by Diana Palmer
He accepted the invitation with quiet satisfaction, his mouth growing slowly rougher and hungrier as it fed on hers. He made a sound under his breath and all at once he bent, lifting her clear off the floor in a bearish embrace. His mouth bit hers, parting her lips, and she clung to him, moaning as the fever burned in her, too.
He let her go at once when Elliot called, “What?” from the living room. “Amanda, did you say something?”
“No… No, Elliot,” she managed in a tone pitched a little higher than normal. Her answer appeared to satisfy him, because he didn’t ask again. Harry was outside, but he probably wouldn’t stay there long.
She looked up at Quinn, surprised by the intent stare he was giving her. He liked the way she looked, her face flushed, her mouth swollen from his kisses, her eyes wide and soft and faintly misty with emotion.
“I’d better get out of here,” he said hesitantly.
“Yes.” She touched her lips with her fingers and he watched the movement closely.
“Did I hurt your mouth?” he asked quietly.
She shook her head. “No. Oh, no, not at all,” she said huskily.
Quinn nodded and sighed heavily. He smiled faintly and then turned and went back into the living room without another word.
It was a long afternoon, made longer by the strain Amanda felt being close to him. She found her eyes meeting his across the room and every time she flushed from the intensity of the look. Her body was hungry for him, and she imagined the reverse was equally true. He watched her openly now, with smoldering hunger in his eyes. They had a light supper and watched a little more television. But when Harry went to his room and Elliot called good-night and went up to bed, Amanda weakly stayed behind.
Quinn finished his cigarette with the air of a man who had all night, and then got up and reached for Amanda, lifting her into his arms.
“There’s nothing to be afraid of,” he said quietly, searching her wide, apprehensive eyes as he turned and carried her into his study and closed the door behind them.
It was a fiercely masculine room. The furniture was dark wood with leather seats, the remnants of more prosperous times. He sat down in a big leather armchair with Amanda in his lap.
“It’s private here,” he explained. His hand moved one of hers to his shirt and pressed it there, over the tie. “Even Elliot doesn’t come in when the door’s shut. Do you still want to take my shirt off?” he asked with a warm smile.
Amanda sighed. “Well, yes,” she stammered. “I haven’t done this sort of thing before….”
“Neither have I, honey,” he murmured dryly. “I guess we’ll learn it together, won’t we?”
She smiled into his dark eyes. “That sounds nice.” She lowered her eyes to the tie and frowned when she saw how it was knotted.
“Here, I’ll do it.” He whipped it off with the ease of long practice and unlooped the collar button. “Now. You do the rest,” he said deeply, and looked like a man anticipating heaven.
Her fingers, so adept on a keyboard, fumbled like two left feet while she worried buttons out of buttonholes. He was heavily muscled, tanned skin under a mass of thick, curling black hair. She remembered how it had looked that first night she’d been here, and how her hands had longed to touch it. Odd, because she’d never cared what was under a man’s shirt before.
She pressed her hands flat against him, fascinated by the quick thunder of his heartbeat under them. She looked up into dark, quiet eyes.
“Shy?” he murmured dryly.
“A little. I always used to run a mile when men got this close.”
The smile faded. His big hand covered hers, pressing them closer against him. “Wasn’t there ever anyone you wanted?”
She shook her head. “The men I’m used to aren’t like you. They’re mostly rounders with a line a mile long. Everything is just casual to them, like eating mints.” She flushed a little. “Intimacy isn’t a casual thing to me.”
“Or to me.” His chest rose and fell heavily. He touched her bright head. “Now will you take your hair down, Amanda?” he asked gently. “I’ve dreamed about it for days.”
Amanda smiled softly. “Have you, really? It’s something of a nuisance to wash and dry, but I’ve gotten sort of used to it.” She unbraided it and let it down, enchanted by Quinn’s rapt fascination with it. His big hands tangled in it, as if he loved the feel of it. He brought his face down and kissed her neck through it, drawing her against his bare chest.
“It smells like flowers,” he whispered.
