by JoAnn Ross
“That’s one thing you don’t have to ever worry about, Bliss.” He tamped down the desire to rip the rest of her clothes away and concentrated instead on the tenderness he was unaccustomed to feeling. “You have to trust me.”
“I do.” Her somber gaze echoed her whispered words. “Absolutely.”
Such unqualified trust caused another sharp stab of guilt that Shayne steadfastly ignored. “Don’t worry about giving,” he murmured against her mouth. Her sweet, sweet mouth. “For now, just concentrate on taking.”
The lingering kiss caused her head to spin, making it impossible for Bliss to argue, even if she’d wanted to. Which she definitely didn’t.
He released her long enough to take off her shoes. Although she’d been tempted to wear heels to the auction—the better to show off her legs—in the end practicality had won out and she’d settled for a pair of petal pink ballet slipper styled flats.
She hadn’t realized she’d been holding her breath as he’d unwound the satin ribbons crisscrossing her calves until he touched his lips to that startlingly sensitive spot behind her knee. The air came out of her lungs in a hot whoosh at the same time as she instinctively stiffened.
“Just relax,” he crooned, caressing her lower leg in a way meant to soothe, rather than arouse. “It’ll be all right. I’d never hurt you.”
That, of course, was the lie of the millennium. He would hurt her; it had probably been unavoidable from the beginning. What was coming as a distinct surprise was Shayne’s realization that he wasn’t going to emerge from this assignment unscathed, either.
His hands moved over her shoulders, coaxing her muscles to relax, then down her arms. He linked their fingers together as his mouth returned to hers. The kiss that began with a snowflake soft touch gradually deepened, enticing her into the mists, exorcising her nervousness while steeping her in a warm, bone-melting pleasure.
“That’s my Bliss.” She felt his smile against her mouth. And then those teasing, talented lips were moving down her throat, warming her blood to a steamy temperature that rivaled a New Orleans summer afternoon. “You’re so sweet.” When he touched the tip of his tongue to the hollow at the base of her throat, she knew he could feel her pulse leap in response. “So soft.” His mouth continued its quest, dampening the lace covering her breasts.
Her breathing slowed; although she still wanted him, more than ever, Bliss began to feel strangely languid as he proceeded to make love to her with his mouth alone.
Somehow—perhaps by magic?—he dispensed with the camisole. More relaxed than she’d ever been, she didn’t feel the faintest bit self-conscious as he unbuttoned her flowered skirt and drew it slowly over her hips and down her bare legs.
He was so patient. So tender. He was, in every way, the man a little girl who’d believed in Prince Charming had spent so many lazy delta days daydreaming of. He was the man a young woman, so cruelly betrayed by the man she’d foolishly trusted, had come to believe did not exist.
But he did. Shayne Broussard was wonderfully, exquisitely real. And for the first time in her life, Bliss truly understood the term making love.
It had begun to rain. The sound of the raindrops on the tin roof overhead provided a musical counterpoint to the wind chimes outside the bedroom window and their shimmering sighs and soft moans.
Even as the building fire began to heat Bliss’s flesh, Shayne refused to rush, taking his time, finding her innocent, instinctive responses amazingly arousing. What had ever made him think he preferred women of experience? he wondered as he touched his mouth to the silky skin beneath her breast and heard that husky sound of response deep in her throat.
When he nipped at the tender flesh of her inner thigh, heard her sharply drawn breath turn into a sultry laugh of delight as she experienced for the first time the thin line between pleasure and pain, suddenly, all the sexual gymnastics of his past life paled in comparison to what he realized, on some distant level, would prove to be a life-altering experience.
“I want...” Her hand floated up as if responding to a hypnotic suggestion. “I need...” Her lips, so thoroughly and wonderfully kissed, were too numb to form the words. Her mind was drifting on gilt-edged waves of pleasure she’d never suspected were possible.
