Three
It was the first time she had acknowledged the Christmas party where they’d met. He eyed her back, rigid and frozen where she had come to a halt by the rail, and he realized she was shaking. He hadn’t seen her lose it like this. Even when she’d had good reason, at that damned party, she’d been calm and collected, a miserable lady too well-bred to make a scene.
Slowly, he walked across the porch, setting his wineglass on the wide railing. He reached around her and took hers from her and set it down. Then, driven by some instinct that he didn’t fully understand himself, he laid his palms on her shoulders, burrowing beneath the cloud of hair and gently rubbing the tense muscles of her neck.
His thumbs stroked and molded, caressed and massaged as he offered her what comfort he could. For long moments he silently kneaded her flesh, feeling the tension ease out of her little by little.
The stiffness in her shoulders relaxed and her body moved slightly with the pressure of his hands. Her head drooped forward, lolling from side to side, and her hair spilled over his hands. He was getting hard again simply from touching her satiny skin, and he took a deep breath. His hands slowed their massage until he was doing little more than sliding his fingers over the rounded joints of her shoulders.
“I’m sorry,” he finally said, bending to offer the words into her ear, stirring curling tendrils of hair with his breath. “We can talk about something harmless, like the weather. Or—” he took her elbow and turned her gently around “—we can forget about talking.”
Her eyes were wide and dark in the evening light. The only sign that she’d even registered his words was a slight parting of her lips. Without touching her anywhere else, he lifted his hand and slipped it along her cheekbone, cradling her small face in his palm. She said nothing, only watched him through opaque eyes as he lowered his head and brushed his mouth over hers in the lightest of caresses.
When he touched her lips, he had to restrain himself from devouring her on the spot, so tantalizing and arousing was the contact. An odd feeling spread through him. He’d thought of her so often in this context, but the reality was so much...more. His nerves were jumping and he told himself to calm down and quit overreacting. This didn’t mean that much, he assured himself. Even though it felt right somehow, in a way he’d never experienced before.
The second kiss was bolder, firmer, though he deliberately reminded himself to go slowly, take it easy. She made no move to resist him, but he felt her mouth begin to stir, moving beneath his until he insistently thrust his tongue into her depths. She gasped. He pulled her against him, his arms wrapping around soft curves, his body meeting hers from shoulder to hip. For the first time, she touched him, putting her small hands tentatively to his shoulders, then sliding them around his neck as she allowed him to kiss her, and kiss her, deepening the contact with each stroke of his tongue.
He took his mouth from hers, sliding his lips over the fine line of her jaw to her ear, where he pressed a string of small kisses that descended the smooth column of her long neck, across her collarbone and farther, to the hollow at the base of her throat and the tender skin below it. He felt her swallow, and he moved down, over her breastbone and beyond. The rough fabric of the front bib of her overalls stopped him and he took it in his teeth, tugging gently for a moment until his mouth moved on, repeating its journey in reverse and he moved up the opposite side of her neck and back to her mouth again.
He felt like a king. She was flesh and blood, a living woman filling his arms, everything he’d dreamed of and a million things he hadn’t even imagined.
Her scent. She smelled fresh and clean, a faint, elusive flower smell that made him think of spring rain and budding things. It was stronger when he tore his mouth from hers and buried his face in her hair, savoring the sweet pressure of her female form against him.
Her hair. The wild curls were surprisingly soft and silky, caressing his face and clinging to the stubble of his chin when he drew back, billowing around her shoulders and brushing a fine curtain of living satin over him.
Her flesh. He’d imagined her soft, like a comfortable pillow. But he hadn’t envisioned the undeniable play of muscle in her arms, the slenderness of her torso, the way her hipbones jutted forward to tantalize him.
He was hard, aching for her. Without volition, his hips moved against her, grinding his throbbing flesh against her belly, an unsatisfactory caress that only inflamed his need.
