"I think I will go home. I have a lot to think about."
Looking puzzled, Moira didn't argue. People generally didn't argue with pregnant madwomen.
Hugging the old nun, Olivia spoke down onto the top of the white-haired woman's habit. “I don't know how you know. Whatever you've done, whatever voodoo you've performed, I don't know where you learned it and I don't care. Thank you, S'ter. From the bottom of my heart, I love you."
In the car, she was still grinning. “Tell me all about this pregnancy thing, Moira. You appear to be someone who might know."
Moira sent a sidelong glance at the new, improved Olivia while she settled her heavily pregnant frame behind the steering wheel. “Since when are you a smart aleck?"
"Always. I've just not been so much myself lately. But I really do want to know, Moira, all the information you have."
Moira snorted. “They're generally referred to as ‘gory details’ Olivia."
All the way home, Moira interspersed music from the car stereo with hilarious motherhood stories, her own and those she'd heard from other women. Feeling free and wild and positive for the first time in ages, Olivia sat laughing and talking without censoring her words. The old Olivia was happy to be back.
* * * *
"Do you want me to walk you up?"
Despite the question, Olivia could tell Moira was desperately hoping for a response in the negative. It had been a big day for a woman whose stomach beat her around corners.
"No. Thank you for everything, Moira, you've been wonderful."
Plucking her overnight bag from the back seat, Olivia pulled her keys from the front pocket and made her way through the courtyard. Flowers had sprung to life in every pot and garden. How had she failed to notice? Sniffing the tea roses Mrs. Sanderson took special care with, she made a mental note to drop in on the old woman the next afternoon. Bounding up the stairs with more bounce than she would have thought possible yesterday, she felt positively light-headed with the wonder of seeing her world from a different window.
The new window banged shut, all but bruising her nose and breaking her fingers. Cain was waiting for her. He leaned against her door, his briefcase and a package resting at his feet. Tousled dark hair and a rumpled suit gave her the impression he'd been waiting awhile. Even bedraggled and tired as he appeared, Olivia thought he looked fantastic. Her heart leapt with joy at the sight of him.
"Cain.” His name was soft on her lips and she couldn't have raised more volume if her life had depended on it. Stunned and unready for his return to her life, she didn't know what to do. She hadn't thought about what to say. Hadn't even figured out how to broach the topic with him. Indeed, she hadn't even thought about thinking about it. Assuming he wouldn't return, thinking he was probably busy with the brunette in the paper, she'd presumed there would be plenty of time. Ah, well, c'est la vie!
Cain kissed her like a thirsty man who'd stumbled upon an oasis. Full, hard and deep. Hands raking through her hair, he brought her closer, cupped her face and kept kissing. Sliding past the remnants of her defences, his tongue brought shivers of delight, tangling with her own in a desperate bid for unity. She softened, sighing against him when his hands slid possessively down to her waist. Thirst quenched, his mouth eased a little away, nipping and nibbling at the curve of her top lip, the one with which he'd always seemed enchanted.
Kisses rained across her face. “I love you, Olivia, and I missed you more than I ever thought I could. Don't make me go away. Let me stay with you."
Her heart almost exploded with joy at his admission, but she said nothing. Instead, she pressed her fingers against his lips to stop his words and shook her head. Images of the print media brunette flashed through her head. Yesterday she would have stopped him; would have cared more. Today she wanted what was her right—a little love and lots of adventures. S'ter Marie had been right about so many things today. Perhaps her other advice would prove correct, too. She would hang on to him, even if only for a while.
"Stay tonight, Cain. We will talk in the morning.” Leaning into him, she lifted onto her toes and drew his bottom lip into her mouth. Any thought of discussion was summarily demolished.
* * * *
Never in need of a second invitation, Cain lifted Olivia off her feet. He wound her legs about his waist, then backed her against the wall. Her mouth was hot, sweet and welcoming. He was out of his mind for her. He needed more hands so he could touch her all at once. Instead, he satisfied himself with sliding them beneath her stretchy knit top, over her rib cage. The skin of her back was like warm silk, smooth beneath his fingers, not a single imperfection to be felt.
He'd expected her to be cold with the fury she'd kept shelved while he was away. Practising all the necessary explanations for their angry parting, he'd planned, made decisions about what to say, how to say it. He had not anticipated this ... this welcome. Every other time they'd had sex Olivia had kept her distance. One of them had been in control, the other submitting. Never had they come together as equals giving and taking as partners, as lovers did. Not once had he felt such abandon in her. They'd had great, fantastic, mind blowing sex, but they'd never made love. He could feel her heart, her emotions, in the kisses currently rocking him back on his heels.
"Inside, Olivia. We need to go inside.” Or old Mrs. Sanderson was going to get another eyeful. He set her on her feet, but she refused to release his lips, continuing to kiss him, reaching her hand back to fumble with the keys still hanging in the doorknob.
