absurdly pleased that he'd caused it. She knelt down and moistened the pad with the antiseptic.

  "Okay, okay, you win. No Crash."

  "Wise woman," he said with mock gruffness.

  "Only sometimes," she said, her voice suddenly quiet.

  He had a brief moment to wonder what she'd meant before she applied the pad to the scrape on his belly and a sudden sharp jab of pain distracted him. This one must be worse than it looked, he thought, and couldn't help jerking away as his stomach muscles instinctively retreated from the sting. Cassie was leaning over him, and put out her other hand as if losing her balance. There was no place for her to brace herself except against him, and her hand came down on his chest, her fingers brushing over his right nipple.

  He sucked in a harsh breath at the rush of heat that swiftly vanquished the pain. He didn't dare look at her, didn't dare glance even at her hand, afraid of what the sight of it caressing his chest—even accidentally—might do to him. Hell, he was afraid of what it was already doing to him.

  "I'm sorry," she whispered, lifting away the pad.

  But she didn't move her hand from his chest. She left it there as she tossed the pad away with her other hand, her fingers unmoving now, but still resting over that circle of flesh that was sending urgent signals to parts of his body that were more than ready to respond.

  And respond they did, to the simple presence of her hand on him. Heat grew, his breathing quickened and blood pooled low and deep, until he knew she couldn't help but notice what was happening to him. He quickly lifted one hand to move hers away, before he did or said something very, very stupid.

  At least, he meant to move her hand away. But for a moment, just for a moment, he yielded to the sweet warmth and pressed her fingers against his skin once more.

  He felt her fingers flex beneath his, tentatively at first, then more assuredly, sending little darts of heat racing along nerves that were rapidly awakening to a kind of message they hadn't carried in a very long time. And then she moved her fingers again, stroking them over his nipple in a movement that was unmistakably a caress, and clearly in no way accidental.

  He smothered a groan. He couldn't believe the signals she was sending him. He didn't dare believe them. It had been far too long since he'd trusted a woman with the kind of intimacy she seemed to be asking for.

  But his body didn't care whether he believed or not.

  "Cassie," he said; it came out in a low, hoarse whisper. He tried again. "Cassie, don't. Please, don't. You don't … mean this."

  "Who says I don't?" she asked huskily.

  She lifted her eyes to his then, and he saw it again, that look from the hill, full of feminine warmth and need and wanting, and something else he didn't dare name.

  And it was for him. At the thought a throttled groan broke from him. Cassie settled back on her heels and looked at him.

  "I mean it, Dar. More than I've ever meant anything in my life."

  Then she moved once more, leaned forward and pressed her lips to where her fingers had been. Then flicked at him with her tongue. Fire shot through him, and he knew it didn't matter anymore if she meant it or not.

  * * *

  Chapter 14

  «^»

  He couldn't believe he'd made it this far, actually into his bedroom. Every ounce of common sense he had was screaming at him to call a halt to this before he made a fool of himself. But it wasn't enough to overcome the raging of a body long denied, a body that had been suppressing the need this woman sparked in him for days now.

  Months, really, he admitted; she'd been in his mind far too often since he'd first set eyes on her in that damn green dress. And now he was so hard he could barely move, so close to eruption at just the thought of Cassie being in his arms that he doubted if he'd last five minutes.

  He was crazy. That was all there was to it. He was crazy to even be thinking about this, let alone having actually begun it. It had seemed almost possible, even romantic when he'd swept her onto his lap and wheeled in here. And she had looked at him as if it were, as if he'd done something wonderful. He wondered how she'd look at him if he actually climbed into that bed with her. Naked, with nothing to hide the reality of his body he wasn't sure she was ready to accept, no matter how matter-of-fact she seemed to be about it.

  His jaw clenched as he looked at her. How could a woman look so damned sexy in a pair of faded jeans and a raggedy old sweatshirt that was as ready for the rag bin as his T-shirt had been?

  Of course she looks sexy, he told himself sharply, trying to shake himself out of this haze he seemed to have drifted into. You've done without for a damned long time. Any woman would look sexy to you, stretched out on your bed like that.

  Even as he thought it he knew it wasn't true. He'd learned how to pound his libido into submission long ago, and he rarely dared the murky waters of intimate relationships. And in submission was where his libido had peacefully stayed until Cassie Cameron had shown up. Not that he hadn't had chances before; it was simply that the risk always seemed to outweigh the attraction. Until now. Now, taking what she was offering seemed worth any hazard, any amount of risk.

  "This is going to be hard to do with you still over there," Cassie said, indicating where he sat in his chair beside the bed. Her tone was light, but he saw a hint of doubt in her eyes. And knew he had to ask.

  "Cassie … I don't…" He suppressed a shiver as his body clenched at the very idea of stopping. "Are you sure you want this? With … me?"

