Within Reach
Page 8
He raised one hand and traced a path along her jaw. Her skin felt like satin beneath his callus-roughened hand. His fingers moved lower, sliding along her throat, the tip of his index finger coming to rest on the pulse that throbbed there. “You are beautiful.”
The whisper made her smile. “And so are you.”
“Why are you here?” His voice grated harshly.
“Do you want me to go?”
“Yes.” But his other hand came up to cup her breast gently through the soft fabric of her top, his thumb and forefinger finding the hard peak and making it ache.
Krista hurt, longing for his hands and mouth and body to ease her pain. She caught her breath as his fingers glided over the fabric to tease the other pebble-hard nipple. Her breath seemed trapped in her throat, and she had to fight the urge to throw herself into his arms.
He stepped closer, lowering his head to the delicate shape of her ear. He nuzzled her hair back, then touched the tip of his tongue to her ear. When she shuddered, he wrapped his arms around her, pulling her hard against him. “Go home,” he whispered.
“I will,” she whispered back.
“Now.”
“All right.”
But he didn’t release her. He held her so tightly that freeing herself would have been impossible, and she didn’t want to be free.
In a desperate attempt to stop himself, he intentionally conjured up the image of Rebecca. Rebecca, who had used him to achieve her own goals. Rebecca, who had almost destroyed him. But his mind was too overwhelmed with the sensations his body was experiencing, and it couldn’t sustain the hazy image. “Why do you want me?”
She touched him voluntarily for the first time, resting her hands on his chest, and she felt his muscles contract. “I want you, Rafael. Isn’t that enough?” There was more, but she wouldn’t tell him that she felt empty and alone without him. And she couldn’t tell him that she thought she was falling in love with him. Her fingers flitted across his hardness before returning to his chest. “Do you want me to beg?”
He stared into her glazed blue eyes. Did he want strong, proud Krista McLaren to beg? Did he want to punish her for being like Rebecca, rich and beautiful and too good for him?
No. He would take what she offered, but he wouldn’t take her pride. He closed his eyes. “This is wrong,” he murmured, his breath hot and moist in her ear. “Go home before it’s too late, Krista.”
She wrapped her arms around him. “It’s already too late for me. If you send me away tonight, Rafael, I’ll die. I’ll die without you.”
“It’s wrong.”
“It will be right. We’ll make it right.”
She smelled so sweet, felt so soft, and he wanted her so much. His body throbbed, he ached to bury himself deep inside her softness, and soon he would. Tonight he would forget all the reasons why it was wrong. Tonight he would enjoy the forbidden pleasures of her body. Tonight he couldn’t say no.
Her lips parted eagerly for his kiss, to accept the entry of his tongue. Rafael cautioned himself to move slowly, to make it good for her. He took control, his tongue guiding hers out of the way so he could leisurely explore the dark warmth of her mouth.
His seeking was gentle. Krista sensed a great deal of control in the man who held her, and she wondered if she could entice him into losing that control, into being totally wild and unrestrained and free for even a short time.
His mouth left hers, and his arms released her body. Krista started to protest her abandonment, but he silenced her with a finger on her lips. His hands moved to the ruffled hem of the camisole she wore and pulled it up, across her breasts and over her head. He let the flimsy garment fall to the ground, then began pushing the skirt slowly over her slim hips, taking her panties, too, revealing a silken nest of golden-blond curls and long, muscled thighs. At last the skirt fell to the ground. Rafael saw her naked for the first time, and he knew he was lost.
He needed time to regain his self-control, so he turned away from her. He spread out her full skirt along with his shirt to make a bed for them. When the task was completed he knelt there, his bare legs a dark contrast to the white of her skirt, and waited for her to come to him.
She stood before him on the bed of clothing, and Rafael’s arm circled her hips, drawing her to him. His face turned against her belly, and he held her while his free hand caressed her blindly, stroking over her high, perfect breasts, the flatness of her stomach, the gentle curve of her hips. His fingers worshipfully touched her, touched the triangle of golden curls, finding them as soft as silk.
Krista leaned heavily against him, her legs weak and unable to bear her full weight. “Please, Rafael…” Even her whisper was weak.
He wrapped his arms tightly around her and rose to take her nipple in his mouth. He held it between his teeth while his tongue tortured it into an even harder peak. He repeated the action on her other breast, until the torment was unbearable, and she sobbed for relief, for him.
His senses screamed at him to seek his own relief; his muscles ached from their tautness. He eased Krista down to the ground, his hands gently settling her on their bed; then he knelt over her, between her thighs. His manhood rubbed against her, and she moaned his name.
“Guide me inside you,” he commanded hoarsely.
She took the hard length of him in her hand and guided him until he was cradled within the moist warmth of her. He moved his hips once, until his entry was complete, then leaned over her, his mouth taking hers possessively.
Krista gave a little sigh of pure satisfaction. “I could stay like this forever.”
