by Nancy Bush
“That weekend you came to see me.”
His perception surprised her. “Just before that. And then… you told me you were going to marry Jenny.”
“That was a long time ago.”
“It doesn’t feel that long ago to me.”
“It does to me,” he assured her, sinking down on the edge of the bed, drawing her to him. Rory was anxious to climb underneath the covers, but Nick had other ideas. He drew her down on the bed beside him.
“Help me,” he said thickly.
Rory reacted instinctively, rolling him onto his back, burying her face in his stomach. Nick sucked in a breath and laughed. “I said help me, don’t kill me.”
“What do you mean?” she asked blankly.
“With my pants.” He pressed her hands against him and Rory touched his hard hips. Her breath came in gasps. What she wanted to do, she didn’t dare, but he seemed to be asking her to.
“I—”
“Go on.” His chest rose and fell.
Rory pulled off his clothes, examining his maleness with unabashed curiosity. She ran her hands over his skin and his intake of breath made her bold. She touched and caressed and suddenly found herself flat on her back, trapped hard against the mattress, Nick’s hands encircling her wrists.
“I can’t wait. I’m sorry,” he muttered, thrusting against her.
Rory’s whole body stiffened. Now she remembered what it had been like with Ryan. She closed her eyes, but instead of feeling him force the passage she wasn’t ready for, she felt the caress of Nick’s hand, kneading her skin, demanding a response, his hips hard against hers but waiting.
Waves of heat pulsated throughout Rory’s body. She opened her mouth in amazement and met his marauding tongue. When he entered her, she was wet with desire. He thrust deeply inside her, and Rory gasped.
“God, Rory,” he groaned, and within seconds she felt the sweet warmth of his climax.
He slumped against her, his mouth against her throat, tasting her skin. She lay quiet, more amazed than disappointed. Her body felt on fire, waiting. She was as tense as a bowstring. It hadn’t happened for her, the magic everyone talked about, but she didn’t care.
But when Nick suddenly shifted the rest of his weight on his palms, she sucked in a shaking breath, dying for something she couldn’t quite name.
“You see that?” he said, smiling. “You see what you do me? I don’t have any control.”
“I bet you say that all the girls.”
“Don’t be flip, Rory. Not now.”
Rory pulled away from him, turning on her side, aching. She hadn’t meant to be flip, but she needed to protect herself. His fingers grasped her chin, forcing her to meet his eyes, but Rory struggled away, embarrassed.
With supreme ease his hands grabbed one shoulder, pulling her onto her back. “Where do you think you’re going?” he demanded, thwarting her continued efforts to escape.
“Home.”
“Home.” He snorted. “Not yet.”
“Nick, let me up,” Rory demanded.
His mouth trailed alongside her neck, one palm gently rubbing across her breast.
Rory froze. “What are you doing?”
“Making love to you.”
Softly, slowly, his fingers set her on fire. She moved restlessly, moaning. When he joined with her a second time she was hot and anxious. Shifting his weight, his hips pushed hard against hers. Rory sucked in a breath. Desire ran like a molten river through her veins. “I blew it,” he murmured near her ear. “I’m sorry. This one’s for you.”
Rory stiffened beneath him.
“This time I promise to act like an adult,” he added.
“Nick…”
But he was already moving within her, slowly, rhythmically, torturously sweet. This was outside Rory’s experience. She refused to relax, but he kept coaxing her, moving in a way that had her responding in spite of herself. He bent his head to her breast and sucked one nipple. Her head fell back and she moaned; a tightness was coiling within her. Her fingers dug into his shoulders. Sweat dampened her skin.
Pressure built. Her hands slid to his buttocks. His mouth moved to hers, his tongue teasing her lips. She pulled him to her.
“Good?” he whispered.
She nodded vigorously, crying out as the unbelievable happened and a wave of pure pleasure swept over her. She clasped him hard, shuddering, and was rewarded with his own groan of desire.