“I washed it before church this morning,” she replied. “Elliot loaned me his blow-dryer but it still took all of thirty minutes to get the dampness out.” She relaxed with a sigh, nuzzling against his shoulder while her fingers tugged at the thick hair on his chest. “You feel furry. Like a bear,” she murmured.
“You feel silky,” he said against her hair. With his hand, Quinn tilted her face up to his and slid his mouth onto hers in the silent room. He groaned softly as her lips parted under his. His arms lifted and turned her, wrapped her up, so that her breasts were lying on his chest and her cheek was pressed against his shoulder by the force of the kiss.
He tasted of smoke and coffee, and if his mouth wasn’t expert, it was certainly ardent. She loved kissing him. She curled her arms around his neck and turned a little more, hesitating when she felt the sudden stark arousal of his body.
Her eyes opened, looking straight into his, and she colored.
“I’m sorry,” he murmured, starting to shift her, as if his physical reaction to her embarrassed him.
“No, Quinn,” she said, resisting gently, holding his gaze as she relaxed into him, shivering a little. “There’s nothing to apologize for. I…like knowing you want me,” she whispered, lowering her eyes to his mouth. “It just takes a little getting used to. I’ve never let anyone hold me like this.”
His chest swelled with that confession. His cheek rested on her hair as he settled into the chair and relaxed himself, taking her weight easily. “I’m glad about that,” he said. “But it isn’t just physical with me. I wanted you to know.”
She smiled against his shoulder. “It isn’t just physical with me, either.” She touched his hard face, her fingers moving over his mouth, loving the feel of it, the smell of his body, the warmth and strength of it. “Isn’t it incredible?” She laughed softly. “I mean, at our ages, to be so green…”
He laughed, too. It would have stung to have heard that from any other woman, but Amanda was different. “I’ve never minded less being inexperienced,” he murmured.
“Oh, neither have I.” She sighed contentedly.
His big hand smoothed over her shoulder and down her back to her waist and onto her rib cage. He wanted very much to run it over her soft breast, but that might be too much too soon, so he hesitated.
Amanda smiled to herself. She caught his fingers and, lifting her face to his eyes, deliberately pulled them onto her breast, her lips parting at the sensation that steely warmth imparted. The nipple hardened and she caught her breath as Quinn’s thumb rubbed against it.
“Have you ever seen a woman…without her top on?” she whispered, her long hair gloriously tangled around her face and shoulders.
“No,” he replied softly. “Only in pictures.” His dark eyes watched the softness his fingers were tracing. “I want to see you that way. I want to touch your skin… like this.”
She drew his hand to the buttons of her blouse and lay quietly against him, watching his hard face as he loosened the buttons and pulled the fabric aside. The bra seemed to fascinate him. He frowned, trying to decide how it opened.
“It’s a front catch,” she whispered. She shifted a little, and found the catch. Her fingers trembled as she loosened it. Then, watching him, she carefully peeled it away from the high, taut throb of her breasts and watched him catch his breath.
“My God,” he breathed reverently. He touched her with trembling fingers, his eyes on the deep mauve of her nipples agains
t the soft pink thrust of flesh, his body taut with sudden aching longing. “My God, I’ve never seen anything so beautiful.”
He made her feel incredibly feminine. She closed her eyes and arched back against his encircling arm, moaning softly. “Kiss me…there,” she whispered huskily, aching for his mouth.
“Amanda…” He bent, delighting in her femininity, the obvious rapt fascination of the first time in her actions so that even if he hadn’t suspected her innocence he would have now. His lips brushed over the silky flesh, and his hands lifted her to him, arched her even more. She tasted of flower petals, softly trembling under his warm, ardent mouth, her breath jerking past her parted lips as she lay with her eyes closed, lost in him.
“It’s so sweet, Quinn,” she whispered brokenly.
His lips brushed up her body to her throat, her chin, and then they locked against her mouth. He turned her slowly, so that her soft breasts lay against the muted thunder of his hair-roughened chest. He felt her shiver before her arms slid around his neck and she deliberately pressed closer, drawing herself against him and moaning.