“What is it, darlin’?” He caught her hand in midair and touched his open mouth to the inside of her wrist and imagined he could taste the hot, rapid bloodbeat. “Tell me what you want.”
Words had always come so easily, so quickly. Until now. It was as if he’d stolen her capacity for speech along with her heart, Bliss thought as she took a deep breath and forced her floating mind to concentrate.
“I want to see you.” She dreamily reached for him. “I want to touch you.”
“I thought you’d never ask.”
He brought her hand to his chest, forcing himself to remain patient while her fingers fumbled with the shirt buttons. But it was definitely worth the wait. When she finally freed him of the shirt, and pressed first her palms, then her lips against his chest, Shayne felt the jolt all the way through his aching loins.
“Dear Lord, I’ve tried to be patient,” he groaned as he left the bed only long enough to rip off the rest of his clothes. “But I can’t wait for you any longer.”
The fire in his gaze surged through her body as Bliss looked up at this marvelously aroused male standing beside the bed. She’d done that, she thought dizzily, staring in wonder at the solid proof that he did, indeed, want her. The idea made her feel amazingly, wantonly, sexy.
“I don’t want to wait any longer.” She went up on her knees, wrapped her arms around his waist and pressed her mouth against the hot moist flesh of his stomach. “I think I’ve been waiting for this moment since Paris.”
“That makes two of us.” Shayne clung to control long enough to sheathe himself in the condom he’d bought in the grocery store earlier. Then, with a muffled sound that was part curse, part prayer, he dragged her down onto the bed and covered her soft, yielding body with his.
A pain stabbed through him as he entered her, first sharp, then unbearably sweet. Once again it crossed his mind that no woman had ever made him feel so real, so free, but before he could tell Bliss that this was different, that she was different, she’d wrapped her long legs around his hips and he began to move, slowly at first, then faster, harder, driving her deep into the fragrant moss-filled mattress, pushing them both closer and closer to the edge. And then beyond.
Afterward, lying in his arms, Bliss listened to the sound of the rain on the tin roof overhead and knew that she’d never hear rain again without thinking of Shayne. She’d never felt happier, more fulfilled, more loved. She wanted to tell him again that she loved him, but not wanting to scare him away, she contented herself with tracing her fingers through the dark arrow of hair that bisected his chest and listening to the beat of his heart beneath her cheek.
Shayne listened to the sound of the rain on the roof and knew that he’d never hear rain again without thinking of Bliss. It was not a happy thought. He’d never felt more miserable, more guilty, more angry at himself.
What had he been thinking of, allowing himself to lose control this way? What was she going to do when she found out the truth? Although it was already too late, he decided that it would be better to begin distancing himself now, before he made things even worse.
“I’m sorry,” Bliss murmured as she felt him moving away.
Shayne immediately stiffened. She was sorry? “What on earth for?”
“I told you I wasn’t very experienced.” She lifted her head and met his strangely angry gaze. “But I’ve always been a quick learner, and—”
“Bliss, don’t.” Surrendering to the inevitable, he drew her against him and kissed her. A long, deep kiss meant to burn away any lingering insecurities she might be feeling. “It was wonderful,” he said when they finally came up for air. “You were wonderful.”
“Still, you’re used to all those jet-set women...”
The kind
her husband had preferred over her. She didn’t say the words out loud, but Shayne got the meaning, loud and clear.
“Are you asking for a comparison? As if I keep some sort of mental scorecard? Or perhaps even a little black book where I rate women from one to ten?”
Feeling horribly foolish, Bliss wished she hadn’t even brought the subject up. “Never mind.” She began searching through the tangled sheets for her clothes. Where on earth was her underwear? Talking about sex was difficult enough without having to do it stark naked.
“It’s not important.” She managed to find her panties, the ones with the little ribbons that Shayne had seemed to enjoy untying.
“Of course it is.” He snatched the minuscule piece of silk out of her hand and tossed it aside. “It’s important because you’re important, Bliss.”
“I wasn’t fishing for compliments.”