“God, Rory! What you do to me…” he said through his teeth just before the pulsating heat of his own response followed hers.
DEAR DIARY — NANCY BUSH
Chapter Ten
Nick Shard and Rory Camnen, 9 yrs., after the big fight scene.
Kissing Rory at my wedding.
Rory read the back of the photographs and smiled at Nick’s third-grade penmanship in comparison to his college script. “Where did you find these?” she asked, tucking the sheet firmly around her breasts.
“Don’t you dare tell me you’ve lost yours.”
“No. I’m just not sure where they are. You spelled my name wrong.”
“That’s what I thought it was at first. Camnen. Give me a break, I was only nine.”
As if to make sure she realized he was nine no longer, he nuzzled his lips against her ear. Rory twisted her head away. “Stop!” she said with a laugh, slapping at him ineffectively. She’d grown more self-conscious with each passing minute. Not so Nick. He flipped back the covers, turned on the bedside lamp, then walked buck naked down the hall, returning with his wallet and the two pictures. Now he lay stretched out beside her beneath the covers, one hand tenaciously curved around her stomach even though she held the covers around her like a straitjacket.
“I’ve been meaning to show them to you for days,” Nick admitted, “but you haven’t exactly been approachable. You’ve avoided me.”
“I have not.”
“Have too.”
He grinned unabashedly. Rory dragged her gaze away from him, upset that her heart still beat hot and heavy. She glanced back at the photo, smiling at the sight of herself and Nick at nine, bloodied and beaten and proud of it. But the second picture was of Nick kissing her at his wedding reception. Thinking of it made her skin feel cold. Champagne and passionate kisses.
“Where did you find them?” she asked.
“In an old box of memorabilia from high school and grade school. I also found the email you wrote me after I left for San Francisco right after my divorce.”
“Really? You kept it? Why?”
He smoothed back a strand of sweat dampened hair from her forehead, following up with a light kiss. “Because you’ve been on my mind.”
His soft seductive voice chased a shiver down her spine. But the mists of passion had receded and Rory was once again thinking clearly. “Although I’m not sorry about this… I’m not sure it was a good idea,” she said, plucking at the comforter.
His grip tightened possessively. “It was a great idea.”
“You know how I feel about our friendship. And don’t tell me everything’s going to be fine, because it might not be.” Nick opened his mouth to argue, but she hurriedly added, “I’ll admit this was… was…”
“Was?” he prompted when she couldn’t seem to find the right word.
“Wonderful. But—”
“Shhh.” He gathered her close, ignoring her automatic protests.
“I want to think about this. I’m not sure I want it to happen again. And now, I really should get home.”
“I’m not going to let you go.” His tone was merely conversational. Not bullying, not even worried.
“You sure as hell are.”
“That was the first time you’d ever reached a climax, wasn’t it?”
“Aaaagh!” She wanted to clap her hands over her ears. “Now, you have to dissect it? I really am leaving.” She thrust furiously at his arm but he tightened his grip, one leg clamping down on hers to hold her immobile. Rory’s eyes flashed fire, but Nick’s were l
azy with amusement.
“This guy from college. He’s the only one you were with, isn’t he?”
“Let me up.” Her blue eyes warred with his gray ones.
“You said you had a few relationships,” he reminded her. “But you lied.”
“I lie about a lot of things.”
“Well, don’t lie about this, could you be pregnant after tonight?”
What amazed her the most was his merely curious tone. No, she couldn’t be pregnant. She hadn’t been that out of her head. But she had a strange feeling if she told Nick she could be, he wouldn’t really mind. “It’s not the time of the month I could get pregnant.”
“You’re sure?”
“I wasn’t completely swept away. Now get your leg off me…”
“Why are you always fighting me? I swear, Rory, there must be something you’re not telling me. You overreact about everything that has to do with sex.”
Rory’s jaw tightened reflexively. Would he understand her deep-rooted fears about totally trusting a man? Trusting him?
