by Anne Stuart
“Don’t be ridiculous. Don’t tell me she’s not your type—all women are your type.”
“I’ve changed my ways. Time in hell will do that to a man. I’ve decided to embrace celibacy.”
“You’ll decide to embrace Sam, and fast.”
“Make me,” he said simply.
The purpled rage in Ralph’s face didn’t go particularly well with the red outfit. “What’s your problem? Don’t pretend you don’t want her—I know you do. Do it. Jump her bones.”
“Sorry, you’ll have to find someone else. It should be easy enough—just make her fall in love with the next man who comes by and he’ll take care of it.”
“If it were that simple I wouldn’t have needed you in the first place. I can play games with the weather, set things on fire, that sort of stuff. But I have no power to affect people’s emotions. That’s what you’re for.”
“Sorry.” He held out his wrists as though for handcuffs. “Take me back to prison, Warden. I’m not making love to her.”
“Oh, for pete’s sake!” Ralph said, and Gideon had to smile at the mild epithet. “I know what you’ve done! You’ve gone and fallen in love with her, haven’t you? Of all the stupid things! When you were alive you seduced every woman you wanted and you never once fell in love, and now you’re screwing everything up. Why did you have to go and do such a damned stupid thing right now, when I’m counting on you?”
He considered denying it, then shrugged. “Maybe you’re right,” he said after a moment. “Just your bad luck. You can send me down to the four hundred and sixty-eighth level of hell if you want, but you can’t get me to hurt her. Send her someone to fall in love with.”
“I did.” Ralph said morosely. “I didn’t mean to—you were just supposed to get rid of her virginity. It’s a nasty trick if you ask me. I don’t need you two falling in love, I just need you going at it like rabbits.” He cast an accusing glance skyward. “You did this, didn’t You? Always messing with my fun.”
“What are you saying?”
“I’m saying she’s in love with you. It happens that fast sometimes. Probably because she’s taken so long to do it, she was ripe for the right man.” He cast a curious glance at Gideon from his one good eye. “Ripe,” he said again. “Just waiting, lying there, those long, gorgeous legs, that mouth…”
“Forget it. I’m not falling for your blandishments.”
Ralph sighed. “No, I suppose not. But she’s a different matter.” He reached over to shake her, but his hand passed right through her, and she didn’t move. “Damn,” he muttered.
Gideon laughed. “Tough luck. May as well give it up. She’s immune to anything you want to try, thank God.”
“Thank God,” Ralph echoed grumpily. “You’ve got another twelve hours.”
“I don’t need another twelve hours, Ralph. Take me back now. I’ve had enough.”
Ralph’s grumpy expression vanished. “We’ll see about that.” And he was gone.
Gideon leaned back in the rocker, staring into the fire, as Sam slept on, oblivious to any devil sitting at her head. He wouldn’t have thought he was capable of such restraint. Ralph might not be able to influence emotions, but he was a master at messing with people’s minds. Gideon wasn’t about to fall for it. Sam was no more in love with him than she was with Aaron. She found him more an annoyance than anything else, and she was having a fine time putting him in his place.
Except for when he’d kissed her. It had probably shocked the hell out of her, but that was nothing compared to how he’d felt. Kissing her had been more profoundly sexual than any encounter he’d ever had.
He’d make it through twelve more hours, no problem. She’d sleep through most of them, and the rest of the time they’d be slogging their way down this mountain to civilization.
Was he in love with her? It didn’t seem possible, and yet it seemed so right. One more flame to add to the fires of eternal damnation. Of course he’d fall in love the moment he couldn’t do anything about it.
He looked over at her, the face scrubbed free of makeup, the tangled hair spread out over the futon, the long legs. He wasn’t going to sleep—he was too hot in every sense of the word. He could spend all night looking at her, but that might be pushing it. He rocked back, staring into the fire, and considered the nature of eternal damnation.