“I couldn’t,” Rafael growled, his teeth nipping at her lip, his hips beginning to thrust into her. Between kisses he murmured to her in Spanish, knowing she couldn’t understand the soft words of encouragement, adoration and intimacy. He carried her with him to heights she had never reached before, until she couldn’t breath, couldn’t think. Her body responded instinctively, not needing commands from her dazed brain, which could only think that this sweet agony must be heaven.
The bright explosions within her brain made the night seem like daylight and drew a long, tearful cry from her. Rafael’s groan rumbled across the tiny valley at the same time, and his lean, hard body shuddered against hers.
Soft, soothing words that held no meaning for her whispered over her, quieting her, and she opened her eyes to look at Rafael. “In English,” she murmured with a satisfied smile. “It sounds so nice, but I don’t understand.”
“You understand,” he replied, brushing his lips over her ear.
His mustache tickled, and Krista smiled again before snuggling close to him. “Isn’t it a beautiful night?”
“Yes,” he replied, but his eyes were on her. Very beautiful. And now he had the answer to the question he’d asked himself earlier: once wasn’t enough. A hundred times wouldn’t be enough. Not even his hunger for Rebecca had been this strong, this intense.
Krista looked up at his stern, unsmiling face and reached out to touch his jaw. “I want you again, Rafael,” she whispered.
Black eyes shifted over her face. “You’re greedy.”
“Of course I am.” She echoed his thoughts. “I’ll never get enough of you.”
“You’ll get bored,” he disagreed with a shrug.
Krista’s laugh was light. “You can’t make me angry tonight, Rafael. I feel too good. I want to make love to you. I want to show you how much I want you.”
He drew his hand from her hip to the soft side of her breast, then rubbed over the coral peak and felt it harden. “We can’t have an affair, Krista,” he said outright, with just a hint of regret.
She quickly countered his resistance. “For the weekend. For the weekend we can be lovers, Rafael.”
“We’re so different.”
“I know. You’re so strong and so hard, I’m soft. You’re a man, and I’m a woman. You need nothing, and I need you.” Her hands were roaming over his body, and she underscored the next point. “You’re hard, and
I want you. Let me make love to you, Rafael. Let me satisfy you.”
With a sigh he let her push him onto his back and take control of his body. He was drugged with sensation, with wanting her as she explored every inch of his body before she moved onto him, taking him deep inside her.
After an exquisite release that left him gasping, seeing stars behind his tightly closed eyes, Rafael let emotion override common sense, and he said, “Come home with me. Just for the weekend.”
Krista accepted quickly before he could rethink the invitation.
“Just for the weekend,” he stressed. “Sunday night you go home and stay there.”
“I understand.” But she was smiling happily. She would show Rafael that she wasn’t easily dissuaded—nor easily forgotten. After this weekend there would be another, and another, until Rafael couldn’t bear the idea of living without her anymore than she could bear the thought of living without him.
He gently pulled away from her and began dressing. After a moment Krista shook out her skirt and pulled it on. Her panties and camisole came next. She watched him pull his boots on and tuck the gun into its holster; then she called the stallion. Diablo looked warily at the man with his mistress. He snorted as Rafael reached out to him; then he inspected the big hand that moved toward his nose. He remembered him from their previous meeting, and he smelled his mistress on him. That was enough for his approval.
Krista watched them with satisfaction. “If Diablo says you’re all right, then you must be. He doesn’t allow most people to touch him. Ride with me.”
He easily swung onto the horse’s back and extended his hand to her. She stepped onto his booted foot and let him pull her up, but instead of sitting astride the animal she sat sideways, her legs over Rafael’s, her back against his arm. The position afforded her a good look at his face. He always looked so stern, so grim. It made the planes of his face harsh but couldn’t hide his dark good looks. “Do you ever smile?” she asked, tracing the straight line of his mouth with a finger.
“No,” he replied, and her fingertip slipped inside his mouth. He nibbled at it, sending shivers up her arm and down her spine. “I stopped years ago.”
“What happened years ago?”
Hooded dark eyes stared ahead. “I learned that women can’t be trusted when they use words like ‘want’ and ‘need’ and ‘love.”’
She twined her arms around his neck. Then I won’t say that I need you, she answered silently. I won’t tell you that I love you.
He needed—no, wanted; he couldn’t afford to need—to touch her, so he reached beneath her blouse, his hand easily spanning her small golden breast, his fingers capturing her nipple between them.
“You think I’m awful, don’t you?”
He thought she was a spoiled rich kid used to getting everything she wanted. Despite his vows to stay away from her, she had succeeded in seducing him, had even extracted the invitation for the weekend. She had wanted him, and now she had him. But how long would she want him? How long before his differences began to bore her?
And how long would it take him to forget her, to control his body’s responses to the mere sight of her, to find satisfaction with another woman?
A few hundred yards ahead a light shone yellow in the darkness. They rode to the porch of the small house, and Rafael held Krista’s hand, helping her to the ground. He directed Diablo to the corral, where he left him near his own horses. His boots scuffed across the hard ground, quieting suddenly when he climbed the steps. Without breaking stride he looped his arm around Krista’s waist and pulled her inside the house.