When she turned away, he caught her chin between his thumb and forefinger and turned her head back toward him. “If I had a little black book, which I don’t, you’d rate at least an eleven which would put you way above the pack, if there was any comparison, but there’s not.
“Sex is easy, Bliss. Too easy, sometimes.” He felt somewhat uncomfortable about all the willing women he’d tangled the sheets with over the years. “But after a while, if you manage to keep emotions from getting involved, it becomes too much like plumbing...what fits where. And it starts to lose its appeal.
“I don’t want to think about Alan Fortune when I’m in bed with you, so I’m going to say this once, then I don’t want to talk about the bastard again. If he was too stupid to realize what a gem he had in you, then it was his loss. If he was too self-centered to take time to show you what pleasure two people can share, then he’s a fool. And if things weren’t what they should have been between the two of you in bed, did you ever stop to think that it was his fault? And not yours?”
No. That thought, amazingly, had never crossed her mind. “But all those women—”
“Dammit!” He dragged his fingers through his hair and wondered how the hell they’d gotten off onto this track. At least he wasn’t feeling guilty anymore. What he was feeling was angry. And frustrated. “I told you, it’s easy to find women to go to bed with. What’s difficult is finding that one-in-a-million woman who can make it special.”
And remarkably, she was that woman, Bliss reminded herself. Shayne had shown her with every touch, every kiss. She’d just been too insecure to realize what he’d been telling her.
“You’re right.”
“Of course I am.” The anger drained out of him, replaced by a tenderness that was far more dangerous.
“There is just one little thing.” She twined her arms around his neck.
“What’s that?” He kissed her lips, lightly, lovingly.
“Even if you’re right about me being special—”
“You are.” Although it muddied the waters even further, it was one of the few absolute truths Shayne was able to tell her.
“Thank you.” She dimpled prettily. “However, the truth is that despite the fact that I was married, I’m still pretty inexperienced at all this. So, I was thinking...”
She ran her hands enticingly down his chest, over his stomach, then lower still. Her fingers circled his sex, which stirred beneath her stroking touch.
“You were thinking?” he managed to whisper as he felt the blood leaving his head again, rushing down to more vital organs.
“Well, you know what they say about practice making perfect.”
He laughed at that, a rich explosion of sound that expunged the last of the lingering tension between them. “Darlin’, I’m all yours.”
And the wonderful thing was, Bliss thought, as she pushed him back onto the mattress and began treating him to the same tender torment he’d subjected her to, it was true.
“WE NEED TO TALK.”
Night had fallen. They were sitting at the table, soup heating on the stove, Bliss perched on Shayne’s lap. He stroked her back, enjoying the sensual feel of warm silk beneath his fingertips.
“Mmm.” She touched her mouth to his. “I love talking with you. I love it when you tell me how beautiful I am.” The tip of her tongue touched the notch between lips she’d decided were as beautifully formed as any statue created by Renaissance sculptors. “How hot I am.” Her words were punctuated with short kisses. “How much you want me.”
“Bliss...” Amazingly, after all they’d shared, her generous mouth, her breathy voice, her closeness, all served to make him want her all over again. Knowing it was the honorable, the only thing to do, Shayne tried yet again to explain the events that had brought him into her life. “This is serious.”
She drew her head back and studied him. “It also sounds unpleasant.”
“I suppose that depends on your point of view,” he hedged. “It’s about Alan and—”
“You’re the one who didn’t want to bring Alan into this wonderful place. And you’re right. So, I’m not going to discuss him with you, Shayne. Not now. And not here.”
“It’s important.”
“I understand that.” She put her hands on his shoulders. “And I realize that whatever is happening to us isn’t happening in a vacuum. We both come with past experiences, other people in our lives.
“However, since I can’t remember ever being this happy, I’m not going to allow anything to ruin this one perfect night.”
Even though he’d wanted to clear the air, Shayne told himself that since he’d been lying to her for weeks, what difference would one more night make?