CHAPTER SIX
SHE DREAMED OF HIS HANDS on her body. She dreamed of his mouth on her, of him inside her. She dreamed the devil sat at the end of the futon and told him to sleep with her. She dreamed he told him no.
She shifted restlessly, hot and cold at the same time, waking with the dreams still moving through her head, her body. She needed him. It made no sense at all, but she needed him, wanted him.
She’d always assumed that the time would come when she’d want to make love with someone. That sooner or later the right man would show up, court her, maybe even marry her before they finally went to bed together.
And now, here she was, ready before she wanted to be, half in love with a stranger, all against her better judgment, her common sense.
But her brain had nothing to do with it. And her body, though demanding, was still marginally involved.
It was her heart that wanted him, a stranger, to lie with her. And for the first time in her life she was going to ignore her brain.
She opened her eyes. The rain was still falling heavily outside, and she wondered briefly how secure this house was. Mudslides were common enough in this kind of weather. Maybe the house would slide away with them in it. Maybe it would get buried beneath a deluge of mud. Maybe she didn’t care.
He was still awake, staring into the fire. The room was warm now, and the flames had died down. He’d blown out some of the candles, and she could see the firelight reflected on his smooth skin, his flat stomach. She closed her eyes, trying to shut him out.
“You’re a stranger,” she whispered. “I don’t know anything about you.”
He didn’t turn to look at her. “Go back to sleep, Sam.”
She pushed up from the mattress, shoving her hair away from her face. She’d had men—good men who’d loved her—begged to sleep with her, and she’d sent them away. She’d resisted good men and bad boys, charmers and bullies, big men, small men, strong men, weak men.
But if Gideon moved from his seat in the rocking chair she wouldn’t resist him.
He wasn’t moving. Maybe she’d fallen half in love with the one man who didn’t want her.
She sat up, back on her heels, watching the firelight play across his face, shining in his dark eyes, sending shafts of gold through his straight black hair.
Finally he turned to look at her, and there was an expression of distant sorrow on his narrow, beautiful face. Why sorrow?
“This isn’t a good idea,” he said.
“What isn’t?”
But he’d risen from the chair, and he was coming toward her, slowly, the black silk shirt fluttering around his body. She was in the middle of the bed, out of reach, but he simply knelt down on the edge of the bed and cupped her face with his hands. “Not a good idea at all,” he whispered, and he kissed her.
The first kiss hadn’t been a fluke. The moment his mouth touched hers she felt her body come alive. He moved closer to her on the bed, his body almost touching hers, but he did nothing but kiss her, his hands on her face, as her body burned for him.
And for a moment it was enough. She closed her eyes and kissed him back, drifting into a dark, warm space with his mouth, his tongue.
She hadn’t even realized that she’d reached up her hands to his shoulders, his hard shoulders beneath the slippery silk shirt. And she was clutching at it, holding on to it, on to him, as he kissed her. As they kissed.
And then he pulled back, and caught her hand in his, and she could see the tension running through him. Feel the heavy beating of his heart, counterpoint to hers.
“Am I doing this wrong?” she said. “I’ve never done it before.”
He didn’t seem surprised. “Don’t do this now, Sam. Wait until you fall in love with someone.”
She didn’t know where the words came from. “I did,” she said, and kissed him.
He’d turned her hands in his, holding them, but now he placed them back on his shoulders, and a shudder danced through his body. She didn’t know what it meant, and then she didn’t care, as he reached for the hem of her T-shirt and began to pull it off, then tossed it over the side of the bed.
For the first time in her adult life she felt modest. She took her body for granted, but he’d said it wasn’t perfect, and she suddenly felt unsure.
“My breasts are too small,” she said, but he simply laughed in her mouth, putting his arm around her waist and pulling her up against him. Her virgin skin against the golden heat of his chest.
His skin was more like silk than the shirt, and she found herself pushing the piece of clothing off his shoulders, down his arms, in love with the texture of his flesh, the scent of him, the taste of him. And she wanted to taste more, everything, all of him.