  Cassie sat up very slowly. "I know what some people assume about me, because of what I look like, and what I do," she said quietly. "But no matter what they think, I don't … I haven't done this very often." She lowered her gaze to the plainly functional cotton spread on his bed. "Because it never felt right. I never met anyone who made it seem right. I never thought I'd meet someone who made it seem … imperative."

  Dar swallowed under the impact of her simple but incredibly powerful words. "Imperative?"

  She raised her eyes to meet his then. "As much as breathing. I can't help it. You look at me and I…" She gave a helpless little shrug.
>
  Urgency exploded through him in a burst of fire so fierce it almost doubled him over.

  "Cassie," he breathed.

  Then she held out a hand to him and—all his internal warnings forgotten, his common sense finally vanquished—he left his chair and went into her arms.

  The moment she touched him, her arms slipping around him to pull him closer, he knew five minutes was an optimistic estimate. But then she was kissing him, deeply, hotly, and he couldn't think of anything except how sweet she tasted and how badly he wanted her.

  Her fingers tangled in his hair, then held fast, as if she feared he might leave her if she didn't hold him there. He was far beyond that now, he knew. As he delved in turn into the honeyed depths of her mouth, savoring the welcoming eagerness of her, he doubted if he could leave her right now if he was promised his legs back.

  As if she were reassured now, she let her hands run down his bare back, carefully avoiding the injured spot near his spine. Her fingertips slid under his waistband and curled against skin so sensitive to her touch that a fiery sensation swept through him, and crested into a burst of heat that made his stomach muscles ripple as he swelled to full hardness with a suddenness that made him groan.

  His hands went to her waist, then behind her, to pull her against him in a convulsive movement. The mere feel of her body against his erect flesh was almost enough to send him over the edge, and when she moved sinuously, as if to caress him with the softness of her belly, he nearly lost control. He moved his hands down to the taut curves of her buttocks, meaning just to hold her still until he could regain some modicum of restraint. But the feel of that tempting flesh against his hands nearly defeated his purpose.

  He wrenched his mouth away from hers, gasping. "Cassie—" he panted "—I … I'm not… We've got to slow down. It's been too damn long."

  "Yes," she said, her voice a husky, breathy little sound that made it even harder for him to remember why he'd ever stopped kissing her, even for a moment. "It's been far too long. Too long to go slow now."

  As if he'd agreed, she began to wriggle out of her clothes. Dar's breath caught in his throat as she pulled off her sweatshirt to reveal high, lovely breasts filling a simple cotton bra, its pale green color her only concession to the fashion trends he would have expected.

  I know what some people assume about me, because of what I look like, and what I do.

  Her words echoed in his mind. In a way, she'd been as much a victim of people's assumptions as he had. And he knew what she was telling him. He bit the inside of his lip, knowing she hadn't lied about her limited experience, and knowing, as well, that he was far too aroused and, if he was honest, too desperate at the moment to be the kind of lover she needed. If he even knew how, under the best of circumstances.

  But then she was wriggling out of her jeans, revealing an equally simple matching pair of cotton panties, cut high on the sides to make legs that were already impossibly long—and beautiful—seem longer yet. He had a sudden vision of them wrapped around his hips, and his body cramped with need yet again.

  But another thought cooled him a little, the thought that she would soon expect him to do what she had just done, shed the rest of his clothes. And knowing that she'd already seen his legs didn't quite ease his qualms; seeing the tidy but still jarring stumps under those conditions was quite different than going to bed with them.

  And ironically he knew on some gut-deep level that this would be a hell of a lot easier if it wasn't Cassie. And that fact scared him almost as much as revealing his damaged body to her did.

  She rolled over on her side, facing him, reaching for him. Her hand slid over his ribs to his waist, under the side of his workout pants, beneath the waistband of his shorts, then around to his back. He froze at the feel of her fingers on the skin just above his buttocks. He couldn't help it; panic seized him for a moment

  "Dar?" She was looking at him, that hint of doubt back in her eyes, as if she sensed him withdrawing. "Dar, please, don't. I… It doesn't… I don't mind."

  "My fiancée thought she didn't, either," he said, unable to stop himself, "until one of my stumps touched her."

  "Dar, stop." She bit her lip, and shook her head as if in pain. "Oh, please, I don't know what to say. How to tell you … not that it doesn't matter, of course it does, but … Dar, I don't care! Can't you see that?"

  Now, he thought. Right now, for whatever her reasons, she didn't care. Whether it would last past the moment was another question, and one he had neither the heart nor the desire to pursue right now. All he could see was that at this moment she wanted him, all he could feel was her hands on him. And he knew there was no turning back.

  "Cassie." It came out on a long exhalation as he pulled her hard against him. Her skin was soft and as smooth as anything he'd ever touched. And warm. So very, very warm.