He kissed the side of her face, her ear, her shoulder again, and her head fell back, like a wilting flower on the long stalk of her neck. “I can’t think,” she whispered, and her voice was a slurred murmur in the dusky evening.
“You don’t have to think,” he whispered against the exposed underside of her chin, trailing openmouthed kisses down to the frustrating impediment of her clothing again. “Just feel.” He took one arm from around her, splaying wide the fingers of his other hand to hold her closely against him, though she was doing a pretty fine job of plastering her body to his without any help. His free hand came to the shoulder strap of her overalls, fumbling with the closing for a few seconds, then impatiently pulling it down to give him better access to her sweetness. She lowered her arm long enough to pull her elbow free, then put it back around his neck and he repeated the motion with the other strap.
All that stood between him and those glorious mounds of femininity now was a thin white camisole that buttoned down the front; its straps had come down when he pulled the overall straps away. He got both his hands between them, fumbling open the damnably tiny buttons, while he continued to kiss her neck. She didn’t help him in any way, but she didn’t halt him, either, keeping her arms loosely linked around his neck and allowing him to touch her as he willed.
Her passive acceptance only inflamed him; he shoved the last button on the camisole through its stubborn hole, then spread wide the garment to expose her breasts and drew back to examine the results of his labor. The bib was bunched at her waist; all she wore was a strapless bra—fancy underwear for a farm girl—that clasped in the front. His eager fingers met between her breasts and she whimpered as the bra fell away.
For the first time, he sensed her withdrawing from him, but as she began to slide her arms from around his neck, he raised his hands and clasped her wrists, holding them in place. He sought out her lips again, kissing her deeply until her tongue danced with his again and her hips beat a gentle tattoo against his insistent arousal. Slowly, he eased his mouth from hers and leaned back, examining the results of his work of a few moments ago.
If he were a dying man, he’d give up the ghost without a peep of protest. Her breasts were beautifully large and rounded, pale nipples spreading to crown each upthrust point. Though their color was indistinguishable in the darkening approach of night, in his mind’s eye they were smooth, white cream, the crests a pale rose with slightly darker tips. He put both hands to her, covering them with his palms, hefting the sweet weight and running his thumbs back and forth across the tips until her nipples rose in response to his command. His lips beat a voracious path down across the yielding flesh to suck a nipple into his mouth. He laved it with his tongue, continuing to stimulate the other with his thumb until she began to writhe against him and he thrust his leg forward, parting hers and shoving her up until she was riding his leg, the long muscles in his thigh beneath her sensitive woman’s mound giving her what she craved.
His own body was growing too insistent to ignore, and he unbuckled his belt and unzipped his pants while still suckling her. Then he stepped back a small pace, depriving her of her saddle. She whimpered again and the small sound sent him over the edge. Frantically, he grasped the overalls, dragging them down her legs, tearing a pair of tiny lace panties down in the same motion. Another time, he might have stopped to appreciate the pretty sight, but now he was blind and deaf to anything except what he needed.
And what he needed was her.
He caught her under the arms as he pivoted so that he sat propped against the edg
e of the porch rail. In the same moment, he lifted her, pulling her against him. Her arms tightened around his neck, and he held her to him with one arm around her bottom while he reached between them and freed his desperately straining male flesh from its prison. He slid his hand between her thighs and pulled one leg up around his waist, and she followed suit with the other, clasping her legs around his hips, trusting him to support her. He groaned as the motion ground his sensitive shaft against the exposed cleft between her legs and he felt a slick moisture that told him all he wanted to know.
He grasped himself, guiding his engorged flesh to her, probing for the entrance to her deepest secrets. She cried out and wriggled against him, and with a sudden movement he plunged into her up to the hilt.
They both sucked in a startled breath.
