by Diana Palmer
He had said it, of course. He waited until he was certain she was asleep. Then he lifted himself and looked at her sleeping face. She cared for him. Probably more than she even knew, just yet. He could have danced on the bed. Right now it was only physical, but that didn't mean it wouldn't grow. He lay back down eventually, drunk on the sight and sound and feel of her. He curled her into his body, aroused all over at the warm softness so trusting in his arms. But he did, finally, sleep, at peace for the first time in years.
When Ivy woke up the next morning, he was fully dressed, standing beside the bed looking at her hungrily. Her body was sprawled across the sheets in a pose that was frankly inviting, and he shivered as his eyes slid back up to hers.
She'd been dreaming. She didn't remember what, but he'd been in it, and her body, attuned now to the wonder of fulfillment, knew what he could give it. She wanted him. She arched her hips delicately, her eyes half-closed, and her nipples suddenly went hard.
"My God," he ground out in a tormented voice.
His sudden paleness, the tautening of his body, brought her completely awake. "Ryder?" she faltered, levering herself up on her elbows.
He had to force himself to speak. Everything male in him ached to throw off his clothes and take her in a savage fury of hunger. She was fire, and he wanted to fall into it, be consumed by it. But he couldn't. He could lose control very easily right now. It was too risky.
"I'm on my way to the conference," he said through his teeth. "I should be back by one."
"All right." She flushed at his bold gaze, and the night before seemed suddenly unreal and embarrassing. She reached for the sheet and shyly covered herself with it. "I'll…I'll get the conference notes checked and corrected. I was too tired last night." A blatant lie. She was simply too hurt and miserable after Ryder had left her in the restaurant.
His jaw tautened. "You do that," he said.
He turned and stormed out of the room without a backward glance, cursing his own vulnerability, his helplessness. He'd had women on his terms all his life, but not until Ivy had come into it had he known this depth of vulnerability. She had him on his knees, and all they'd done was some very heavy petting. God, if he ever made love to her completely, he wouldn't be in possession of his own soul anymore! He'd looked down at her and knew that he was lost, that he'd do anything she asked, that he'd be helpless for the rest of his life because he loved her so much.
He went blindly out of the suite, and the outer door slammed behind him furiously.
Ivy agonized all day over what had set him off. Was he regretting, as she was, their uncharacteristic encounter? Perhaps she shouldn't have gone near him. But what he'd given her starved body had been worth the embarrassment. She groaned silently remembering the hot, fierce sensations that had carried her away at the last. And he'd watched. She'd let him look at her, in that intimacy…!
She couldn't look at herself in the mirror without blushing. Imagine shy little Ivy pushing him back onto the bed, he'd said. He couldn't believe it, and she certainly couldn't. Ryder had been, up until this morning, the best friend she had. Now she wasn't sure what he was—a friend or a future lover or something caught in between.
She wondered if he'd even speak to her again. Perhaps he was embarrassed, too. Surely he didn't make a habit of telling his women how long he'd gone without sex, or letting himself get into that helpless state of need.
But he'd had women, she realized suddenly. He'd known exactly how to reduce her to a mindless wanton. His touch had been skilled and expert, like the hard mouth that had seduced hers.
She hated them all. She hated every woman who'd ever lain in his arms and admitted the fierce possession of his body. His body…
She shivered. Such power and strength, such masculine perfection. He'd let her see him helpless, he'd let her make him helpless. She remembered the way he'd looked, his fists clenched at the headboard, his powerful body arched and convulsing, his face contorted while he cried out in the ecstasy of satisfaction.
She went hot all over. He'd said that making love fully was like that. But it wasn't. She knew making love fully hurt. It was quick and uncomfortable.
On the other hand, Ryder had been very slow and thorough with her, and she'd felt a staggering pleasure. Wouldn't he be just like that if she allowed him to…
She swallowed, feeling feverish. What would it be like to lie under that powerful body and feel the expert control of his hands and mouth? Her eyes closed and she could picture it: her body arching, his lean hands jerking her hips up against his, his face hard and damp, his breathing jerky and quick as he increased the rhythm of his hard thrusts, her own delighted cries of pleasure…
"Oh, God!" she burst out, shuddering.