  He shuddered despite himself. He'd longed, in the rare moments when he allowed himself to think about it at all, to have someone just hold him, no expectations, no questions asked. He'd never realized the need to hold someone was just as strong, until now, when Cassie lay warm and tempting in his arms. And once more he resisted the idea that if it were anyone but Cassie, the need wouldn't be there at all.

  He slid his hand up her back, tracing the straight, strong line of her spine. He stopped at the band of her bra, fumbling with the long-unfamiliar task of undoing it one-handed, wryly remembering his college days when he'd been much more practiced. When it gave at last, she shifted away from him long enough to shed the bra, and he caught a brief glimpse of surprisingly full breasts tipped with coral nipples already drawn tight, before she shocked the breath out of him by moving to rub them against his chest as she pushed her panties down her legs and kicked them away.

  "Cassie," he said again, only this time it was a groan wrenched from him at the feel of her naked body against his.

  He pulled back slightly, bringing his hands up to gently, reverently, cup her breasts. She fit his hands perfectly, the tender flesh rounding into his palms so sweetly he almost forgot to breathe. He heard a tiny sigh of pleasure rise from her, saw her eyes close and her head loll back. Watching her, he slid his thumbs upward and rubbed them over her nipples.

  Her eyes shot open as she gasped, her body going taut. The already tightly drawn peaks went pebble hard at his touch, and she moaned low and soft. Dar bit back a harsh groan, then lowered his head to nuzzle her breasts, marveling at the softness of them beneath his lips as he kissed her again and again.

  He lifted his head and moved upward, needing more than anything to taste that rigid nub of flesh. But he paused, looking at her, wondering if she wanted this, trying to ask without asking. She read him easily, it seemed, because she arched her back sharply, thrusting her breasts upward, as if offering them to him.

  "Please," she whispered.

  He moved then, urgently, capturing one nipple between his lips and flicking it with his tongue while his fingers continued to caress the other. She cried out, a tiny little sound of surprise and pleasure that made his own rigid flesh expand even more, until he thought he couldn't stand it another instant. But he held on, moving his mouth to her other breast and giving it the same teasing caress.

  "Dar. Oh, Dar." It broke from her on a moan, and he lifted his head. She looked at him then, her eyes vividly green and hot with a need that he knew must be echoed in his own. "I thought you were in a hurry," she said, her voice again taking on that husky note that made him shiver.

  "Too much of a hurry," he admitted. "I don't think I can … wait long."

  "Did someone ask you to?"

  "But—"

  "We have plenty of time." She lifted a finger and stroked it down the center of his chest, over his belly, stopping just past his navel with a teasing flick that made every muscle in his body knot. "And if we don't get it right the first time, then I guess we'll just have to try again. And again."

  On her last words, her hand flattened out against his belly and slipped slowly downward, downward u
ntil her fingers slid beneath his waistband again, downward until her fingertips were a scant fraction of an inch from taut male flesh that was straining for her touch. And Dar knew then he had to have her hands on him, no matter the risk. He sucked in a breath, then shoved the rest of his clothes off.

  She didn't move. Her hand stayed motionless, pressing slightly against his lower belly. He steeled himself to look at her, afraid of what he might see. And nearly gasped with relief when he saw her watching him steadily, the obvious question clear in her eyes; she was, as he had, silently asking permission to touch.

  "Dar?" she whispered when he didn't respond.

  "Yes," he hissed. "Yes."

  Her hand moved then, that last crucial inch, her fingers curling around him in a caress that was tentative, but no less sweet for it. A harsh cry ripped from him, and he couldn't stop the convulsive jerk of his hips as he pushed himself against her hand. She tightened her grasp slightly, and began to stroke him, slowly at first, and then, as he responded helplessly, faster, until he thought he was going to explode out of his skin.

  "Cassie," he groaned. "Cassie, I can't wait."

  She lifted herself up on one elbow. "Tell me," she said urgently. "Tell me what to do."

  It took him a moment to realize, through the fog of pleasure she'd caused, what she meant.

  "I can't… I don't think I…"

  He couldn't find the words to tell her he didn't trust his very rusty technique; normally he'd rely on the body that had always had an excellent sense of balance and had learned to adjust to the changes in its own dimensions, but somehow balancing on his remaining knee with Cassie naked beneath him seemed far too much to concentrate on.

  He gave up on talking and grasped her slender waist, then rolled to his back, urging her on top of him. He felt her long legs drag over the stumps of both his legs, but she never even reacted; her eyes were fastened on his face, her hands stroking over his shoulders, chest and belly as if she were trying to learn him by touch. She straddled him; he could feel the heat of her, and his aching flesh pulsed with the need to be inside her. He watched her, seeing the slight sway of her breasts, tiny arrows of heat rocketing through him at the sight of her nipples still rigid and wet from his mouth.