by Laura Wright
"Here's a thought," Bella said brightly. "I've got a nice big tub. Why don't I go and nurse Emily and you can soak in it for a while? We get really hot water here." She smiled slyly. "I'll even let you use my Epsom salts."
They were slipping back into comfortable as easily as a summer day on the porch. "I should probably head home."
She nodded, her eyes going lackluster. "All right."
"I should," he clarified, his gaze tightly knit with hers. "But I don't want to."
Her smile lit up the room. "I don't want you to, either. Salts are under the sink. I'll see you in a bit."
Michael refused to curse himself and his actions any more tonight. He wanted to be with her and she wanted to be with him. That had to be enough.
He found the salts, ran a hot bath, stripped, turned off the lights, leaving just the dim runners glowing as he settled down into the steaming tub. Heat surged into his muscles. His mind fell into blessed silence. He'd practically fallen asleep when he heard a knock and the bathroom door opening.
"I thought you might want a—" She stopped when she saw him, her eyes going wide. "I'm sorry, I…"
He slowly sat up, slightly drugged by the hot water. "Thought I'd be fully clothed and maybe dunking the leg?"
"Something like that," she choked out, her nervous gaze moving from the floor back up to him.
He noticed that she'd changed into a set of totally unrevealing sweats. But damn, if she didn't look good enough to eat. "Emily asleep?"
"She's … out. Like a light." Clearing her throat, Bella asked, "So how's the leg?"
"Still tight." Just like the lower half of him.
Concern lit her eyes. "I could massage it for you."
He practically groaned. She was killing him here. Beneath the hot water, he was hard as granite. "No, it's fine."
"It's not fine," she said, walking toward him. "You just said—"
"I know what I said. Bella, don't—"
"Don't what?" She knelt beside the tub. "I just want to help."
He was done for. And if she touched him… "Believe me, being massaged by you would be a dangerous way to end our evening."
"You could think of me as a nurse," she offered.
"Not much better."
"Why don't you just lean back and let me help you?"
He cursed. But it wasn't his arousal that had him frowning as he lay back against the porcelain. It was the shame of her touching his leg, that imperfect, weak leg.
He was ready to call it quits when her gentle hands dipped into the water and found his thigh.
He groaned, his embarrassment forgotten. "Too hard?" she asked, worry in her voice.
"No, it's good." He knew his eyes had gone to near black as he stared at her, his embarrassment now turning to desire. "Too good."
"I wish I could get a little closer," she said. "I'm in an awkward position—"
His movement was quick. He reached out, grabbed her waist, lifted her up and eased her down on top of him, sweats and all. Water splashed over the sides of the tub, splattered the floor.
"Close enough?" he growled, his mouth inches from hers.
She looked shocked at first, but then her lips parted. "You tell me," she whispered, pressing her hips against the solid length of him, then dragging a hand up the outside of his thigh.
He released a groan of pleasure. "I don't want to go back to my house, Bella."
"Tonight, you mean?"
"Tonight, tomorrow…" He cupped her face and kissed her mouth tenderly. "It's damned lonely up there."
She ran her tongue across his lower lip. "Then stay here."
That nearly undid him, but he managed to utter, "There'll be talk."
"Maybe a few moans, a sigh here and there, and hopefully later—"
"I meant from the town." He reached around and cupped her bottom.
"They're already talking."
"And you don't care?"
"No. I don't care."
His need to protect her in every way possible reared up. "Bella, there's one more thing I want to—"
Her fingers touched his lips, stopping him from saying anything more. "I know what you want and don't want, Michael Wulf. Now shut up and kiss me."
* * *
Chapter 10
« ^ »
The bath grew cool too quickly.
Water splashed onto the already wet bathmat as Isabella pulled Michael out of the tub. Her eyes moved over him. Sleek and sexy and hard, he made her throat ache with want.
