A Wanting Heart

by Christie Adams

  Ryan and bed. Oh, the delightful visions that those two words conjured up! Satisfied with her first sketch, Fiona flipped the page over and began again, this time intending to spend more time and put more detail into an image she was drawing from her memories of their time together before. One in particular came to mind.

  Ryan had just made love to her. He was lying on his side facing her, head resting on his fist, leaning on his elbow. His other hand was occupied with her breast and one leg was resting on top of the sheet that covered his cock, balls and lower leg. His hair was tousled and the look in his eyes was one of complete sexual satisfaction—probably mirroring the look in her own. It started off as just words, talking about nothing and everything, but then he’d started making love to her again, purely through the way he was looking at her.

  Fiona started with his shoulder, capturing the definition of the deltoid muscle, then the powerful bulge of his biceps. Her pencil moved deftly over the paper, adding more detail, extending the image—the line of his rib cage, the trim hip, the muscular thigh, the bent knee, the strong calf.

  The real challenge, however, lay in depicting the face of a man who embodied passion and power and tenderness. The hint of stubble on his strong jaw—God, how she’d felt that burn the sensitive skin of her inner thighs. Fiona smiled at the memory—they’d been in too much of a hurry that time. Well, she had. Ryan had wanted to take the time to shave, but she hadn’t let him.

  Ryan flung himself onto the sofa beside her. “All done for today—what are you up to, a chuisle?”

  Fiona flipped the page on the sketch pad—there was no way he was seeing that. “Not a lot,” she said dismissively. “Just doodling. Everything okay?”

  “Nothing the guys can’t handle, and nothing that needs me to be anywhere but right here.” He leaned over and kissed her lips…the playfulness in his eyes changed, to something soft and loving and cherishing that made her feel like the luckiest woman in the world. “It’s still snowing. Any ideas about what we can do?” He started playing with her hair.

  He wasn’t fooling her—he had plenty of ideas. Or rather, one idea with several variations. Ryan Quinn was nothing if not imaginative when it came to bedroom-related activity. “If we do what’s on your mind, it’ll spoil the surprise I’m planning for later.”

  “Ah-ha! Now I have something to work with.” He grinned with the air of a man who thought he’d discovered the greatest secret in the universe. “It wouldn’t have anything to do with you having your way with my body, would it?”

  “You wish! All I’m going to tell you is that it’s something we’ve never done before. We never got around to it.”

  He continued to badger her through the day. Fiona refused to give him any hints about what she had planned, although she came close when he resorted to tickling her.

  That made it three snowballs.

  At least the sun set early that far north. It had to be dark, to add to the romantic mood. Fiona wanted everything to be just perfect, for the treat she had in mind for Ryan.

  She’d been stretched out on one of the sofas, reading a slushy romance on her tablet. Very quietly she switched it off and put it on the coffee table, moving to lie on her side so that she could watch Ryan instead. He was also reading—a battered, dog-eared copy of a spy thriller.

  The reading glasses suited him, she decided. Her very own superhero in disguise. He hadn’t used them when they’d been together before, and what surprised her was how adorable and sexy he looked wearing them.

  But then again, he looked adorable and sexy wearing absolutely nothing. And all male and gorgeous and downright edible, and at this rate, she could easily spend the rest of her life in a constant state of arousal.

  Down, girl. You’re not jumping his bones tonight, remember? Tonight you’re taking care of him.

  Her smile fading a little, she continued to watch him—he did look older and she felt a strong pang of loss for the three years they’d been apart. For a brief moment she allowed herself to consider what might have happened, had she not turned him out of her life. Perhaps it had been for the best that they’d split up after all, otherwise he’d have seen her at her lowest ebb, and Fiona hated the thought of that.

  She’d wanted Ryan the first time around—now that they were together again, those feelings had intensified into pure, primitive desire for the male of her species. One particular male of her species…and that was Ryan Quinn.

