HIS TENDER TOUCH

by Sharon Mignerey

  She glanced back up at him, deliberately teasing him by ignoring that part of him that most wanted her attention.

  "Better?"

  "Take the damned socks off," he said, lifting a foot, his smile a contrast to his gruff tone.

  "I thought you might have cold feet," she teased.

  "I want to make love to you more than I've ever wanted anything," he answered, ignoring her obvious double meaning.

  "Then you want what I want." She threw the socks aside, pressing firmly against the bottom of his foot. She ran her palms up the inside of his thighs, cupping him intimately.

  Fierce, possessive need swept through him as she explored the contours of his body as no woman ever had. He endured her incendiary caress as long as he could, then lifted her onto the bed and pulled her into his arms. No part of her went untouched, unkissed, from her ankles to the top of her head. He hadn't thought he had anything new to learn about making love. He was wrong. She touched him as though she had found a treasure, exploring his body as thoroughly as he explored hers.

  She kneaded the muscles of his shoulders as he caressed the flat plane of her stomach. She tested the pebbly nubs of his nipples as he stroked the inside of her thighs. She arched against him as he took one breast, then the other, into his mouth.

  Locked in her arms, he gazed down at her, loving the way she looked. The time for teasing was long past, and he took her mouth in a hungry, carnal kiss. He knew the pressure was too hard, but he couldn't make himself let her go, even a little. She didn't seem to mind, and as she had done last night, became fire in his arms.

  Kissing her deeply, he positioned himself between her legs and entered her. Raw sensations of heat, pressure and searing softness exploded the last vestiges of thought from his mind. He needed to slow down, to make it right for her, but he could not. Within his arms, she trembled, soft mewling sounds coming from her throat. His kisses roamed over her face, and he tasted … tears.

  That stopped him cold. He lifted his torso away from her body, breathing heavily.

  Her eyes flew open, her breasts rising and falling and shiny with a sheen of perspiration. Tears trickled down the side of her face. "Don't—"

  "I'm hurting you," he said. "Oh, Audrey—I'm sorry."

  "You're not," she said, pulling his head down so she could kiss him. "Please don't stop."

  "Why tears?"

  "Because this is … almost too much to bear."

  Cautiously, he moved within her, and she smiled.

  "Oh, yes."

  Wrapping her close, he increased the tempo. Within seconds, her sweet cries began again, her response to passion, he realized, not pain. Scalding possession poured through him, denying any other reality.

  She was his.

  "Mine," he groaned as his climax pulsed through him.

  They made love twice more before crawling under the covers, and Audrey suspected she should be exhausted. She wasn't. She had too much to think about.

  Gray lay on his back, his arm curled possessively around her. She rested her head on his shoulder, one of her arms resting on his chest one of her legs tucked between his. She knew he wasn't sleeping, either, because she had caught him staring at the ceiling.

  "You gave me a first tonight," he said.

  She twisted slightly so she could look at him.

  He glanced down at her and kissed the tip of her nose. "I never laughed while making love."

  "I was happy."

  "Me, too."

  "You don't laugh—or smile—enough." She combed her fingers through the hair on his chest. "I'd give you laughter if I could."

  "You already have, love."

  Love. There was that endearment again. If she asked him, she would bet he didn't realize he had called her that.

  "Why don't you believe in happily ever after?" she whispered, almost afraid to ask the question.

  She sensed his withdrawal, though not so much as a muscle moved. Time seemed to stand still; even his breath seemed suspended. Finally, he sighed and turned toward her.

  "That's a fair question, I guess." He tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear, tracing the shell with the tip of his finger. "I'm the youngest child in my family."

  "That's important?"

  He nodded.

  A dozen rejoinders came to mind that would lighten the mood slightly, but the tension beneath her hand on his chest kept her silent.

  "My two older brothers—"

  "No sisters?"

  "No. No sisters."

  A beat of silence followed.

  "Your brothers?" she prompted softly.

  "They take after my dad. And I guess I probably do, too."

  The tautness in his voice warned her that taking after his dad, though normal for boys, wasn't necessarily something Gray liked. She smoothed her hand across his chest and down his side in long, soothing strokes.

  "My mom spent years tiptoeing around him, never knowing when she might set him off. Things would be fine for a while, and then something would happen. An unexpected bill. Her being friendly with a neighbor."

  Another long pause followed, and Audrey asked, "And then?"

  "He'd beat her senseless."

  The stark words painted vivid images in Audrey's mind far more effectively than any detailed description would have. She would bet her life's savings that Gray, as a boy, had hated what his father had done.

  "Is your mother—?"

  "She died about eighteen months ago."

  "I know what that's like—losing your mom," Audrey whispered. "I'm sorry."

  Gray raised her hand to his mouth and kissed her fingertips. "Me, too. She was finally happy, and she didn't have much time to enjoy it."

  "Your dad?"

  "She finally divorced him. He came back one more time. She ended up in the hospital with two broken legs, a concussion and more cuts and abrasions than you could count. She filed charges, and he went to prison." Gray sighed, a huge shudder that racked his body. "He died there."

