Miracle of Love

by Victoria Chancellor

  After the rings were exchanged, she glanced back at Colin, catching a wink and a misty-eyed smile from Mrs. Parker. Grant squeezed her hand and smiled as though he understood Erina's joy. Even Mrs. Kirby and Mr. Abbott seemed pleased to be at the wedding. Truly, this was the happiest day of her life.

  They knelt and received the blessing. And then Father Flannigan pronounced them man and wife and Grant was kissing her. She closed her eyes and allowed herself a moment of pure bliss before reality intruded in the form of sniffles and sobs.

  She pushed back from Grant's smiling face and turned to the people watching them. Mrs. Kirby dabbed her eyes, her arm linked through Mr. Abbott's. Mrs. Parker wiped her nose with a tissue as she clutched Colin close to her bosom.

  Erina smiled, tears running down her cheeks, then began to laugh. Grant spun her toward him, grinning, so handsome in his dark suit, white shirt, and tie. She'd never seen him dressed this way. The idea that he was hers--all hers--made her want to hug the world on this fine day.

  As soon as the priest stepped down, everyone came forward to congratulate them. Even if Grant didn't love her, he and his family cared enough to make this day special. And at that moment, Erina felt truly loved.

  #

  Grant tried to relax on the way from the small reception at his mother's house back to his apartment. A glorious sunset illuminated the western sky. The night was mild and clear, yet the only thing he could think about was getting Erina back home--all to himself.

  Married.

  The thought should have brought chills to him, made him think of chains and shackles, but he could envision her lying on his king size bed, gloriously naked with her long black hair spread around her. The arousal that image provoked made him shift on the white leather seat. Think of the other benefits of marriage, he told himself. Someone to come home to each night, to talk with and plan for their future. Quiet dinners together, long walks on the beach. A house with a noisy den and a driveway filled with bicycles. He wanted all of that with Erina.

  But at the moment, he wanted to get her safely inside his apartment.

  "Are you tired?" he asked. He needed conversation to keep him from seducing her right here in the limo.

  "Not really," she replied in a dreamy voice. "This day has been so special. I cannot tell you how wonderful . . . and yet I think you know what you've done for me."

  "I'm just as happy as you are," he replied easily, then realized how true that statement was. He'd conceived of the idea of marriage as a way to protect Colin and Erina, but he knew now that he wanted them to be a couple, sharing life and someday, hopefully, love. He felt that she could come to love him in time, and he already cared very deeply for her.

  The limo stopped at the entrance to the apartment building. In a few second, the driver opened Erina's door. When she started to get out, Grant said, "Wait a minute."

  He exited first, then assisted her from the car. Before she could take a step, he swung her into his arms and carried her past the smiling driver.

  "Add twenty percent and send me the bill," Grant said to the man.

  "Grant, you cannot carry me all the way inside," Erina said, protesting despite the way her arms clenched his neck.

  "Of course I can." He carried her past George, the grinning night security guard, and into the elevator. "I see no reason to put you down."

  "But I must be heavy."

  "You don't weigh as much as a backpack," he said, determined to see--very, very soon--just how his bride looked without her wedding gown.

  They got off on his floor and made it to his door without incident. However, his key was in his front pants pocket. "Reach in the left pocket of my pants and get my key, please."

  She looked a bit scandalized at his suggestion. "I can't."

  "Sure you can. I'm not about to let you go."

  She blushed, then reached tentatively into the pocket. He felt her small, firm fingers search for the elusive key. "Lower," he urged, thinking she just might get a big surprise if she searched a bit to the right.

  "I have it," she announced a second later.

  "Unlock the door quick before we embarrass the neighbors by starting the honeymoon in the hall."

  Erina giggled, a sound he found charming. She didn't laugh often enough. He'd have to make sure she had a reason to smile and laugh from now on.

  Pushing the door shut with his foot, he strode quickly to the bedroom. His mother's decorator had done a splendid job, he realized, looking around at the many candles, the fresh flowers, the lace-edged sheets. The scents were as rich and seductive as Erina's long black hair.