Staring at her, Nick clasped her wrist and brought it to his mouth. He kissed the center of her palm, his tongue lightly stroking her sensitive skin.
She could see where this was heading. Though her heart kicked into overdrive she attempted to twist her hand away from his grasp. “You really do have to stop.”
“Tomorrow’s Sunday. You can spend the night.”
“I would never get any sleep!” she said on a laugh.
“That’s the idea.”
“Please, Nick.”
His eyes darkened, and his lips tightened. She thought he would argue, but he said instead, “You make me feel possessive as hell.”
Thinking he was giving in, Rory wriggled beneath his leg and pushed at his thigh. She inhaled on a gasp when he suddenly climbed atop her, pinning her down. “I can’t let you go,” he said simply.
“This is starting to not be funny.”
His tongue found her nipple. Rory bit into her bottom lip and glared at him. Humor creased the corners of his eyes. She wanted to deny him and her eyes burned with an angry blue flame, but lightning leaped beneath her skin in spite of herself and her mouth trembled.
“Damn you,” she said softly, a trifle urgently.
“There’s a part of you that you refuse to face,” he whispered. “You’re an adventurer, but you clamp down on it. It’s your fault, you know, that I lost control the first time. The way you were touching me when I only wanted you to help me take off my pants…” Something dangerous smoldered in his eyes. “I want you to do that again.”
“I’m not an adventurer.”
“The hell you’re not,” he growled, his hands sliding up her rib cage to caress her breasts. “Stop fighting and just give in.”
“I can’t.”
“Why not?”
“Because you’ll win.”
“This isn’t a contest, Rory,” he said, his mouth descending to suck on one nipple with wet heat.
Her eyes fluttered closed. Isn’t it? she asked herself, but she was unable to form the words as she succumbed to his sweet sensuality.
Nick lay awake in the darkness long after Rory had fallen into a fitful sleep. Her back was curled against his. His hand lay against her hip. There had been other women in his life, but he couldn’t recall a time he’d ever felt such pleasure. When had another woman laughed and joked with him in bed? When had she wanted to explore him in that sensuous, innocently curious way, Rory had?
Never.
He didn’t understand what prompted Rory to pull back all the time, however. Sure, she was afraid this would ruin their lifetime friendship. He could admit that was a legitimate worry, but there was something else, too. Some kind of instinct—or self-preservation—that reared up whenever she started to let loose. The woman had damn near iron control of her emotions. How had she learned that? When? And why?
As much as he detested anyone who ranted and raved and exposed their “deepest” feelings at every available opportunity, he couldn’t help but wish Rory would let him see into hers. He knew nothing had really changed for them: she would never let him see into the real Rory Camden.
He needed that to change.
Rory stirred his arms, her lashes fluttering. Nick had expected to feel let down after being with her; it happened often enough with other women. This possessiveness was new and not entirely to his liking. It was probably because it was Rory, he rationalized. She’d been the most important woman in his life for most of his childhood and adult years. It was natural to feel protective.
He ran his hand over her flat stomach, smiling as she protested faintly in her sleep. What if she had gotten pregnant? In the heat of passion he simply hadn’t considered contraception. Most thirty-two-year-old single women were equipped to take care of that. But he’d rapidly figured out there was no way she could be preventing conception by artificial means; she wasn’t active sexually.
The thought of Rory pregnant with his child filled his senses. Remembering Marsden’s advice, he wondered if maybe the old man was right. He didn’t want to have children without marriage, but he wanted children. And he wanted them with Rory.
For an insane moment he wished she were already pregnant. That would solve the dilemma once and for all. He would demand she marry him. She would probably comply… wouldn’t she?
You’re losing it, Shard.
Her behind shifted against him. Nick felt the first stirring of desire and ruthlessly clamped down on it. Good God.
“You’re too old to be reacting like this,” he said aloud.
“Nick?” Rory’s eyes blinked open.