  "And your brothers?" she asked though she had a good idea where this was going.

  "One of them is serving time for assaulting his ex-wife. The other one has a restraining order to stay away from his wife."

  "And you?"

  He glanced suddenly at her, the question seeming to catch him off guard. "What do you mean?"

  "You said you take after your father," she said. She understood Gray wanted her to believe he was an abuser like his father, like his brothers. "So, there's an ex-wife or a girlfriend somewhere that you've beaten up."

  "No, there isn't."

  "Who have you beaten, then?" Audrey asked.

  He shook his head. "No one."

  "But…" Deliberately, she let her voice trail away.

  "My dad would have sworn on a stack of Bibles that he loved my mother. That didn't keep him from hitting her. He hated what he did. And he'd bring her flowers and candy and jewelry, and he'd beat her the next time he got mad."

  "What does that have to do with you?" she insisted.

  "I vowed I would never be that kind of man—"

  "And you aren't."

  He shook his head. "I won't risk a woman's safety by allowing myself to get that close."

  "No wife?"

  He shook his head.

  "No long-term lover?"

  "I can't risk it," he whispered.

  Another long silence passed, and Audrey wondered what it would take to convince him that he wasn't like his brothers or his father. She knew next to nothing about men, but she was sure it was a rare one who would stop in the middle of making love with her because he thought he was hurting her. That didn't strike her as a man likely to beat a woman.

  "There's more," he said, looking at her. "Remember me telling you I killed a man?"

  "It's not something I would forget."

  "I was assigned to a domestic-violence unit in Dallas." Given his family history, she understood why he was drawn to that area of law enforcement.

  "There was one case, a youn
g mom with three little kids, not one of them in school yet. She had filed for divorce, and she'd gotten an injunction against her husband. He didn't just beat her…" His eyes closed, as though shutting out some painful memory. "The oldest little girl was fair game, too."

  "And he didn't stay away," Audrey concluded.

  "That's right."

  "And you shot him."

  Gray nodded.

  "In the line of duty?"

  "Yeah."

  Audrey placed her palm against his cheek and gently turned his face toward her. "I knew it had to be something like that."

  "Don't be making me into a hero, because I'm not. I wanted that bastard dead."

  Audrey nodded. "I can see why you would."

  "You don't understand," he said fiercely.

  Gently, she said, "Then make me understand."

  "I lost my temper. I became judge, jury and executioner."

  "Then why aren't you in jail?" she asked.

  He rolled onto his back, and she followed, propping her head on her elbow.

  "Did the D.A. file charges? Whatever review boards you answer to, did they find you had overstepped your bounds?"

  "No. The D.A. thought it was a righteous shoot." Gray looked at her. "And his widow thanked me for saving her life."

  "Well," Audrey said. "There you have it. With all that, I can see why you don't believe in happily ever after." She searched his face, realizing how much he had revealed of himself, how deeply he believed he was flawed. She would find a way to show him that he wasn't. For now, it was time to turn his attention away from this. "Thank you for telling me."

  "You're welcome," he answered gravely.

  She rolled on top of him, straddling his hips with her legs. Bending, she kissed his lips, then rose and smiled at him. Placing the backs of her arms against his chest, she rested her chin in the palms of her hands. "I want to make love again."

  He ran his hands down her sides, lingering next to the fullness of her breasts. "I'm an old man. I'm not sure if I can just yet."

  "Old? Not you."

  "In comparison to you, I'm ancient."

  She wriggled closer to him, then smiled as she felt him stir against her thigh.

  "Not that ancient," she whispered against his mouth. Then she kissed him, deeply, as he had taught her to do. Seconds later, she felt his rigid length pushing against her. "Not that ancient at all." And she took him inside her body, showing him as best she could the kind of man she thought he was. Protective. Gentle. Honorable.

  At least she now knew what demons haunted him. She would find a way, she vowed, to make him see that anything was possible between the two of them. Even love. Even happily ever after.

  * * *

  Chapter 13

  « ^ »

  The following morning, Audrey awakened to the sound of the shower running. She stretched, absently smoothing her hand over the sheets, still warm from the imprint of Gray's body, still holding the indefinable scent that was uniquely his. Aware as she was that a future with him was unlikely, she couldn't help but imagine this was the first of many mornings she would awaken, sated from his loving.

  Turning on her side, Audrey wrapped an arm around Gray's pillow and listened to the shower. Last night, he had caressed her and explored her body in ways she had heard about but never imagined for herself. And he had encouraged her to explore him in the same way. She had never imagined doing those things, either. But she had, and she loved it.

  The idea of his sharing such intimacies with any other woman sent searing jealousy through her. Skilled or not, experienced or not, he shared with her as though their experiences were a first for him. That she might have shown him something new was both a thrill and a puzzle to her. How could she have given him anything he hadn't had before? she wondered.

  She had not gotten her fill of him; it would take years for that. She was determined that even if she returned to Denver today, this would not be her last day with Gray. During the night, she had rested in his arms, frightened that if she didn't fight for this chance at love, she might never have another. Sure, she had led a sheltered life, both by choice and necessity. But she had dated, and not a single man had ever attracted her the way Gray did.

