Dark Fire

by Peggy Webb

  "One of the things I love most about you is that you don't bother with a bunch of extraneous under things." He bent down and kissed her toes, one by one.

  She made soft humming noises deep in her throat. Sid's hand moved up her leg, scorching her skin. When he reached the moist warm juncture of her thighs, she leaned back on the sofa.

  "I never knew that loving someone would make the wanting so intense," she said softly.

  Her silky skirts whispered as he slid them upward. "And I never dreamed that you would ever be mine."

  He covered her with his hand, loving the way she moaned and the dreamy look that came into her eyes. The wisp of lace around her hips tumbled to the floor and lay in a pool of candlelight. Sid kissed the blue-veined arch of her foot and moved his way up to the softly pulsing skin behind her knee.

  She tangled her fingers in his hair and wrapped her long, beautiful legs around him. Her inner thigh was fragrant with the scent of roses, and he feasted there, tasting the silky skin and the sweetness of her perfume.

  Memories of Paris washed over him, of how she had looked in the rose garden and how he had made love to her at the piano. Sliding his hand into her tender, waiting warmth, he lifted his head so he could see her face, so he could know that she was real and she was his.

  "Do you remember Paris?" he whispered, his voice hoarse with passion.

  "I remember how your music made me feel . . . almost like this." His fingers worked their magic, and she began to writhe. "Except this is better."

  Her legs tightened around him and she gasped. "This is like . . . flying."

  "There's more. Much, much more." He slid his hand upward, pushing aside the chiffon skirt.

  She shivered as his fingers drew lacy patterns around the sensitive skin of her stomach. He bent his head and dipped his tongue into the silky indentation of her navel.

  The fever of love burned high and bright in her, and she cried out his name.

  "I know what you want, fair one," he whispered as he plied her skin with wet, hot kisses lower, ever lower. "I know what you need."

  She was swollen with need for him, slick and warm and tasting of musk and honey. With the certain knowledge that this was only the beginning for them, Sid gave her pleasure and release.

  When she sagged against the sofa cushions and her legs went slack around him, he lifted her and carried her into the bedroom. The bed was king- size, big enough for a tall, lean man called Eagle and his chosen lady, with room left over for loving. Pools of lamplight illuminated the puffy pillows and the crisp white sheets. White roses stood in a crystal vase beside the bed, perfuming the air. Music played softly, not just any music, but Sid's, the intoxicating melodies Rose Anne had first heard in Paris, taped and coming from some hidden niche in the room.

  She knew he had done it all for her. Alone In this otherwise very masculine room, Sid had arranged the white roses and planned the music and spread the clean sheets on the bed in preparation for what they would do there, together, because they loved.

  Her heart filled up and she thought she might cry.

  "Tears?" he whispered, touching the moisture on her cheek with one finger.

  "Yes," she said, knowing he understood, knowing she didn't have to explain or apologize or pretend.

  And that was one of the best parts of loving this man.

  He set her down, and she slid along the length of his body until her bare feet sank into the plush carpeting. He stood in front of her, his hands barely touching her shoulders, holding her as if she were something precious. The way he looked at her made her toes curl into the thick nap of the rug.

  He reached for her hair, took great masses of it in his hands, and watched as it sifted through his fingers.

  "The lamplight makes your hair look gold, like wheat in the sun." He leaned down and pressed his face into her hair. "I could drown here."

  She leaned into him until their bodies were touching. "Do you feel the currents, Sid, as if you've plugged into an electrical socket? Is it like that for you?"

  "Touching you is like plugging into an electrical storm." He wrapped his arms around her, and they held each other, not saying anything for a while, just feeling, feeling, and knowing what they each felt was reciprocated.

  He was hard against her, and she knew that in him lay all the mystery and the wonder she craved. She brushed her lips against his skin, just inside the open collar of his shirt. Her tongue flicked out to taste.

  "I want this to be good for you," he said. "Slow and easy, the first time."