"I want to see you," he said as he stripped off her wet sweats. For a moment he simply took in the sight of her body glistening with moisture. She felt absolutely no embarrassment with him. And as her nipples beaded under his steely gaze, she stood taller, as though she needed to be as open as possible for him to be the same.
"You are so beautiful, Bella." Michael dipped his head and took one aching breast into his mouth.
Her fingers threaded through his hair and she pulled him back up to face her. For fifteen years she'd had a crush on this man. And in a month and a half, that crush had grown into love. She knew what she wanted, and she was ready to take it, consequences be damned.
Impatience flooded her. "Do you want to take this slow?"
His eyes went black. "No."
"Good."
His weighty breath ended on a groaned, "I didn't bring any protection with me."
She grabbed his hand and tugged. "Follow me." She led him into her bedroom, straight to the chest at the foot of her cherry-wood sleigh bed. She opened the trunk, grabbed a small box and tossed it at him.
He caught it, then stared at her, his eyes burning a fever. "What are you doing with these?"
She pulled back her comforter and slid into bed. "They were in my hope chest, Michael." She raised a brow at him. "A girl can hope, right?"
His face broke out in a dangerous smile as he walked toward her. "And what exactly was this girl hoping for?"
Her pulse pounded at the base of her throat. "For Michael Wulf to get into her bed."
He was over her in seconds, his gaze penetrating her very soul, his hands fisted beside her shoulders. But only for a moment, only until she tipped up her chin and nipped his lower lip with her teeth.
Then the dam broke.
His mouth covered hers, took her rough and insistent while his hands ran up her body, feeling the curves of her hips, the fullness of her breasts in his palms.
Sweat broke out on his skin, hers too. He wanted to take his time, but he had none to offer. The scent of dried flowers mingled with the scent they made together, causing his mind to blur.
Under him, she bucked, pressing her core, wet and hot against his arousal, urging him to move with her.
He fought the reckless impulse to rise up and bury himself deep inside her, take her hard and fast. "I don't want to hurt you, Bella," he said, breathing ragged.
With a sensual kiss, she wrapped her legs around his waist and arched, pressed. "You won't."
The brutal heat that burned between them demanded to be set free. Rising up, he slipped on a condom, then pushed slowly into her body.
A branding heat enveloped him.
Bella moaned, whispered against his skin, "You're a perfect fit."
Her words assaulted him, made his need to take and be taken swell. Dominated by something primal, Michael began to move, rise and lower, gentle strokes at first.
But Bella had other ideas.
Beneath him, her thrusts grew wild. Fast, a fevered pitch, that he couldn't help but match. Mind blank, body untamed, he gripped her hips and drove into her frantically, stroke after stroke until it was too much, until he went mad, until her lips parted, until she began to quake.
And when she cried out, when the walls of her womb gripped him tightly, a low, cavernous growl exploded in Michael's throat and he shuddered with her, hissed her name, then followed her into soul-shattering climax.
*
Against the lids of his eyes, insistent sunlight flashed. Fo
r a moment he wasn't sure where he was, just that he felt incredibly good. Then the events of the night before rolled across his mind like a lush carpet. He'd never held a woman through the night after making love. That action not only meant something to the woman, it meant something to him. Not exactly a commitment, but a relationship of sorts.
He and Bella had a relationship.
But what sort he wasn't sure.
He pulled her closer, then paused and opened his eyes. Clutched against his chest was one of Bella's pillows. She was gone.
The clock beside the bed blinked eight-fifteen, and he was alone. Cocking his head, he listened for Emily's cry or Bella's soft voice. But there was nothing. He ran a hand through his hair as his mind refocused.
Of course, it was Saturday morning—the bakery.
After dressing quickly, Michael made his way downstairs. He heard the din of hungry customers before he even reached the back door of the bakery. Bella would be swamped. Maybe he could help her out by watching Emily until the shop closed. Upstairs, where no one could see him, where no one would know that he'd spent the night here.