He had intended to ease into her, to give her time to accept him, to let her body stretch until she could comfortably accommodate him. The incredible sensation of being suddenly surrounded, engulfed and captured in one smooth joining was so exquisite that he nearly spilled his seed right there, but he wanted her with him, wanted to see her face as he gave her her own ultimate pleasure and he forced himself to a long moment of stillness until he had recovered his control. He began to thrust slowly, gritting his teeth at the mounting pressure, at the way her tight channel clung around him. He pulled her hips to him, letting her breasts jiggle and bounce against his chest as she braced her hands on his shoulders. Her eyes were closed and he wanted to see her, wanted her to see him.
“Open your eyes,” he growled, in a voice nearly unrecognizable even to himself.
Slowly, the thick screen of her lashes lifted, and she raised her eyes to his. He gazed into the depths of passion, dark and hot as the night around them. Then he placed his hand between them again, his thumb moving unerringly to cover the pouting bump that had risen within her nest of curls. She jerked, her eyes flaring wide, and he bared his teeth as her unconscious tensing squeezed him in a deep internal caress his flesh was racing to answer. Mercilessly, he circled her body’s most sensitive site, eyes locked on hers in an incredibly intimate communion, until she began to shudder, her legs convulsively clutching around his hips. He had been moving steadily within her, but the sounds, the sight and the sensation of her climax triggered his body’s own rush to fulfillment, and he moved strongly against her, holding her hips in his hands, his own body pounding a frantic gallop to pleasure, until he found his own peak, feeling the sweet relief that accompanied the jetting of his seed, the wracking spasms that drew his body into a rigid arch of tense energy before he blew out a deep breath and sagged against her, burying his face in her neck.
After a moment he felt strength returning. Without moving her from his body, he walked to the glider and sat down, loving the motions of his flesh within her, realizing, to his astonishment, that he could do this again with very little provocation.
She had said nothing the whole time, simply laid her head on his shoulder when he sat, her arms lying heavily around his neck. He turned his head and kissed her forehead just because he could, savoring the moment. He felt as if he’d been waiting for this all his life. But how did she feel?
“What are you thinking?” he asked, trying to keep a casual note in his voice.
She was quiet for a moment, then she said, “That this was the most incredible experience of my life. That I drank way too much of that wine.” He felt her sigh. “That this is the most awful situation I’ve ever been in in my whole life.”
He was startled, and the smug pleasure he’d felt at her first sentence evaporated. “Coming from you, that’s a serious insult. What was so awful about it?”
“Nothing was wrong with it—”
“Good. I agree.”
“It’s the now I’m talking about.”
It was almost surreal, resting on the glider, their cooling flesh still melded together as they murmured in the darkness. She made no move to end the intimacy and he gathered her closer, running his palms up and down over the satiny textured skin of her back. He gently thrust his hips against her once, hoping to distract, reassure. “The ‘now’ doesn’t feel so bad to me.”
“You know what I mean. This is going to ruin our...business relationship.”
“Why? What does this have to do with me renting an apartment from you?”
“It’s just awkward. Every time I see you, I’m going to be thinking of this. I won’t be able to look you in the eye.”
“It doesn’t have to be awkward.” What the hell was wrong with her? It wasn’t like he was planning for this to be a one-night stand.
“I’ve never done casual sex,” she wailed into his chest “What was I thinking?”
“You weren’t, remember?” He was getting irritated. This had been about the best damned thing that had happened to him in years, and she was ruining it. “We’re two people who knew we’d be terrific together and we acted on it. There was nothing wrong with that.”
“It was wrong,” she said in a shaky voice. “I can’t take chances with my life. I have children to consider. I know nothing about you and I let you, let you...” She stumbled over the words and he finished the sentence for her.
“You let me have sex with you.”
“Yes.” Her voice was a whisper.
“Would you like me to take an HIV test?” Obviously sex was all it had been for her. For him, it had been...he didn’t know, but he knew she had been more than just another body. It was an uncomfortable realization; he pushed it away as a thought struck him. “That’s not the only chance we took.” Grimly he held her when she would have pulled away. “You’re not using any birth control, are you?”
Her eyes narrowed as she absorbed his words and their impact struck; she shook her head.
“Let me know if you’re pregnant.”