He eased her back onto the futon—she wasn’t even sure how—and he pulled the baggy shorts down her legs. Leaving her in nothing but her black lace panties. And then those were gone before she could even get used to the idea, and he’d settled himself on top of her, the cloth of his pants between them.
He kissed the side of her neck, and she trembled. He bit her earlobe, and she moaned. He put his mouth on one small breast and she cried out as his tongue flicked against her nipple, then sucked, and she could feel her body burning.
She threaded her fingers through his thick, silky hair as it fell around her, and she brought it to her face, breathing in the scent of it.
Something was pressing hard against her stomach, and she moved her hand down, thinking it was his belt buckle, but he’d gotten rid of his belt, and the top button of his pants was unbuttoned. She started to pull her hand away in sudden nervousness but he caught her wrist in a hard grip, dragging her hand back to press against him.
Now was the time to panic. Now was the time to change her mind, before it was too late. And he’d let her—she had no doubt of that. He wouldn’t even call her the names other men had—he’d simply move away from her, back to his chair by the fire.
And she didn’t think she could stand that. She touched him through the soft fabric, letting her fingers press against him, and he seemed to jerk against her hand, growing harder. And she realized she was actually going to do this. Nothing could make her change her mind.
She liked the feel of him. She slid her hand down along his length, and he groaned, falling back against the futon. She leaned over him, letting her other hand move up his flat stomach. His nipples were dark circles against his golden flesh, and she leaned down and put her tongue against one, feeling it pebbled and hard against her mouth.
He made a choking noise, and he took her hand away from him, holding it for a moment before he pushed it inside his pants. So that she felt his erection, hot and heavy against her skin.
She lifted her mouth from his nipple. “Unzip your pants,” she said, before putting her mouth against him once more, sucking at his skin, hungry.
He freed himself, and a moment later he’d kicked his pants off entirely. Now that she’d asked him to, she wasn’t sure that she was ready for him to be naked, but it was no longer an option. He felt silken smooth and iron hard beneath her hand, and she moved down, wanting to taste him, wanting to take him in her mouth.
She barely managed to put her mouth on him before he pulled her away. “No,” he said in a rough voice. “It’s been too long. It’ll be over…” He grew suddenly still. “Unless you change your mind. Because you don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do.”
She looked at him from beneath her curtain of heavy hair. “Do you want me to…kiss you there?”
A spasm of what almost looked like pain crossed his face. “Not this time,” he said. “Later. After you’re used to all this.”
She didn’t know why the thought should make her happy, but it did. “All right,” she said, moving up to kiss his mouth.
He moved her down on the bed, leaning over her, letting his hand brush against her stomach. She knew where he was going, and instinctively she tensed, as his fingers trailed downward.
“We don’t have to do this.” He leaned over and whispered against her ear. “As a matter of fact, we shouldn’t be doing this. Tell me no.”
She turned her head to kiss his mouth. “Yes,” she said.
His hand touched her thigh. “I don’t know what you’ve heard, but it doesn’t work with your legs together. I’m not going to hurt you.”
She relaxed, and he slid his hand between her legs, touching her. She choked, tensing up again, but he was too strong.
“Tell me no,” he said again, touching her.
“Yes,” she said, as he slid his long fingers inside her, so that she arched her back in sudden, surprised pleasure.
A pleasure that was turning darker, deeper. He knew just how to touch her, where, when to be gentle, when to be slightly rough, and her breath was coming in shallow pants, her body shivering, but this time not with cold.
She should have known, but it hit her with no warning, a sudden spasm of such intense pleasure that she cried out, followed by another, and then another, and then an endless stream of such intensity that it left her shaken, breathless, so lost that she didn’t even notice when he’d pulled away from her, no longer touching her.
And then she realized he was moving away from her, off the bed. “That’s enough,” he said in a shaken voice.