  Her tongue made a wet circle on his throat, just where the blood pulsed softly. Sid groaned.

  "You're playing with fire. Rose Anne."

  She leaned back in his arms and smiled up at him. "Burn me."

  His eyes were bright as he undressed her. Slowly he peeled away the soft chiffon dress, starting at her shoulders. His fingers left trails of fire as her gown slid to the floor.

  When she stood naked before him, he drew a deep, shaky breath, as if he couldn't believe what he saw. His eyes raked her, starting at her face, moving slowly down to her toes, then back up again.

  "The way you look at me makes me feel special."

  "You are special." He came to her and cupped her breasts. His thumbs teased her already-taut nipples into hard, straining diamond points. "You are so beautiful that every time I see you, it's like the first time, all over again." He bent to her breasts, sucking one while his hand massaged the other.

  She arched toward him, giving his mouth better access. Tangling her hands in his hair, she held him close, murmuring incoherent words of encouragement and love.

  The dark fire that he could always awaken in her flamed to life, and she knew that this was love. The feeling was new and wondrous to her, and she knew she had never felt it with another man, would never feel it with another man.

  "Will you always do that. Sid?"

  "What, fair one?" He lifted her head so he could see her beloved face.

  "Make me feel this small death, as if I've left everything behind except passion?"

  "Always, Rose Anne. As long as you want me to."

  He captured her lips then, and carried her to the fresh sheets. They were crisp behind her back, and their clean scent washed over her.

  Sid watched her as she lay there, waiting for him.

  "I never dreamed this would happen." He removed his clothes and lay down beside her, pulling her into his arms. He traced a tender trail from the top of her shoulder down to her wrist, then, turning it over, he licked the tiny network of blue veins that ran all the way up to her elbow.

  Her body wept for him, and she cried out, pushing her hips against his. He guided her hand, and she closed it around him.

  "You do this to me. Rose Anne . . . and more, so much more."

  He was unexpectedly hot, burning steel covered with velvet. His tongue flicked into her ear, and he murmured words that made her bold. Her palm tingled with the knowledge of him. He guided her hand until the tip of his shaft was buried just inside, where she was so hot for him, so slick and wet and desperate that she thought she was going to die. His velvety skin kissed hers, over and over until she was begging.

  "You are so sweet ... so sweet . . ." He eased farther inside her, sending flames licking along her thighs. "And so very ready."

  He braced his hand on either side of her slim shoulders. "I don't want to hurt you, Rose Anne."

  Quickened as she was, dying inside for lack of him, she thrust upward, seeking the hot, hard rapture of him, longing for the sweet oblivion she instinctively knew would be hers.

  "Now . . . please, Sid . . . now."

  He cupped her hips and eased between her legs. In one powerful smooth movement he was inside her, where he belonged. He held still, watching her face, looking for signs that he had hurt her.

  She smiled and wrapped her arms around his neck.

  "Heaven is worth the pain," she whispered.

  Music pulsed around them, and he began to move. The
passion that had gathered in his soul from the moment he saw her came pouring forth. She was heaven . . . and more. He soared with her, learning her mysteries and her rhythms.

  For all her virginity, she was a natural wanton, writhing and crying out her pleasure. Tension corded the muscles in his arms and his back as he tried to restrain himself, but Rose Anne would have none of it.

  Her slender hips thrust boldly against him, inviting a frantic rhythm.

  "I want more . . . more," she whispered fiercely. Sweat dampened the edges of her hair and glowed on her brow. Passion burned in the depths of her eyes. "More, Sid . . . please."

  He increased his rhythm, and she raced with him, her nails biting into his back. He rode hard, carrying them both to that high, bright summit that swept away reason. Nothing existed for them except the rapture of discovery and the ecstasy of their passion. Release shattered them at the same time, and they clung to each other, shaken.

  When the tremors passed, when he folded her in his arms and drew up against his chest, fitting the curves of her back and hips against him just so, she sighed.