  A slight change to her plan was called for. She’d leave him with his book, while she went to prepare for the evening ahead. With luck, he wouldn’t even notice that she’d gone.

  “And where do you think you’re going, Miss Pearce?”

  Maybe not.

  He was still reading, turning the page even as she glanced back at him, for all the world appearing as if he’d never spoken. “Never you mind, Quinn. I’ll come and get you when I’m ready for you.”

  “Okay.” He looked up from his book. “Just don’t take too long.”

  She leaned down to brush her lips over his cheek, felt the graze of a day’s growth of stubble. Another idea popped into her head to add to the evening’s menu—an idea that had her heart racing with anticipation.

  “It’ll be worth the wait,” she whispered. “I promise.”

  Chapter 5

  He’d humoured her when she’d told him she wanted to take a detour ten minutes into their journey to Scotland, to call at the little shop in the village. He’d soon find out, though, that the results would more than justify the delay—she’d almost emptied their shelves of the candles, tea lights and aromatherapy oils she’d needed for the surprise she was planning for Ryan.

  While the bath was filling, she arranged the candles in both the bedroom and the bathroom. With the mp3 player slotted into the docking station in the bedroom, and the bottle of massage oil she’d mixed earlier sitting beside it, her preparations were almost complete.

  The bath ready, it was time to light the candles. With the main lights switched off, the intimate atmosphere was just what she was looking for. A quick glance around told her that everything was ready. All she needed was the star of the show.

  He was still reading. As she paused quietly in the doorway, it occurred to Fiona that she could spend her whole life just looking at him. She wondered what he’d say if she told him he was an exquisite piece of eye candy. He’d always been completely oblivious to just how stunningly attractive he was.

  “Time to come with me, Quinn.” She took his glasses off and put them on the coffee table with his book. “Now you can have your surprise.”

  She led him by the hand to the bathroom door, then told him to close his eyes. She opened the door and led him inside.

  “You can look now, Ryan.”

  His gaze swept around the room, taking everything in, and then returned to her, searching her face for an explanation. “You did all this for me?”

  Fiona started the playlist of romantic music stored on her phone. “I just want to spoil you a little,” she told him with a smile. “Think of it as an early Christmas present—for both of us. We don’t know exactly where we’ll be at Christmas. We might still be here if the weather’s bad, or we may be back in the real world, but this is something I always wanted to do for you.

  “And,” she continued, her fingers on the top button of his shirt, “I want to open my Christmas present now, while it’s just the two of us and we can concentrate on each other without distractions. Hold still.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  Fiona quirked an eyebrow; she knew Ryan was just being his charming, facetious self, but having such a strong, masculine man address her with such a respectful term made her inner goddess preen. It would be so easy to get used to that. She started on the first button, giving Ryan a severe look when he raised his hands to do it for her. “No, this is my job, and I want to enjoy it. Christmas presents don’t unwrap themselves. Just relax.”

  She fully intended to enjoy this, and hoped her present would, t
oo.

  The first button gave way. She pulled the sides of the shirt apart and placed a soft kiss to the exposed flesh. As she did so, she inhaled the warm, male scent. How could a man smell good enough to eat?

  Fiona took her time with the task—after all, this was all part of the experience, unwrapping a gift slowly, to delay the moment when it would be fully exposed for her enjoyment. And when it was…

  God, he had a superb body.

  Her hands trailing across his skin, she moved behind him, wrapped her arms around his waist and rested her head against his broad back. “Did I ever tell you how perfect you are, Ryan? If I didn’t, it was most remiss of me.”

  He shook his head. “I’m not the perfect one in this room, Fiona—you are.”

  “Not me, sweetheart.” She completed the circle to stand in front of him again, ready to complete the task of unwrapping him.