But his plan was quickly foiled when the double doors in front of him flew open, revealing a startled Bella and what appeared to be the entire town of Fielding.
If he'd expected Bella's expression to change into one of embarrassment, he'd probably have to wait all day. She smiled widely at him, said, "Oh, thank God," took his hand and led him behind the counter. "Today is the busiest it's ever been."
People had stopped talking, then resumed, just as they did when John Wayne walked into a saloon in one of those old westerns. And Michael didn't need to guess what the subject had changed to. But if Bella didn't mind, neither did he. It did a man good to know that a woman was proud of him.
And what a woman she was, he mused, taking in her fine, fine figure in a T-shirt, jeans and an apron that only partly obstructed his view. But it didn't matter. He knew firsthand what was under those clothes, how soft and warm her skin felt.
A soft gurgle caught his attention and he turned to see Emily cooing happily, touching her toes and smiling. She was in her playpen, tucked safely between two pillars, out of Bella's way, but still very much in viewing distance.
He turned to look at Bella, who was putting out a plate of doughnut samples on the counter. "Looks like you need a break."
"I'll be right with you," she told a customer at the counter, then quick as lightning, she slipped something over Michael's head, pulled him down behind the counter and whispered, "What I need is you."
"Well, sweetheart, you got—" He glanced down. She'd put an apron on him. "What's this about?"
"Have I ever told you what magical hands you have?" she whispered, her eyes hopeful.
"No," he whispered back. "But I'd say it was probably implied. If we take those cries of pleasure—"
She put a finger to his lips and gave him a patient smile. "As I was saying, you really do have magical hands, Michael."
His brows rose, and so did the level of chatter in the bakery. "And you're sweet-talking me into…?"
"Taking orders, filling bags, making change."
"Anything else?" he asked dryly.
She looked up, probably checking to see if anyone had scaled the counter to hear them. "Be charming."
"I have no experience with that."
"You're a quick learner."
And she was so beautiful she made his hands itch. What was he supposed to do? Say no? He sighed and shook his head. "Damn you."
She laughed softly. "I owe you."
"Yeah, you do." He pulled her to him and kissed her soundly on the mouth. "And I'm collecting tonight."
With bright eyes and a brighter smile, she nodded. "I am your humble servant."
They both stood. Bella immediately started taking an order, but Michael took a moment, easing a cramp out his leg before finally turning to face his nightmare. A gaggle of people clamoring to get freshly baked everything, trying to pretend they weren't feeling the curiosity written all over their faces.
The hours slipped by, fast and furious, and strangely, Michael actually started to enjoy himself. He'd done little but program computer software for the past fifteen years, and he had to admit it was kind of interesting to help run a small business. But mostly, it was just good to be around Bella. Every time he went into the storeroom to get more supplies, she'd follow him and they'd make out against the door for a few brief seconds.
When they returned, people would smile and chuckle. But she didn't care, so he didn't care. He wasn't afraid to admit she'd cast a spell over him.
When she went upstairs to feed Emily, he continued on with his duties and was surprised to find that the solo interaction with people wasn't so bad. They always offered him a friendly smile and a thank-you. A couple of people even asked what he was doing for Christmas and if he and Bella wanted to come for dinner some night. Not that he was ready to jump right into the fire just because he'd had a pleasant morning at the bakery. But it was surprisingly nice to be asked.
"So that was ten tarts, seven peanut-butter cookies, five double-chocolate-chip cookies, five regular chocolate-chip cookies, one loaf of pumpernickel bread thinly sliced and a Swedish Tea ring." He handed Mrs. Trotsky her boxes and bags as Bella walked through the double doors holding Emily. "Do you need help out with that?"
The old woman tapped the shoulder of the man standing next to her. "Got my son here with me. But much obliged, Mr. Wulf."
"It's Michael," he said without thinking.
Mrs. Trotsky smiled. "I'm Bev and this is Harold."