  "It's like a fairy tale," she said breathlessly as she surveyed the room.

  "Just as long as it isn't Beauty and the Beast," he replied, letting her slide down his body so she could become familiar with his bedroom--before she became familiar with him.

  "No, that's not the one," she said, trailing her hand along the soft comforter of the bed. She walked to the antique, mirrored armoire. "I think it's called Cinderella. I feel as though I've found my prince."

  "No, I've just found my princess in hiding," he said, walking up behind her. He placed his hands on her delicate shoulders. He did have large, rough hands. But hopefully, tonight, they'd give her pleasure.

  He kissed the side of her neck as he watched her face in the mirror. She closed her eyes and moaned. In the background, candles flickered inside crystal bowls and brass hurricane lamps. The scent of vanilla drifted through the air, along with the faint smell of the cream colored roses in tall vases.

  But what he sensed most was the growing heat and awareness of Erina, warm and soft in her wedding gown. Married. The idea that he was about to make love to his wife filled him with desire.

  "I want you so much," he whispered into her ear. "I promised myself that I'd go slowly, that I wouldn't rush you, but all I can think about is taking that beautiful dress off you."

  "I . . . I don't know what to say or do," she whispered, looking into his eyes in the mirror.

  "Then don't do anything but feel." He slid his hands to her back and began unfastening the many small buttons down the back of the dress. His fingers brushed against her skin and she trembled, closing her eyes and biting her bottom lip with those small, white teeth. He wanted to feel her mouth on him that way, gently nipping. But he'd save those images for later. Right now, he wanted to concentrate on her.

  He peeled the dress apart, looking down at her ivory slip. So many layers. This seduction was slow, he realized, but he didn't mind. He could take hours undressing her as long as he knew what was waiting for him at the end. Her softness and warmth. A welcome home. A joining of bodies and minds.

  With a sweep of his hands, the dress slid down her arms, hung momentarily on her full breasts, then pooled on the floor. He took her hands and urged her to step out of the lacy puddle. That brought her closer to him, flush against his aroused body.

  "You're beautiful," he murmured against her shoulder before placing a kiss there. His lips brushed against the strands of pearls circling her throat. His mother had remembered the heirloom, he thought with pride. What a perfect gift for Erina's wedding day.

  "I'm a plain one," she said softly.

  "No, you're not. There's not a plain inch of skin on your body. Not a plain strand of hair on your head. Don't you know how special you are? To me, you look as though you stepped from the pages of fairy tale. A princess, come to me from long ago."

  He trailed kisses up the slope of her shoulder to her neck. "No, you're not plain, Erina O'Shea Kirby. You're magic."

  He tugged the straps of her slip off her shoulders, down her arms, over her hips. She stood trembling in her lacy bra and panties, and below, satin garters that held up creamy stockings. Her breasts were full and white, her waist small and her stomach gently curved.

  "You're perfect," he whispered, watching his hands skim her arms, hug her waist, then inch higher to cup her breasts. Her nipples instantly hardened and she moaned.

  "Are
you sore?"

  "No, but you make me feel . . . like I did on the balcony that night. I've never felt that way before."

  "Tight and aching?" he asked, lightly caressing her through the lace.

  "Yes," she whispered, closing her eyes and leaning back against him.

  "I think it's time to lay down, don't you?" As much as he enjoyed watching Erina's response in the mirror, he wasn't sure how long he could stand there. Sooner or later he'd collapse from need. Right now he wanted nothing more than to rid himself of his own clothes and feel her against his body.

  She turned and looped her arms around his neck. "Yes, but you need to undress too. I feel odd wearin' so little when you're still in your suit."

  "Whatever you want, princess." He hugged her closer, burying his face in her hair. When he opened his eyes, he saw the back of her, so pale against the darkness of his clothes. Her bottom was round and barely covered by lacy panties that matched her bra. The thought of what she would feel like made him even harder.