She went into the bathroom and turned the shower on full. Stripping off her gown, she climbed under the cold spray, welcoming the shock of it. Life had suddenly become very complicated.
Chapter 9
It was the worst day of Ivy's entire life. Ryder was the soul of courtesy for the rest of the day, and he didn't refer once to what had happened or even to his own inexplicable temper when he'd left the suite. He was remote, as he'd been before so many times. Only this was worse, because something was simmering under it.
She didn't know why, either. If he'd regretted their night together, wouldn't he have said so? Or was he saying so, with his rigid manner and businesslike demeanor?
She only knew that her frustration was killing her. A short month ago she hadn't known what desire or fulfillment really were. Now she did, and she wanted Ryder in every way that a woman was capable of wanting a man. She dreamed of him, ached for him, would have died for him. But he apparently didn't notice her waking fever, even though she trembled when he came close, even though her eyes must have been eloquent when she looked at him.
He'd announced over a brief working lunch, that they were going home tomorrow, and she didn't know how she was going to live. Maybe it would be for the best, of course. Out of sight, out of mind, and he didn't spend that much time in the office these days. But thinking about the future didn't help the present.
She'd already told him a stiff, impersonal good-night and gone to her room. But even the touch of her light gown on her burning skin was painful. She threw it off and sprawled on the cool coverlet, arching helplessly as she thought about Ryder. Her long hair framed her flushed, hungry face like a black halo. She could only imagine how she looked. Wanton, probably, and she didn't care. Her body ached as if with a killing fever. At least the coverlet cooled her a little. She should get up and turn off the light, but she was too miserable to care.
The door opened unexpectedly, and Ryder walked in. His taut face went even harder at the sight of her. He was wearing a black toweling robe and nothing else, and his straight black hair was damp from the shower that hadn't taken his mind off Ivy. Now, looking at her, it was easy to see why. He'd tried, God knew he'd tried, to keep away from her. But he couldn't bear it any longer. He'd heard her restless movements, her quick breathing, just as she'd heard his the night before. Or maybe he'd sensed it, because he seemed to be perfectly attuned to her lately.
He slammed the door behind him with fierce purpose and threw off his robe as he approached the bed.
Ivy didn't move. He was unashamedly aroused and not bothering to hide his body from her rapt gaze. She saw the intent in his eyes even before he lay down beside her, arching over her to let his eyes feast on her delicate contours, on her flawless pink skin.
She moved hungrily, her eyes glazed with desire, her blood on fire. "I want you," she whispered helplessly. "I'm sorry, but I can't help it. I want you so badly, Ryder! I can't bear the ache!"
"Yes, I know how it feels. It's all right. I want you just as much." He bent to brush his mouth lovingly over her parted lips, his brows drawing together with pure ecstasy as he felt her lips eagerly opening under his. "We'll make a little love, and then maybe we can both sleep," he breathed into her mouth.
But as his hand slid
down her warm, soft belly, she caught it.
He lifted his head to meet her feverish eyes.
"No," she whispered, her voice shaking. "I want you. All of you."
His face clenched. "Ivy…"
She saw the protest in his eyes. He was an old-fashioned man and he'd known her and her mother for years. He was having protective second thoughts. But she didn't want his conscience. Not now.
She slid one of her silky legs under his and moved so that she lay in the curve of his hips. She drew her other arm under his, so that her soft breast pressed up against his chest, and with her free hand she touched him delicately and felt him shudder uncontrollably.
"Please," she whispered at his lips, pushing forward so that she was guiding him into an intimacy she hadn't shared with a man since her tragic marriage. She felt the touch of him with shivering awe and pressed closer, trembling at the incredible throbbing strength under her hand.