“Far be it from me to ruin perfection.”
“That’s better.” She rewarded him with a longer kiss that promised future delights. Her mouth, which had been as serious as her gaze, tilted into a softly enticing smile he found impossible to resist “And now that we’ve gotten that settled, I have a request.”
“Anything,” he said promptly, meaning it.
“Ever since I saw that wonderful fur rug, I’ve been fantasizing about making love on it.”
She hadn’t been alone. “I think that sounds terrific.” He stood up, holding her in his arms as he walked the few feet to the rug. “However, I’d think it was just as terrific making love to you on a bed of stones.”
She laughed as he laid her on the soft black fur, her voice reminding him of the wind chimes someone—undoubtedly Daria—had hung outside the bedroom window. “The way we’re going, we may get to that yet.”
THEIR MAGICAL, STOLEN time together passed all too soon. The following day, Bliss sighed as Shayne pulled the boat up to the dock.
“I hate leaving paradise to return to earth and the real world.”
“We’ll come back,” Shayne promised, conveniently overlooking the fact that once he got this case settled he’d be on his way. To some other intrigue, another city, another woman.
When that idea failed to prove even slightly appealing, he realized that Bliss Fortune had done more than get under his skin. She had him by the throat. In a stranglehold.
But even that power, which he suspected she didn’t even realize she possessed, would not be enough to keep her from getting hurt. He should leave, Shayne thought grimly. He should just turn the damn case over to Cunningham and get out now, while he still could.
It’s what his father would have done. Roarke, too, before he’d gotten himself tied up in pretty ribbons with a smart, apparently gutsy woman who sewed curtains and enjoyed making love to the sound of music made by the wind chimes.
Bliss had talked all the way back in the boat, already reminiscing about their short time together, the memories that would have to last them both a lifetime. He’d marveled at her eye for detail; he doubted that a single star or streak of gilded sunrise had escaped her attention. She seemed to find wonder in everything, from the graceful blue herons to the furry fat nutria they’d found sunning themselves in front of the cabin to the pebbly-backed alligators carrying their young on their back.
But now,
obviously sensitive to his turmoiled, half-angry emotions, she’d fallen uncharacteristically silent. Which made him feel guiltier than ever.
“I have something for you,” he said as they reached the car. “Sort of a gift.”
“I love presents.”
“It’s nothing all that much.” Having already determined that her love for antiques echoed old-fashioned beliefs, he suspected that after last night, she’d be hoping for a ring.
“I mean, it’s not all that expensive, and I just bought it on a whim, because I thought you’d enjoy it, but—”
“Shayne.” She touched her fingertips to his lips. “I’d treasure anything you gave me. Honest.”
Honest. That damn word just kept cropping up over and over again, underlying why this relationship would never—could never—work. Although he’d managed to halfway convince himself that his motives were pure, the bottom line was that he’d proven no better than her lying, cheating slime of an ex-husband.
He cursed silently as he opened the trunk, calling himself all the unflattering names he suspected she’d fling at him when she discovered the truth. He took the box out and practically shoved it into her arms.
She looked with puzzlement at the familiar wrapping. “This is from my shop.”
“I know.” His nerves were screeching. He couldn’t remember when he’d been so tense giving a woman a simple gift. Then again, Shayne reminded himself, there was nothing simple about either Bliss or his feelings for her. And that, apparently, made all the difference. “Would you just open it?”
Surprise at his gruff tone registered on her face, but she did as he asked.
“Oh, Shayne.” It was a whisper, shimmering like the pink-tinged early morning fog that had surrounded the cabin while they’d made slow, magical love on the lush fur rug. Tears glistened wetly in her eyes. “It’s Raggedy Ann.”
“It was silly, I know, but—”
“Not at all.” It was his turn to put his hand to her mouth, forestalling her words. “I was watching you wrap her up for that German tourist. Even though I didn’t know the whole story at the time, I could see you didn’t want to let her go.