  He slid his hands to her buttocks, making her gasp. Then he lifted her, urging her thighs apart so she could straddle his waist. "Hold on," he said, speaking to himself as much as to her.

  She tentatively tightened her legs around him, then clutched him harder. "I had a fantasy of holding on to you like this," she admitted, her face buried in his neck. "I didn't know if such things were done."

  "You can do anything you want to me," he said, settling her on the high bed. "Anything."

  With a yank of his tie, he loosened it, then began unbuttoning his shirt. The soft cotton failed to cooperate. He was about to yank it apart when Erina's hands replaced his.

  "Let me," she said, and she deftly slid each button from the hole with far more finesse than he possessed at the moment. He wanted her so badly that he ached. She was sitting on the bed, her legs straddling his thighs, and all he could think about was making her cry out in passion.

  She pushed his shirt and suit coat off his shoulders and down his arms, just like he'd removed her dress. With a look of wonder on her face, she touched his chest.

  "I wondered what it would be like to be free to touch you," she admitted. "You are so strong, so big."

  "I don't feel very strong at the moment. Right now, I feel about as weak as a kitten."

  "Then perhaps you should lie down," she said with a slight smile that made his heart beat faster.

  "Not until you get me out of these pants," he challenged.

  Her fingers weren't as sure on his belt buckle and buttons. She fumbled when it came to his zipper; he was forced to help her tug it along the ridge of his arousal. He moaned when she exerted the least amount of pressure on his already rigid flesh, which was still covered by his briefs.

  "Does it hurt?" she asked innocently.

  "Not the way you mean," he whispered against her lips, then kissed her, hard and open mouthed. She seemed startled at first, then relaxed as he guided his tongue into her mouth. At the first touch of her tongue to his, he deepened the kiss even more, urging her to let go of her passion.

  She seemed to sense what he wanted, because she came up full against him, her breasts teasing his bare chest. She held him tightly, grasping his shoulders, his arms. He slipped his hands lower, cupping her bottom and rubbing her against his arousal.

  He broke off the kiss, panting, taking in deep breaths and trying to control his body. He was hotter than he'd ever been before. Burning up with need. "Oh, God, Erina," he whispered against the top of her head. "You have no idea how much I want you."

  With shaking hands, he pulled himself away from her and sat on the bed. He jerked off his shoes and socks, then yanked his pants down his legs. His shirt, tie, and suit coat ended up across the room.

  He noticed she was struggling with her hose. "Let me," he said. His own hands trembling, he unfastened the garters and slid the silky stockings down her legs, kissing her knees, her shins, her calf. When he got to her ankle, he noticed a tiny cut.

  "You hurt yourself," he said softly, kissing the damaged area.

  "I had to learn to shave my legs," she admitted breathlessly. "I'm afraid I'm not very good at it yet."

  He smiled against her soft skin. "I'm glad you learned. I'm not much on European style," he said, removing the stocking from the other leg.

  He settled her legs on either side of his thighs and reached around her back to unhook her bra. He felt her tremble beneath his fingers. "Nervous?"

  "Terribly," she whispered, the words a soft caress on his neck. "I've never removed my clothes around another person before."

  "Never?" he said, smiling when the catch came loose. He eased the lacy garment away.

  "No, never."

  "I've never wanted to remove another person's clothes more," he said, hoping to put her at ease, "so this will be a first for both of us."

  "But you've made love to other women before."

  "Yes, but never to my wife," he said softly as he leaned down and kissed her gently, deeply, until she again responded with all the buried passion she had yet to explore. While he continued the kiss, he coaxed her back on the bed, sweeping his hand down her body until he caught the waist of her panties.

  He paused before removing her last piece of clothing. "This is just between us, Erina. Two people who care for each other, making love, giving and receiving pleasure. No one else. Okay?"

  She looked up at him with large, dark, trusting eyes. "Yes. I'm not afraid of you. I know you'd never hurt me."