  Divested of his clothing, Ryan was magnificent. And aroused. Unable to resist, she cupped his balls in her left hand, lightly scratching the sensitive skin behind his scrotum with her fingernails, her reward a shudder that rippled through his entire body, accompanied by an instant surge of his shaft. She could have played like that for hours, teasing him to the edge of orgasm and then drawing back, but right now, something else was beckoning.

  “In the bath, Ryan.”

  “Aren’t you going to join me?”

  “I will, but there’s something I need to do first.”

  He relaxed back into the hot water. Fiona could have sworn she heard a low, contented moan as he settled against the end of the bath. His arm rested along the top, giving her the ideal opportunity to massage his hand.

  Just a few drops of the oil were all she needed. Her fingers slid easily over the back of his hand and fingers, continuing with a gentle manipulation of his wrist. Then she did the same with the other hand.

  She smiled when his fingers entwined with hers. In some ways, she felt as if they were learning about each other all over again, but without having to go through that awkward phase of being complete strangers.

  “Get in here with me, a chuisle,” he murmured, his tone making it seem more like a plea than a demand.

  “I will.” Her hand caressed his arm, sensing the ebb and flow of muscle as his hand grasped her arm in turn. She reached for his cheek, feeling the abrasion of his beard. “Do you trust me to shave you?”

  Eyes closed, he was totally relaxed. “I trust you with my life, a rúnsearc.”

  “Just as well you don’t use a cutthroat razor, then. Are you ever going to tell me what all this Irish Gaelic means, Ryan Quinn?”

  “Look it up. You can find everything on the internet these days.”

  “Of course. And I know enough about the language to know that however it sounds, it’s sure as hell not spelled that way.”

  Ryan laughed. “Have to keep you on your toes somehow, kitty-cat. Now, are you going to join me?”

  “You’re worse than a kid. Let me shave you first.”

  She’d left his shaving foam and razor conveniently to hand. Ryan lay calmly back while she applied the foam to his face and neck, turning the action into a tender caress. In silence, she picked up the razor and began to draw it over his skin, her hand steady in spite of her nerves.

  Short of making love, Fiona didn’t think there was anything more intimate that she could do for this man, to show him how very much he meant to her. The rasp of blades against bristle, two people breathing, the occasional splash of water—these were the only sounds that could be heard against the tapestry of soft music. Ryan wasn’t the only one who didn’t want to shatter the mood with conversation.

  When the job was done, Fiona used a washcloth to clean the remaining streaks of foam from her lover’s face, her touch gentle as she checked on how well she’d done the job. Not bad for a first attempt—was she being foolish to hope that she’d get to practise a little more? Only time would tell.

  She was keenly aware of Ryan’s eyes upon her as she stripped off. His arms welcomed her against his body when she joined him in the blissfully hot water. She almost felt as if she were floating, as she cupped his now-smooth cheek with her hand, kissing him deeply while his arms supported her.

  Fiona picked up the sponge from the side of the bath, and with great care began to wash Ryan’s body, from the tips of his fingers, up his arm, across the top of his chest and down the other arm. Another dip of the sponge in the water and she bathed his chest and shoulders, her movements slow and deliberate, almost an act of worship. Like this, it was easy to admit to herself just how much she’d missed him…how much she loved him.

  She wanted to say the words, but she was still so scared of breaking what they had. He’d told her he cared, all but said the same three words that frightened her so much, and there’d been no one else in his life since they’d last been together. However, hearing a woman say those words could change a man’s mind instantly—Fiona had found that out the hard way.

  Too terrified to say the words aloud and risk shattering this perfect moment, she settled for saying them in her mind and communicating them through touch, knowing that Ryan would simply enjoy the sensations without seeking and finding any hidden meaning.

  Beneath the water, she carried on cleansing his body. He moaned softly when she reached his genitals, head falling back again as he gave himself up to her touch. The blatant trust was humbling.