She found herself standing in the middle of a room that measured twenty by thirty feet and served as living and dining rooms and kitchen combined. It was immaculate, not a thing out of place, not a speck of dust to be seen, not a dirty dish on the counter. Somehow she had expected that, she thought wryly.
There was a television pushed into a corner, a desk in another corner. Newsmagazines were neatly stacked on a shelf of the bookcase—all in order by publication date, she’d bet—and a stereo system occupied a second set of shelves. The furniture was simple, sturdy and masculine. Few pictures hung on the wall, and there were no knickknacks, no plants, nothing to personalize the room. His books were mostly nonfiction, his taste in music mostly country.
All in all the place was about as warm and inviting as the man who lived in it. Rafael noticed that she’d made that observation, though she kept it to herself. He wondered if she knew how much her presence brightened the room. For one weekend, because of her, the house would be friendly.
“It doesn’t compare to la casa grande, does it?”
She knew enough Spanish—barely—to know that meant “the big house,” and she smiled. “It’s nice. Your tastes are quite different from my father’s.”
“And yours?”
She gave him that smile again, as if indulging a bad-tempered child and trying not to laugh at his anger. “My tastes at this moment extend to only one thing: you.” She looked around again. “This room needs—”
You, he wanted to break in, but he remained silent.
“—plants. I can bring some over tomorrow.”
“I don’t have time for plants.”
“Five minutes to water them once a week?” She chided him with her frown. “When I pick up some clothes I’ll get a couple of ivies. They’re easy to take care of.”
He arched one brow. “Clothes?”
“You said I can stay until Sunday night. Do you expect me to wear these the whole time?” She grinned slyly. “Or do you prefer that I wear nothing?”
“You can take your horse home in the morning and bring your car back.”
Krista went to him and began unbuttoning his shirt. “You’re avoiding my question. I know that I prefer you naked.” She slipped his shirt off his shoulders and drew her fingers across his chest. She splayed her fingers over his skin. “Your skin is such a lovely color. I look sick next to you.”
He looked down at her hands. Privately he thought the contrast was very nice. There was something erotic about seeing her lightly tanned skin against his, but, of course, he didn’t comment on it. “Call home.”
“I’m a big girl, Rafael. I don’t need permission to stay out all night.” She undid the button of his jeans and reached for the zipper, but he stepped back.
“You left alone at night on a horse with no saddle. You have no money, no keys, no clothes, no purse, no shoes. Call and tell them you’re not coming home.”
She went to the phone on his desk, dialed the number and waited for her father to answer. Even the desk was immaculate, she noted. When Art answered she informed him that she would be home the next morning. He asked no questions, and she offered no explanations.
Rafael had openly listened to her end of the conversation. When she hung up he asked, “Does your father accept everything you say, no questions asked? Why didn’t he want to know where you are?”
For just a moment her smile faltered, and she gave a flat, honest answer. “Because he doesn’t care.”
The response surprised him, and he would have discounted it if not for the very brief, bleak expression that had passed through her eyes. So everything wasn’t perfect at la casa grande.
“My bedroom is here.”
Krista followed him down a broad hallway, past several closed doors. He pointed out the bathroom as they passed; then he entered the last room. His bedroom looked more comfortable, less sterile, than the rest of the house, as if the weariness of preparing for and the muddle of waking from sleep prevented him from being as perfect.
The bed was a regular double bed, she saw with a smile. Everyone she knew owned king-size beds, big enough to get lost in. With a bed this size she could get as close to Rafael as she wanted and claim lack of space as an excuse if he complained.
Rafael saw her look at the bed with that faint smile, and he misinterpreted it. “I suppose you’re used to a bigger bed. I don’t need one. I sleep alone.”
Rafael was aware that she was standing motionless, watching. She turned slowly, letting her eyes move caressingly over his body. Out by the pool he had been so much in shadow; now she saw everything she hadn’t seen before, and the sight made her breath catch. He was magnificent. His shoulders were broad, his waist slim, his hips narrow. He had the hard muscles of a man who worked hard, not the ugly, bunched muscles that came from time in a gym. His skin was a satiny bronze, its perfection marred here and there by small scars. He was strong and powerful, and he aroused a strong, powerful response in Krista.
Her muscles tightened, and she swallowed with difficulty. “Rafael…” She cleared her throat and tried again. “Make love to me, Rafael.”
He moved to her and pulled the camisole over her head, slid the skirt down her hips, and took her to his bed.
The lamp was out, but moonlight illuminated the room. Krista wasn’t asleep, though her eyes were closed and her body relaxed. If she was aware of Rafael’s brooding stare she gave no sign of it. With a little sigh she moved closer to him.
He would wait until she was asleep; then he would go to the other bedroom to sleep. He couldn’t share his bed with anyone, especially a snuggler like Krista; it made him feel cramped and constricted and trapped. He needed an empty bed to rest.