"All right," he ground out, catching her hair to jerk her away from him. "But not like that. Not…like that. Let me arouse you first. If we're going to make love, I' m going to satisfy you completely. It isn't going to be a two-minute interlude."
She stared up at him curiously, but his mouth bent to hers, and she felt the warm furry weight of his chest over her breasts, the slide of his lean hand lazily down her belly to her thigh and back up again.
For all the urgency she could feel and see in his taut body, he was the soul of patience. He kissed her with teasing, unhurried warmth, nibbling her lips, probing them delicately with his tongue. And all the while that maddening hand played around her breasts until he made them swell, and even then he avoided the taut, aching nipples.
"Oh, please," she whimpered.
He laughed softly, wickedly. "Already?" he whispered. "And we've barely started."
"I'll die," she protested, her big black eyes opening, accusing.
He straddled her hips, the proof of his own need blatantly warm on her belly as he bent to her lips and nibbled them. "That's what the French call a climax," he whispered. "A little death. Did you know?"
"No." She blushed.
He felt the heat in her cheeks as he nuzzled her face. His legs extended, cradling hers in their muscular warmth, and he shifted so that he could bend his head to take her nipple in his mouth and torment it.
"You like this, don't you, little one?" he whispered, and tugged softly at the hard tip. "I like it, too. Your breasts are soft and firm and I love the way they feel against my naked chest."
"Ryder," she moaned, shivering.
His mouth slid down to her belly, pressing there, then to her thighs and her hips, nibbling softly, making her burn. His hands slid between her thighs, caressing them apart, creating sensations that she'd never felt.
He turned her, pulling one leg over his so that he could slide between them. His nose rubbed softly against hers and he smiled as he touched his lips to her closed eyelids. His lean hands smoothed over her hips, back to the base of her spine, bringing her intimately close. One hand shifted, sliding down her belly, and he lifted his head to seek her eyes with his as he touched her, once, with intimate purpose.
"Yes," he whispered softly. "You're ready. More than ready."
She didn't understand. She was trembling, her mouth swollen from his long, hard kisses, her fingers cool at the back of his head. "Ready?" she managed weakly.
"To accept my body," he whispered. He held her eyes. "To become part of me. Envelope me, Ivy," he breathed, and his hips moved.
It was incredibly erotic. She gasped as she felt him, trembled as the formidable threat of his warm body began to penetrate. She stiffened, because for an instant, there was pain.
His pale eyes looked into hers. "Well, well," he whispered tenderly, and smiled as he paused. "Slowly, little one. Try not to tense up. You can take me. Relax now. That's it." He pushed then, and there was an odd, glittery triumph in his dark eyes. "Yes. Yes!"
She looked into his eyes and felt him complete his possession of her with smooth, exquisite ease.
He didn't move, or even seem to breathe. There was a flush of color over his high cheekbones and he shuddered, his face rigid, his eyes blazing into hers.
"My God," he whispered reverently, his deep voice shaking. "Oh, my God, Ivy, I'm part of you!"
She shivered, too. Lips parting incredulously, she drew away and looked down, coloring as she saw how intimately they were joined. She caught her breath, and felt him looking, too.
"I feel like a virgin," she whispered.
"You don't know how true that is," he said huskily. "You make me feel like one, too, sweetheart." He tilted her face back up to his, his fingers faintly unsteady. "Ivy. Ivy," he whispered, and as he said her name, he moved slowly, his hips advancing and withdrawing in a slow, tender rhythm that very quickly kindled exquisite sensations in her young body. She gasped and shifted a little, to make them more intense.
He watched her face, his own tautening. "That's it," he breathed. "Fit yourself to me. Show me where it feels good. Yes. Yes, Ivy, yes!" he bit off as the sensations jumped to him.
She felt him begin to shudder helplessly with each hard thrust, and she moved her hands to his hips, and then, looking into his eyes, she shifted them to his flat belly.
He groaned in anguish and she did it again, tracing him, her lips parting as she felt him intimately and shivered at her own daring.