  He felt empowered by her trust. With a quick sweep of his hands, he removed her panties. Before she could have second thoughts, he skimmed off his briefs and lay back down beside her, his erection pressed against her thigh.

  She shivered, although he knew she couldn't be cold. The room seemed unusually warm with the candles glowing and the scents mingling in the air. His own skin was burning hot, especially that part of him that begged for release.

  Not yet, he told himself. Not until she's really ready.

  He kissed her lips, her cheek, her neck. Lying beside him in nothing but the heirloom pearls and her wedding band, she smelled fresh and pure, with no artificial fragrance to mar the perfection of skin. His mouth trailed lower, to trace her collarbone, then lower still, to the slope of her breast. He could feel her heart pounding, her lungs straining for breath. When he touched her nipple with his tongue, she jumped as if he'd shocked her. A bead of milk appeared and he licked it away.

  Later. When she wasn't so sensitive from nursing Colin.

  His hands swept her stomach, the outside of her hips, down to her thighs. She shifted on the bed as if she couldn't decide what she wanted. Then he cupped her, stroked her, and she gasped his name.

  "That's right, my princess." She was damp and swollen. "You do want me," he whispered against her neck.

  He stroked her until she began moving against him, her moans the sweetest sound he'd ever heard. And then he moved between her thighs, pressing against her, stroking her as he eased inside.

  Heaven must feel like this, he thought. She was tight and warm, closing around him before he could thrust fully.

  "Relax, sweetheart. It's okay. I know what you need. Just relax and let it happen."

  He felt her thighs loosen a little, so he urged her to wrap her legs around his waist again. He kissed her as he began to move, slowly at first, then deeper as she opened to him. He wasn't sure how long he could last, so he reach between them and touched her where they were joined.

  She screamed his name, convulsing around him so hard that it drove him over the edge. With a cry, he surged one last time, his body gloriously complete for the first time. "Erina," he rasped as he tightened his grip around her and fell into oblivion.

  #

  Erina awoke to the heavy weight of Grant lying across her, the smell of vanilla and roses in the air, and the feeling that she'd experienced another miracle.

  She reached up and touched Grant's hair, lying soft against her breast. His breath teased her with memories of his k
isses. She'd known before that she loved him; if they'd never experienced what they'd shared this night, she would have been happy. But now . . . she could never have imagined such passion, not even after reading about it in the magazines at the hospital.

  Nothing, not even his kisses and caresses on the balcony, had prepared her for the reality of making love to Grant.

  He settled closer, his arm tightening around her. How long had they both slept after . . . afterwards? The candles still burned brightly, lighting the room in a lovely yellow glow that reminded her of her own time. No sounds intruded and the drapes were tightly drawn. The hour could be early still, or very late. But what did it matter? This night she had no obligations, no worries except pleasing her husband . . . and herself.

  She ran her fingers through his hair, hugged him closer, and smiled into the night. Grant had been right that what happened was between them. No memories had intruded to ruin the mood. She didn't resent other woman for sharing their bodies with Grant, and he didn't seem to mind that she was no virgin. All that was in the past, where it belonged. They'd never need to talk about it again.

  She soon realized that the air conditioner--a wonderful invention in most cases--was fanning cool air over their bodies. She shivered, the warm glow of their lovemaking deserting her. With a sigh, she eased from beneath Grant and reached for the sheet and comforter.

  He mumbled a protest at her movement, which caused her to smile. She'd never imagined that men could be so endearing, so entertaining. As she covered him with the sheet and draped the comforter across his legs, she decided that she should make a trip to the bath room. Making love was certainly enjoyable, but caused some new and embarrassing consequences.

  And at that moment, she realized what one of the consequences could be. The wetness between her legs . . . she could have Grant's child! She sagged against the side of the bed as the idea formed in her mind. With trembling fingers, she touched her stomach, which was still slightly soft from Colin's birth. She wasn't ready to have another baby, as much as she would love to carry Grant's child.