“Oh, God, I hope not.” She averted her face; he sensed her withdrawing again.
Though his flesh was still snug within her, she suddenly seemed as far away and unattainable as the moon. Exasperation rose, along with a stupid sense of hurt, and he grasped her by the waist and lifted her to the glider beside him, then rose and righted his clothing. He zipped his shorts with a vicious hiss as he strode to the edge of the porch where her clothing lay strewn over the floor. Grabbing her things in a bundle, he tossed them at her, then crossed his arms and leaned against the railing where, a few moments ago, he’d felt like the happiest guy in the world.
“For somebody that set this up on purpose, you sure have changed your tune.”
She paused in the middle of hitching her overalls up. He noticed that she hadn’t bothered to put her underwear back on beneath the little top and the denim; she had stuffed them into one pocket, from where they peeked out. “What?”
“You heard me.”
“What do you mean, ‘set this up on purpose’?” Too late, he recognized shock and rising anger in her husky voice.
He shrugged, though he was feeling distinctly uneasy. This hadn’t gone quite as he’d expected. Or as he’d hoped. “You didn’t have to spell it out. Why else would you have called a baby-sitter to take your kids off your hands?”
He’d never seen anyone literally speechless before. If he hadn’t been emotionally invested in this scene, it would have been fascinating. Right now, it made him wary as hell. Her mouth opened, closed and opened again. Her eyes widened, then narrowed and she shot him a look that made him glad she didn’t have a weapon handy.
She clenched her fists at her sides, her entire body rigid as she said, “I did not ask my mother to take my children away so that I could seduce my tenant. She called me. For your information, I almost didn’t let them go because they’re already away from me every Sunday with their father.” She turned on her heel and stomped to the back door, practically spitting fury as she yanked open the door. “You’re not that irresistible.”
“Seemed like it a few minutes ago.” It was a nasty thing to say but he was feeling nasty. For him, this had been the beginning of something he s
ensed could have been very special. Not permanent—that was his cardinal rule—but still, special. His dream was being ripped away from him before it even began.
He heard her gasp, and the door slammed behind her. The sound of a lock clicking into place was loud in the quiet of the summer evening. He felt like kicking something.
Then he heard a suspicious sound. Was she crying? Remorse overrode his frustration. He’d never forgive himself if he’d made her cry. How had this gone so wrong? “I’m sorry,” he said through the door. “Please come out and talk to me.”
“Go away.”
She was definitely crying. Damn. He hesitated, anger and anxious concern warring within him. She’d be even less enchanted with him if he broke her door down. Fine. He stomped down the steps as Murphy began to bark. It was a wonder she hadn’t sicced her damned killer dog on him.
Halfway across the yard, he realized he hadn’t told her who he really was yet.
The last time she’d cried had been over a year ago, after she tried to comfort her oldest son when his father had forgotten his birthday for the first time.
The last time she’d cried for herself had been even longer ago than that.
But tonight she was making up for it. She lay in her pretty brass bed in the pretty room she’d decorated to suit herself, and she sobbed. Out loud. No need to cry into a pillow; there was no one to hear her.
No one. The two loneliest words in the English language. She’d been a nice person growing up, she thought. She hadn’t been a mean or vengeful child; she’d never been the kind of girl whose chief pleasure lay in tearing others less fortunate to bits. She’d been a good student, a good daughter, a good mother. Not perfect at any of the above, maybe, but not a total zero, either.
So why had her life been so totally stinking rotten in the past few years? What had she ever done to deserve to have men treat her like dirt?
She rolled over onto her side, curling into a miserable ball.
Never again. Never again was she going to let a man get under her skin, slice at her feelings, trample her soul. Her marriage had been a farce for most of the not-quite-three years she’d lived as Mrs. Nelson Patten. Tonight she’d let a man she barely knew seduce her with his eyes, with his admiration and skillful kisses, until she’d been like a cat in heat, rushing headlong into sexual pleasure.
Dedicated to Deirdre Page 5