He buried his face in her lush hair, inhaling deeply. “Unless you’re in an amorous mood, go back to sleep,” he said in a pained voice.
Rory gazed at him uncomprehendingly, then a smile tugged at her mouth. “I always read that it took some time before—”
“Well, forget what you’ve read. That author never met you.”
Sunday passed in a blur. Rory tried half-heartedly to make Nick take her home, but he simply wasn’t willing and proved his point by turning off both their cell phones. Then he focused his attention on her and in a few short strides ripped off the sheets and pinned her with his kisses.
Truth to tell, her protests were pretty feeble. She didn’t want to leave. They spent most of the day in bed. She learned to her delight and chagrin that Nick had absolutely no hang-ups about sex. He made her enjoy herself and forget her embarrassment. He made her see what she’d been missing in her life. He made her realize how addictive he could be for her.
Sunday evening she told him good night at her doorstep. Firmly. She also told him she needed time to think. This wasn’t what she’d wanted to happen, she explained reasonably. It was all too soon, too fast and too much trouble.
He stepped inside, kicked her door shut and kissed her, hard. That had been the end of that conversation.
And now …?
The jarring ring of the telephone brought Rory fully awake. She was in her bed. At her apartment. The warmth of a male arm around her chest assured her Nick was beside her.
Squinting through the darkness at the clock, she realized it was five-thirty in the morning. Who would be crazy enough to call her so early?
Groping for the phone, she felt Nick’s hand slide familiarly down her hip. Her pulse fluttered. Was she mad? she wondered now. They’d known each other for years, yet she felt such incredible intensity.
The telephone shrilled again and, horror stricken, Rory saw Nick reach for the receiver. “Don’t you dare!” she hissed in his ear.
He laughed silently against the pillow. “Chicken,” he muttered as Rory swept up the phone.
“Hello?”
“Rory! There you are! I tried you at home and your cell phone. I sent you about a billion texts!”
Michelle’s voice was just short of hysterical. Kicking herself for not turning on her cell phone, Rory sat up in bed, tucking her comforter
around her. Nick yanked it down, exposing her breasts. Rory skewered him with a mock glare she couldn’t quite sustain. “I was busy,” she apologized, struggling to pull the comforter back up.
Nick’s hand curved around her breast.
“Rory, James left me!”
Rory’s blood froze. “Left you?”
“For another woman!” she cried. “I knew we were having problems, but I never guessed! You’d barely gotten out of the driveway when he confessed the truth. He’s been seeing her for months. They meet at her place.” Her words came faster and faster, nearly incoherent with sobs. “She’s divorced. They have fun together. They go golfing. They talk! My God, Rory, he acted as if it were all my fault that the kids take up so much of my time!”
“Michelle…” Rory felt sick.
“He wants a divorce. He wants to live with this other woman. Rory I hate her and I don’t even know her!”
Images from Rory’s past blinded her. She saw her father with Eileen, pounding against the kitchen counter. Heard the laughter, saw the champagne… felt the rage.
Michelle was crying openly now. “I called and called you,” she sobbed piteously. “But you weren’t there.”
“I know. I’m sorry. I was with Nick.”
Sensing her distress, Nick leaned up on one elbow, regarding her soberly. She couldn’t meet his eyes. She felt hot and stifled. She had to get out of the bed with him. This was too personal. Too close. “Michelle,” she said in a shaking voice, pushing back the covers easily now since Nick had given up the game.
He watched silently as she reached for her robe, lying in a heap on the floor. Climbing out of bed, she thrust her arms through the sleeves and cinched it tightly around her waist. “Do you want me to come over?”
“Can you? What about work?”
“I’ll ask the boss for time off.” Her eyes met Nick’s.
“Oh, God. I don’t know what to do. I’ve been a walking zombie. The kids have been awful. They don’t know what’s going on. Lisa’s been crying and crying, and Max is throwing things.”
“James hasn’t been back at all?”