  "Are you all right, Rose Anne?"

  She reached for his hand and brought it to her lips. "I didn't know there would be this . . . fullness, this sense of having bloomed, of having ripened." She kissed his fingertips one by one.

  "That's the difference between loving and sex. Sex makes you less and loving makes you more."

  "I'm glad it was you who taught me, Sid."

  "Are you hungry? I think there are some wilted salads in the kitchen."

  "Can it wait?"

  "As long as you like."

  She snuggled closer. "I want to luxuriate awhile."

  "Take your time, fair one. When you get hungry, just tell me so."

  They lay fitted together, and contentment swirled around them like summer wind. After a while she spoke.

  "Sid?" The small, twisting movement she made in order to see his face sent fires racing along his veins.

  "Hmm?" He backed his hips slightly away, for her protection as well as his. She needed time for all the newness to soak in, to wear off.

  "I don't know a lot about these things ... I mean about how often a man can . . . hmmm . . ."

  "Perform?"

  She chuckled. "I was just thinking ... if it's not too much trouble, I'd like to try it again before I eat."

  Laughing with pure uninhibited joy, he rolled onto his back, taking her with him. Still smiling, he lifted her up and positioned her over his arousal. Her eyes widened.

  "Do you like that?" he asked.

  "Hmmm . . . yes." She rocked with the pure pleasure of it all.

  He clasped her hands, lacing her fingers through his in order to give her something to hang on to.

  "Carry me on that long, hard, sweet ride to ecstasy. Rose Anne."

  She did. And it was a very long time before they got around to their wilted salads.

  o0o

  Rose Anne discovered what it was like to sleep all night in the arms of a man and wake up the next morning, still cuddled close, with his beard stubble prickling the skin on her bare shoulder. She felt exhilarated and carefree and happy.

  Their covers were wrinkled and pulled loose from the corners of the mattress, and one of the pillows was on the floor. Who needed a pillow when she had Sid?

  She eased back, careful not to wake him, so she could study him. His rugged face lost some of its fierceness in sleep. Up close his lean and powerful body looked like a work of art. She could spend the rest of her life studying him. And she planned to.

  Smiling, she burrowed close to him and wrapped his long arms around her waist. She wondered if today would be the day he'd ask her to many him.

  Burying her face in the curve between his throat and his shoulder, she began to nibble at his skin.

  "Rose Anne?"

  She loved the way his voice sounded, just coming awake. Even then it was so compelling. It sent shivers down her spine.

  "Are you awake?" she whispered, running her hand down the length of his body.

  He gasped. "I'm more than awake. Rose Anne. I'm filled with love for you."

  "I'm from Georgia. Show me."

  Laughing, he tumbled her out from the covers and began a slow, sweet exploration of her body that lasted well into the morning. Afterward they put on robes. He lent her one of his. It came to her ankles, and she had to roll the sleeves four times.

  They were ravenous by the time they got to the kitchen. Neither of them was a good cook, but together they managed to make a decent omelet. They laughed at their ineptness. She bragged that she was an expert at opening cans, and he countered by saying he could open any jar lid in the world.

  He filled a hot tub for her while she loaded the dishwasher.

  Later, in the tub, she leaned her head against the cool porcelain and smiled. She couldn't seem to stop smiling.

  o0o

  In the bedroom Sid changed the sheets, glancing every now and then through the half-open door at Rose Anne. She was up to her neck in bubbles, and her face was rosy from the moist steam heat of her bath and her recent awakening as a woman.

  He glanced at the telltale stains on the sheets. He had touched her where no man ever had. In the deep, sweet darkness of the night she had given herself completely to him, and implicit in the act had been her trust.

  Standing with the sheet in his hand, he trembled with awe. How could it be possible for one man to have the whole world while so many had nothing?

  "How did I ever get so lucky?"

  "Did you say something, Sid?" Rose Anne called through the door.