She moved faster, reaching for him, and they fell back in a tangle of limbs. Then he was on top of her, between her legs, hard and pressing against her, and with a groan he was pushing inside her, the feel of him such a powerful claiming that she wanted more. She wanted to explode all over again, with him inside her. She wanted everything.
But he’d stopped, and she realized he must have reached the absurd barrier of her virginity, still intact after all these years. She could see the spasm of anguish cross his face, as he tried to control himself. “I’m going to hurt you,” he said in a raw voice.
“Do it,” she said. And arched her hips, enough to break through the last trace of control that he had.
He drove in deep, tearing through her, but the pain was nothing compared to the joy of having him inside her. He dropped his head on her shoulder, panting, not moving. “It’ll be better in a minute,” he said.
She reached up and took his face in her hands. She’d never felt so strong, so powerful, so complete. “It’s better already,” she said, stroking his face. “Your turn, Gideon. Tell me no.”
He took a deep, shuddering breath. “Yes,” he said, moving, slowly, back and forth, teasing her. Teasing himself. “Yes,” he said, kissing her mouth, rocking slowly against her. “Yes,” he said, moving faster, and she brought her legs up around his hips, pulling him deeper.
And then there was no thought, only feeling, as they moved together, bodies slick with sweat, glowing in the firelight, faster, harder, and when she thought she couldn’t bear any more he put his hand between their bodies, touching her, hard.
“Yes,” he said against her mouth, as she convulsed around him. From a distance she could feel him go rigid in her arms, and then all connection to reality splintered, disappeared into the flames of the night.
SHE WAS ASLEEP the moment he moved away from her, an expression of bliss on her face. In the firelight he could see the salty traces of tears on her face, and he reached out and touched the still-damp trail they’d made. He hadn’t even known she’d cried.
He stared down at her for a moment. He always preferred women who fell asleep—it made it easy to escape without that awkward morning-after crap. He could escape now—just walk away into the rain-swept night.
Where the hell was Ralph when he needed him? Gideon had done his duty, against his will. No, that was wrong. He’d wanted nothing
more than to touch her since…
It hadn’t been at first sight. Her elegant, distant beauty wasn’t a particular turn-on for him. It was the vulnerability in her pale eyes. It was stubbornness he often saw on her mouth. The way she carried her body, as if it wasn’t even a part of her. He liked the way she told him to go to hell. He liked the way she fell apart when he kissed her. He liked that she was still fighting it, fighting what she wanted, even when she was going to take it.
She didn’t stir when he climbed off the futon. There was a quilt in one corner of the room—he got it and draped it over her body, taking a moment to look at her. She was entirely relaxed—probably more relaxed than she’d ever been in her entire life, he thought. He was still faintly amazed at how responsive she’d been. He couldn’t credit himself with making her come. His sexual experience and technique was impressive, or Ralph wouldn’t have sent him on this task, but if it had simply been up to him it might have taken all night.
And he wouldn’t have minded.
Would she respond that way to anyone else? There would be others now, there was no question of that. Once she found out what it was like she’d have a healthier attitude. She’d find her body was good for other things besides striking haughty poses.
But not with him. She might think she was in love with him, and he still blamed Ralph for that despite the devil’s protests of relative innocence, but once Gideon vanished she’d move on, sadder but wiser. Ready for a real man, not something like him.
He had no idea what he was. A ghost, a spirit, a nasty trick of fate played on a tenderhearted beauty? It didn’t matter. Soon he’d be nothing more than a memory, and after a while, maybe not even that.
He tucked the quilt around her carefully, but she didn’t stir, exhausted. He pulled on his clothes, about to go back to his seat by the fire, when the sudden crack of thunder startled him. Maybe his time here was over already.
He stumbled out into the rainy night, barefoot. The rain was pouring down in sheets, soaking him, but he didn’t care. He tilted back his head to stare into the midnight sky. And then he cried out, a voice of pain from deep inside him. “It’s done!”