Dammit. This socialization crap was all a result of Bella's spell. He clipped a nod at Mrs. Trotsky and her son, muttering, "Come again."
He felt Bella's gaze on him and turned, shooting her a wry glance. "Charming enough for you?"
She winked at him. "You're a natural."
*
"You're a virgin."
"What?" Michael exclaimed.
Isabella inched closer to him on the sofa as Romancing the Stone played on the television. "That's what you are, pal. A Saturday - night - movie - fest - pigout - spooning - on - the - couch - till - you - fall - asleep virgin."
He chuckled. "As much as you may think you just insulted me, Bella, you haven't. Even though I will admit that this—" he hugged the bowl of buttered popcorn to his chest protectively "—pursuit of fun is a first for me."
"Well, I like being your first." She smiled. "I still can't believe you haven't seen Romancing the Stone."
"I don't have time for—"
"Anything that's not related to business?" She snatched a piece of popcorn from his bowl and threw it at him.
He caught it and popped it into his mouth. "You trying to humanize me, Bella?"
"Oh, I'm doing my best."
He leaned in, and his mouth found her neck, searing hot kisses all they way to her ear. She shivered and he whispered, "Well, let it be said that I have the best-looking teacher in school. Lucky, lucky me."
Her eyes closed. "And don't you forget it."
"Not possible." His hand sneaked under her sweater. "Human contact is always the best place to start the humanizing process, don't you think?"
"Mm?" was all she could think to say as he nibbled her earlobe while his hand slid up her stomach, then slipped beneath her bra.
"What was that?" he whispered as he palmed her breast. "I didn't understand you."
Heat settled low in her belly and she pressed into his hand, wanting more. "I … said do you want to go into the bedroom?"
"Too far." Popcorn dropped to the floor as he pulled off her sweater in one easy movement, then unhooked her bra.
Gunshots rang out over the TV, but all Isabella heard was the humming of her body, on fire and filled with need. Michael's mouth found her neck, searing slow kisses down, down until he reached her breast.
"Michael," she rasped as he flicked the sensitive bud with his tongue.
"Tell me, Bella." His hand slipped insid
e her jeans, under the panties. "Tell me how this makes you feel."
His fingers dipped low, stroking her cleft until she couldn't breathe, couldn't think. She spoke through senses only. "Hot and shaky, like fireflies trying to get free…" It could've been gibberish, but it was all she could offer.
She felt his hand leave her, felt him take her with him as he stood up. Her eyes opened to his gaze, so tender.
"Bella…" He wanted to say more—she could see it in his eyes—but he didn't. Instead, he unbuttoned her jeans and slid them down.
With shaky hands, she pulled off his sweater and jeans. When she stood before him once again, she ran her hands up his chest possessively, over the muscle, feeling his heart slamming against his ribs. Her gaze flew to his, his eyes so hot it almost made her step back. Lord, he made her crazy. She wanted this, wanted him forever. But the best she could hope for now was to show him.
She pushed him down on the spacious couch and straddled him.
He growled with surprise. "It looks like you have another assignment planned for tonight, Teacher." His eyes remained on her as his hands once again searched out the wet heat he'd created.
"I've planned a test," she uttered through breaths.
"A test?"
"Of stamina." She moved against his fingers, against the steely length of him. "Mine outlasting yours."
At that challenge, Michael released her and flipped her onto her back. "Oh, sweetheart. You don't stand a chance."
She smiled up at him. "I was hoping you'd say that."
He sat up for a moment, reached down to retrieve a foil packet from his discarded jeans. "I came prepared this time."
"Can I do it?" Isabella heard the shyness in her query, but she reveled in her boldness. It was love, pure and simple, that made her request such an intimacy.
Leaning toward her, he kissed her lips softly. "Yes."
With tentative fingers, she opened the packet. Michael drew in a breath as she slowly moved the latex down his manhood, then groaned as she wrapped her hands around him and guided him to the apex of her thighs.