“Am I hurting you?” he asked huskily, his mouth poised just above hers, a faint tremor in his arms. “Amanda, am I hurting you?”
“No.” She opened her eyes and they were like black pools, soft and deep and quiet. With her blond hair waving at her temples, her cheeks, her shoulders, she was so beautiful that Quinn’s breath caught.
He sat just looking at her, indulging his hunger for the sight of her soft breasts, her lovely face. She lay quietly in his arms without a protest, barely breathing as the spell worked on them.
“I’ll live on this the rest of my life,” he said roughly, his voice deep and soft in the room, with only an occasional crackle from the burning fire in the potbellied stove to break the silence.
“So will I,” she whispered. She reached up to his face, touching it in silence, adoring its strength. “We shouldn’t have done this,” she said miserably. “It will make it…so much more difficult, when I have to leave. The thaw…!”
His fingers pressed against her lips. “One day at a time,” he said. “Even if you leave, you aren’t getting away from me completely. I won’t let go. Not ever.”
Tears stung her eyes. The surplus of emotion sent them streaming down her cheeks and Quinn caught his breath, brushing them away with his long fingers.
“Why?” he whispered.
“Nobody ever wanted to keep me before,” she explained with a watery smile. “I’ve always felt like an extra person in the world.”
He found that hard to imagine, as beautiful as she was. Perhaps her reticence made her of less value to sophisticated men, but not to him. He found her a pearl beyond price.
“You’re not an extra person in my world,” he replied. “You fit.”
She sighed and nuzzled against him, closing her eyes as she drank in the exquisite pleasure of skin against skin, feeling his heart beat against her breasts. She shivered.
“Are you cold?” he asked.
“No. It’s…so wonderful, feeling you like this,” she whispered. “Quinn?”
He eased her back in his arm and watched her, understanding as she didn’t seem to understand what was wrong.
His big, warm hand covered her breast, gently caressing it. “It’s desire,” he whispered softly. “You want me.”
“Yes,” she whispered.
“You can’t have me. Not like this. Not in any honorable way.” He sighed heavily and lifted her against him to hold her, very hard. “Now hold on, real tight. It will pass.”
She shivered helplessly, drowning in the warmth of his body, in its heat against her breasts. But he was right. Slowly the ache began to ease away and her body stilled with a huge sigh.
“How do you know so much when you’ve…when you’ve never…?”
“I told you, I read a book. Several books.” He chuckled, the laughter rippling over her sensitive breasts. “But, my God, reading was never like this!”
She laughed, too, and impishly bit his shoulder right through the cloth.
Then he shivered. “Don’t,” he said huskily.
She lifted her head, fascinated by the expression on his face. “Do you like it?” she asked hesitantly.
“Yes, I like it,” he said with a rueful smile. “All too much.” He gazed down at her bareness and his eyes darkened. “I like looking at your breasts, too, but I think we’d better stop this while we can.”
He tugged the bra back around her with a grimace and hooked the complicated catch. He deftly buttoned her blouse up to her throat, his eyes twinkling as they met hers.
“Disappointed?” he murmured. “So am I. I have these dreams every night of pillowing you on your delicious hair while we make love until you cry out.”
She could picture that, too, and her breath lodged in her throat as she searched his dark eyes. His body, bare and moving softly over hers on white sheets, his face above her…
She moaned.
“Oh, I want it, too,” he whispered, touching his mouth with exquisite tenderness to hers. “You in my bed, your arms around me, the mattress moving under us.” He lifted his head, breathing unsteadily. “I might have to hurt you a little at first,” he said gruffly. “You understand?”
“Yes.” She smoothed his shirt, absently drawing it back together and fastening the buttons with a sense of possession. “But only a little, and I could bear it for what would come afterward,” she said, looking up. “Because you’d pleasure me then.”
“My God, would I,” he whispered. “Pleasure you until you were exhausted.” He framed her face in his hands and kissed her gently. “Please go to bed, Amanda, before I double over and start screaming.”