  Fiona cast her mind back to the third picture of Ryan she’d drawn that day. It had come straight from her imagination, and at the time she’d had no idea what inspired it. In the drawing, Ryan was naked and on his knees, facing the viewer, his body completely exposed and vulnerable. His head was bowed slightly, and his hands were resting, palms uppermost, on his thighs.

  The symbolism of Ryan’s posture didn’t escape her now—she’d read enough novels that featured the BDSM lifestyle to recognise that the position in which she’d drawn him screamed submission. However, she wasn’t into domination and submission and neither, as far as she knew, was Ryan.

  She’d thought about it for quite some time afterwards, until she realised that what she’d drawn was Ryan silently asking her to take care of him. The piece of art was a manifestation of her wish to look after him, to take temporary responsibility for that one aspect of his life.

  That was it—she wanted Ryan to need her. She wanted to take care of him and protect him. He always seemed so self-sufficient and in control, not needing anyone—as if he could walk through life immune to the needs and wants that plagued mere mortals. The reality of it, she now recognised, was that while he was trying to be strong for everyone else, he also needed to let his guard down occasionally and let someone else be strong for him.

  Ryan’s body was screaming for the woman in his arms. Whatever she wanted from him, he’d give it to her.

  There was something about Fiona that brought out a desire to nurture that he’d never experienced with any other woman—there always had been. First time around, he’d been only too aware that she was hiding something from him, yet she’d resisted all his attempts to persuade her to share it with him. He’d ended up driving her away, when all he’d wanted to do was care for her, support her and love her. He wasn’t going to drive her away again.

  Patience, Quinn.

  She was stirring in his embrace. “Ryan?”

  “Yes, a chuisle?

  “Your surprise isn’t over yet—when you’re ready for the next part, just let me know.”

  There was more? What was this woman up to?

  “Well, that would depend on what the next part is.”

  “A surprise is what it is, and if I tell you…it won’t be a surprise. Will it?”

  She had him there. As he considered the possibilities, Ryan let the feelings of contentment wash over him. For the first time in a long time, his soul was at peace, and he owed it all to this remarkable woman, who held his heart in her hands. Like this, for just a short while, he could set his responsibilities to one side and reduce h
is world to just one person.

  And had it not been for the water cooling to a slightly uncomfortable level, Ryan might even have been tempted to allow ‘a short while’ to become ‘forever’.

  “Time to move, a chuisle.”

  He felt her stretch, her foot stroking seductively down his leg under the water, before she climbed out of the bath. She wrapped one of the large towels around her body before she turned back to him, a second towel ready for him.

  “No, Ryan.” She kept the towel away from him when he would have taken it from her. “My job.”

  So he simply stood quietly, his mind slipping into a place he didn’t really understand as she dried him with the warm towel. She was taking care of him as if he were a prized possession.

  Her touch was gentle but effective and dried off every part of his body…every part. When she came back around to face him again, he touched her shoulder, his fingertip tracing the droplets of water that still adorned her skin. “You need to dry off too. Will you let me do that for you?”

  Her response wasn’t immediate—he had the feeling that she was weighing his request against whatever else she was planning. “All right. Thank you.”

  “You never have to thank me for taking care of you, a chuisle.”

  With the same tenderness she’d shown him, Ryan unwrapped the towel from around Fiona’s body, tossed it aside and picked up a fresh one. He fought down the urge to wrap her in the soft cotton as if he were enfolding her in his love, pick her up and carry her off to the bedroom to make love to her. Something told him that his taking control like that wasn’t on the agenda for this evening’s activities. Far be it from him to deviate from a mission plan; there were times when the ability to improvise was essential, but this wasn’t one of them.

  With slow, deliberate movements, he caressed her skin with the towel, soaking up the crystal drops of water with the utmost care. Across her shoulders, down her back, going down on one knee to attend to the flare of her hips and then her legs. She widened her stance, giving him unspoken permission to access the most intimate parts of her body. She trembled a little as he dried the sensitive flesh—unable to resist, he pressed his lips to the base of her spine.