"God, Ivy," he whispered hoarsely. "Oh, God, I can't hold it…!"
She could feel that in his feverish roughness, but it didn't matter, because she was already going over the edge. Her nails bit into his hips with unintentional cruelty and she clenched her teeth and gasped. She moved against him with blind fury, driving for her own fulfillment even as she felt him matching her mindless thrashing with a similar lack of control.
She began to cry because it was unbearable. She wanted more of him, more, more, and there was an aching emptiness that he had to fill…now!
She went over into shuddering, exquisite convulsions. She cried out, her head thrown back, her body racked as his lean hands gripped her hips with helpless bruising strength and ground her into him.
He was murmuring something that she only dimly heard, his deep voice shattering, and then he threw back his own head and cried out harshly. She felt him go into the first convulsion, and it was followed by another and another that, incredibly, fed her own fulfillment until it was unbearable.
She felt his damp skin against hers. Beads of sweat had run down his hair onto her breasts, where his lips were buried hungrily. He was shaking in her arms, trembling helplessly, just as she was, fighting for every gasping breath he drew.
Her heartbeat was impossibly loud. Or was it his? She touched his damp hair to make sure she was still alive. Her body ached as if it had been beaten. But a furious warmth was stealing through her body and every silvery tremble of it prolonged the pleasure.
She moved and felt him. He was still part of her.
He started to lift away, but her trembling hands caught his hips and protested.
He brought his head up to look into her wide, fascinated eyes.
"Your body is capable of endless fulfillment," he whispered with a tender, weary smile. "But mine has to rest first, little one. I need a few minutes before we love again."
She tingled all over at the phrasing. Before we love again. Yes. It had felt like that, like loving. She touched his face and traced his thick, dark eyebrows.
"That wasn't why," she whispered.
"Why, then?" he asked softly.
She met his eyes shyly. "I…like the way it feels."
His body reacted impossibly and he gasped, astounded.
She searched his face curiously. "You said you couldn't," she began.
He shivered. "Did I?" He shifted her so that he was above her. His hips moved in a slow, tender thrust and she shivered, too. "Last time damned near killed me," he breathed, bending to her mouth. "I don't know if I can bear another one like that."
"It
hurt?" She frowned, not understanding.
He laughed even through his building desire. "Ecstasy," he whispered, holding her eyes. "The little death. God, you sounded as if I were killing you. Wild little sobs, tears…"
"It was good," she whispered, watching him. She lifted rhythmically, helping him, feeling the tremors start again down her spine. "It was good, so good…! Oh, Ryder, Ryder… please…make me feel it again!"
He couldn't wait this time, and he didn't try. Her hunger was as sweeping as his. He pushed down against her with fierce, almost savage, movements and she clung with her last ounce of strength as the exquisite pleasure lifted them convulsively back into the throes of completion.
It was morning. Ivy's last memory was of Ryder folding her against him and drawing the sheet over them, his arms still faintly trembling from exertion, cradling her as her eyes closed.
She rolled over, but the bed was empty. She sighed. It seemed that she was never going to wake up in time to see Ryder leave.
She swung her long legs out of bed and stood up, stretching. Her eyes went to the sheet and she frowned at the stain there. Her lips parted on a puzzled intake of breath.
"Now do you see why it was like the first time?" came a quiet voice from behind her.
Her shocked eyes went to Ryder. Her mind wasn't working.
"Can't you work it out, little one?" Ryder asked from the doorway, sensual appreciation in his smile. He was already fully dressed, again, and apparently on the point of leaving.
"Work what out?" she faltered, reaching shyly for the robe he'd left behind and easing into it.
He moved closer, pulling her gently against him. "Why it hurt at first."
She searched his eyes and suddenly the puzzle fell into place. She blushed scarlet.
"That's right," he murmured. "You were still partially intact. I removed the rest of the barrier," he breathed, his lips teasing her mouth. "So in a sense, little one, I had part of your virginity last night."
She moaned against his mouth and clung to him, feeling his ardor with a sense of pure wonder.