  "Just talking to myself."

  "If you're that desperate for company, come in here and talk to me."

  Sid crossed the room and leaned against the door frame. She lifted a handful of bubbles and blew them his way. They floated, iridescent, to the tile floor and burst in small soapy patches.

  "You told me you wanted a long, hot soak in the tub," he said.

  "That's true."

  "Then it's best that I stay on this side of the door."

  They gazed at each other, striking sparks. Very slowly Rose Anne lifted a soapy arm from the water and beckoned him with one little finger.

  He knelt beside the tub. She leaned over and rubbed her wet nose against his cheek.

  "How aire you at back scrubs?"

  "Why don't I show you?"

  Chapter Ten

  They had a perfect lovers' weekend, venturing out of the apartment only when hunger drove them. Rose Anne was blissfully happy, but she waited and waited for the question that didn't come.

  "My flight leaves tomorrow." She was standing at the window, looking out into the night, determined to be sophisticated. People in love had affairs. It was the smart, sensible thing to do, especially if one of them didn't want to get married.

  "I know." Restless, Sid prowled around the room.

  "It's a good assignment ... in Atlanta, so I won't have to leave home."

  "You're back into modeling, then?"

  "It's time to go back."

  "Permanently?"

  "I don't know."

  The ease they had enjoyed all weekend left them. They stared at each other, hungry and anxious.

  "I can come down to see you next weekend," he said.

  She turned to face him. "Or I can come here."

  A vision of how it would be loomed In Sid's mind. Stolen, hurried weekends, squeezed between his schedule and hers. Love on the run.

  He wanted more. He wanted all of her, all the time. He was like the little boy who had been given the stars and had insisted on having the sun and the moon too. Once he had it all, the sky was left empty, and there was no more heaven.

  His eyes searched hers, then he turned and walked to the piano.

  Rose Anne didn't know what to do, what to say.

  She watched him run his hands over the keys. Music did more than soothe the savage beast. For Sid it was a way of communicating when his heart was too f
ull for him to say the words. It was his way of purging the darkness that was much a part of him. She knew that about him. She understood his complexity.

  Music rippled through her as he caressed the keys. She felt each note vibrating along her nerve endings. The song he played was new, a dreamy, haunting melody that brought moisture to her eyes. She leaned against the window frame and watched through her tears.

  Sid brooded over the keyboard, pouring out his soul.

  As always, the music worked its magic. Need spiraled through Rose Anne. She moved toward the piano, determined that this time there would be no sad good-byes for them. They'd had far too many sad good-byes.

  She leaned against the polished wood, facing him. "Is the song for me?"

  "All my songs are for you . . . always."

  "And all my love is for you . . . always."

  She slipped off her shoe and slid her bare foot onto his lap. He sucked in a sharp breath, then lifted his eyes to hers. Her foot moved with erotic intent while she smiled at him.

  He played on, never taking his eyes off her. The power and intensity of his music vibrated through the piano and through her hip, leaning so casually against the polished wood.

  Slowly she began to unbutton her blouse. As it drifted to the floor, she cupped her breasts and arched her torso.

  She was lush and ripe, and her sensuality took Sid's breath away. The music slowed . . . hesitated . . . then picked up again.

  Rose Anne leaned toward him and languidly popped her index finger deep in her mouth. She made small murmuring sounds of pleasure as her foot slid up and down his inner thigh.

  "Do you want me, Sid?" she whispered.

  The song came to a crashing climax as he pulled her into his arms and bent her backward over the keyboard.

  "Do I want you?" he said, his voice harsh and his breath warm against her skin. "Does the earth want the sun?"

  His mouth was hot on her, and he sucked her greedily, without apology and without the grace that had always marked their loving. She felt the sensations rolling through her, rolling with the force of tidal waves. She rocked and moaned with them, moaned until Sid lifted her up, shifted her around, and she felt the hard, shiny surface of the piano at her back.