She smiled against his mouth and let him put her on her feet. She laughed when she swayed and he had to catch her.
“See what you do to me?” she mused. “Make me dizzy.”
“Not half as dizzy as you make me.” He smoothed down her long hair, his eyes adoring it. “Pretty little thing,” he murmured.
“I’m glad you like me,” she replied. “I’ll do my best to stay this way for the next fifty years or so, with a few minor wrinkles.”
“You’ll be beautiful to me when you’re an old lady. Good night.”
She moved away from him with flattering reluctance, her dark eyes teasing his. “Are you sure you haven’t done this before?” she asked with a narrow gaze. “You’re awfully good at it for a beginner.”
“That makes two of us,” he returned dryly.
She liked the way he looked, with his hair mussed and his thin mouth swollen from her kisses, and his shirt disheveled. It made her feel a new kind of pride that she could disarrange him so nicely. After one long glance, she opened the door and went out.
“Lock your door,” he whispered.
She laughed delightedly. “No, you lock yours the way you did the other night.”
He shifted uncomfortably. “That was a low blow. I’m sorry.”
“Oh, I was flattered,” she corrected. “I’ve never felt so dangerous in all my life. I wish I had one of those long, black silk negligees…”
“Will you get out of here?” he asked pleasantly. “I think I did mention the urge to throw you on the floor and ravish you?”
“With Elliot right upstairs? Fie, sir, think of my reputation.”
“I’m trying to, if you’ll just go to bed!”
“Very well, if I must.” She started up the staircase, her black eyes dancing as they met his. She tossed her hair back and smiled at him. “Good night, Quinn.”
“Good night, Amanda. Sweet dreams.”
“They’ll be sweet from now on,” she agreed. She turned reluctantly and went up the staircase. He watched her until she went into her room and closed the door.
It wasn’t until she was in her own room that she realized just what she’d done.
She wasn’t some nice domestic little thing who could fit into Quinn’s world without any effort. She was Amanda
Corrie Callaway, who belonged to a rock group with a worldwide reputation. On most streets in most cities, her face was instantly recognizable. How was Quinn going to take the knowledge of who she really was—and the fact that she’d deceived him by leading him to think she was just a vacationing keyboard player? She groaned as she put on her gown. It didn’t bear thinking about. From sweet heaven to nightmare in one hour was too much.
Amanda hardly slept from the combined shock of Quinn’s ardor and her own guilt. How could she tell him the truth now? What could she say that would take away the sting of her deceit?
She dressed in jeans and the same button-up pink blouse she’d worn the night before and went down to breakfast.
Quinn looked up as she entered the room, his eyes warm and quiet.
“Good morning,” she said brightly.
“Good morning yourself,” Quinn murmured with a smile. “Sleep well?”
“Barely a wink,” she said, sighing, her own eyes holding his.
He chuckled, averting his gaze before Elliot became suspicious. “Harry’s out feeding your calves,” he said, “and I’m on my way over to Eagle Pass to help one of my neighbors feed some stranded cattle. You’ll have to stay with Elliot—it’s teacher workday.”
“I forgot,” Elliot wailed, head in hands. “Can you imagine that I actually forgot? I could have slept until noon!”
“There, there,” Amanda said, patting his shoulder. “Don’t you want to learn some more chords?”
“Is that what you do?” Quinn asked curiously, because now every scrap of information he learned about her was precious. “You said you played a keyboard for a living. Do you teach music?”
“Not really,” she said gently. “I play backup for various groups,” she explained. “That rock music you hate…” she began uneasily.
“That’s all right,” Quinn replied, his face open and kind. “I was just trying to get a rise out of you. I don’t mind it all that much, I guess. And playing backup isn’t the same thing as putting on those god-awful costumes and singing suggestive lyrics. Well, I’m gone. Stay out of trouble, you two,” he said as he got to his feet in the middle of Amanda’s instinctive move to speak, to correct his assumption that all she did was play backup. She wanted to tell him the truth, but he winked at her and Elliot and got into his outdoor clothes before she could find a way to break the news. By the time her mind was working again, he was gone.