  She wanted to believe he was just as drawn to her. She had paid attention to the way his body responded to her, and he had shown her in uncountable ways that he was. Even the things he said were revealing, despite his assertion he didn't believe in happy endings. His husky declaration would stay with her the rest of her life. I've waited my whole life for someone like you.

  His concern and care for her while they made love—those weren't the actions of a cruel or careless man. With her, he smiled, and she had noticed he didn't smile with anyone else. He was protective of her from the very beginning. For a man determined to keep his distance, he hadn't kept any from her. Not from the moment he had put his hand over her mouth and hidden her from Richard's discovery.

  Gray would never harm her.

  She believed it, knew it as certainly as she knew her own name.

  The trick was to make him believe that. She had seen his iron control over his emotions, and she wondered what it would take to overwhelm that control, to make him angry enough to be violent. She would bet all she had that goading him into a rage so violent he would hit a woman was simply not possible.

  Audrey couldn't imagine what his life must be like carrying around a fear so huge, so consuming. She understood he believed he was capable of being an abusive man like his father and his brothers. Somehow she would find a way to prove to Gray that he was not.

  The shower shut off, and she sat up in bed, gathering the sheet over her breasts. He was whistling between his teeth, and she wondered if that was his usual habit.

  A scant minute later, the bathroom door opened, permeating the air with the fresh scent of soap. He stepped through the doorway, dressed in the pants he had been wearing last night, his chest bare, his hair towel-dried and looking shades darker than it did when the sun shone on it.

  "Hi," he said, the corner of his mouth lifting. The smile went no further. No crinkling of his eyes. No revealing of the dimple in his cheek.

  Even though she had anticipated his withdrawal, the face of it disappointed her.

  "Hi, yourself," she said, holding out her arms.

  He watched her an instant, almost as though he was reluctant to touch her. Then he came to the bed, allowed a quick hug and kissed her cheek.

  "Did you sleep well?" he asked, stepping away, avoiding her eyes.

  "What sleep was that?" she returned with a smile. They hadn't slept more than a few hours, but she felt good. Better, in fact, than she could ever remember. For the first time in months, she realized, she had woken up the past two mornings with something—someone—other than her mother on her mind.

  The platitude was true, Audrey thought. Time did heal. The grief that had been so overwhelming even a month ago was much less pronounced today. Memories of better times surfaced first instead of the months of illness. Snippets of her mother's values seeped through the loss, values this morning that related to marriage and love.

  Though Audrey's father had died when she was young, her mother had made it clear that marriage and living a full life with a man were the normal state of things. If a woman was lucky, she would have a grand love that would last her a lifetime. And if she wasn't that lucky, she had to cherish the time she had without bitterness. Audrey knew she had found the grand love her mother had talked about, and she wanted a lifetime with Gray.

  Instead of returning her teasing remark in kind, he busied himself with putting change in his pant pocket. Though she had anticipated his withdrawal, she didn't like it, and she didn't intend to make it easy for him. She climbed out of bed and moved toward him.

  "Hungry?" He put on his shirt, his back still to her.

  "Famished," she answered. Coming up behind him, she put her arms around him. "Starved, in fact." She rubbed her cheek against the crisp fabric of his shirt
, wishing it were his skin.

  Fragments of sensation came back to her. The hard rope of muscle in his arms and shoulders. The pressure of his palm flattened against her spine. The surprising softness of the hair covering his chest and belly. The heat of his breath between her breasts. The heat and strength of his erection covered with the smoothest, softest skin she had ever touched. The feel of his cheek against the inside of her thigh.

  Her arms tightened around him. She had never thought of herself as so intensely physical. She was, though, and she wanted to repeat everything they had done during the night.

  He stiffened and clamped a hand over one of hers, putting pressure against the bruises the Indian woman had left on her hand. When Audrey flinched, his grip instantly eased. In tune with her, he realized the source of her discomfort. Lightly, he ran a finger over the back of her hand.

  It was a small gesture, but another that confirmed he could never hurt her. To do so, she suspected, would be hurting himself.

  "Audrey." Gently, he manacled one of her wrists and loosened her hold on his waist, then turned around to face her. Whatever he had been intending to say was lost when his gaze fastened on her breasts. Her nipples tightened as though caressed by his hands or tongue instead of merely subjected to his gaze.

  His scrutiny of her nude body fell to her feet and swept upward … slowly … as though he intended to memorize each feature. She gloried in the way he looked at her, as though her body was something to worship. The ache in her intensified, an ache he was a master at teasing to unbearable proportions before easing.

  His eyes, when they met hers, belonged to a man being tortured.

  In that instant, she knew she could not—would not—turn her back on him, no matter how flawed he felt himself to be. Counting up the hours she had spent with him, she decided they made up weeks of dating under ordinary circumstances. And those ordinary circumstances would have never shown her the true mettle of the man.

  She smiled sadly. "Is what you're feeling so very bad?"

  "You've no idea."

  "I can ease what's ailing you," she whispered, tracing her index finger down the center of his chest where the shirt hung open. His breath sucked in when she reached the waistband of his pants.