Finally, with a bit of a shove, they fell through the door. He'd come back for his bag in the morning, he decided dimly. Holding her away from him, he inspected her features. “You look different, Olivia."
She didn't blink. “I should.” She smiled. “I'm happy!” Running a hand over his chest, she leaned forward, pressing kisses against his throat. “Take me to bed, Cain. Make love to me like you mean it. We'll discuss the details in the morning.” Moving away from him, the sexiest smile he had ever seen sliding across her dreamy features, she took his hand and led him to her bedroom.
Watching her delectable body sway its way to the bed in front of him, he was amazed he managed to remain inside his clothes. Parts of his body seemed to have swelled out of all proportion. To begin with, he was so hard for her it hurt. His erection strained against the front of his jeans. His heart too seemed way too big for his chest, pounding as it was against his ribs. Even his larynx had swollen in his throat so he could barely swallow, much less speak. Something had to be done before he exploded. He was dying for her.
Olivia eased some of the worry. Turning at the corner of the bed, she ran her hands over his thighs, bringing them together at the button on his jeans. Her eyes never leaving his, the smile remaining on her lips, she unsnapped the button, easing the zipper down. She undressed him slowly, paying close attention to the finer points of the process. Her hair brushed across him while she teased her lips over his skin. Now he knew what she was doing. She was making moments again. Making memories because she thought he'd leave her. The delicacy of her movements, the sweetness of her kisses was almost reverent. He was afraid to move, in case he ruined it.
When she took his erection in her mouth, he thought he might really die. Groaning for her, he waded into the tides of pleasure that rushed across his skin as she sucked him into her mouth. Her tongue roved around him, exploring and discovering like she'd never been with him before. Too soon he was filled with her, with what she did to him, and he fought the climax tiptoeing down his gut to his shaft. If she didn't stop soon, he'd have to stop her himself. Drag her up, throw her on the bed, and bury himself inside her. She must have sensed how close he'd come to the edge, because she stopped. At least, she removed her mouth from his pounding erection. Nothing else stopped.
She stripped for him. Denim and lace slid over the milky curves of her body, easing all his favourite treasures into view, piece by agonising piece. Still, she held his gaze with that ethereal smile on her lips.
* * * *
"Come to bed, big man.” Taking his hand, Olivia eased him back on the bed.
His tenderness warmed her blood, spiraled through her, building slowly. His mouth was on hers, drugging her with the taste of him. His hand slid smoothly over the contours of her shape, a dip here, a curve there. When she shivered with the feathery teasing, he began exploring her with his mouth. His firmer touch and the slide of his tongue on her skin created deeper responses. The languorous pace he set kept sensations humming along her nerve endings.
His lips at her breasts sent pangs through her body, centering on the apex of her need. One after another, spear points of pleasure built within her. Closing her eyes, she gasped, arched toward his lips, begged for more. Wanting the sharp jolt of pain to accentuate her pleasure, she whispered for his teeth to graze and bite her.
"Open your eyes, Olivia. I love it when you look at me like that."
Smiling slowly, she looked at him, fearlessly meeting his sapphire-blue gaze. Curling a hand in his hair, she groaned. Holding his hair, she eased and gentled him when he returned to bite at her tender nipples. He sucked more softly on her breasts, drawing agonised pleadings past her lips. Licking his way down her ribs, he drew forth more tortured sighs and left little bruises on the insides of her thighs before returning to her lips. She loved that he knew her so well, that with one stroke he could create flashes and sparks across her skin. She loved that he knew who she really was. Not just her body, but her spirit.
Olivia felt no rush in Cain. No insistent desire to possess, only the persistent need for more. More taste, more texture, and more of the delicious pleasure pain shot through her body with his every touch. She was at his mercy long before his hand moved down to caress the slick folds of her sex. Her entire body shivered, curving her spine off the bed closer to him.
"Please, Cain, please. I need you now!” Her breath was burning in the back of her throat. Her words rose, sounding almost like panic.
"In a minute, just let me love you."
His fingers continued their magic, stoking the heat within her. Layering pleasure upon pleasure, his fingers trailed down her thighs until she thought she might combust. He spread her legs, held her wide open, let his lips and tongue slide in. He barely touched her pulsing clit, teasing delicately at first. Then he began to suck and nibble there. He held her to him while she writhed in the palms of his hands, begging him to love her harder. Pleading for him to love her more.
Cain moved over her, the heat of him slid across her skin. He greeted her lips with the taste of her own need. Moaning and restless, she aligned herself beneath him, meshing as much of her skin with his as she could manage. When she made gentle motions with her hips against the thigh he'd nudged between hers, he chuckled against her throat. Clutching at his shoulders, she kissed all the skin available to her. She licked his neck, the collarbone before the triangular muscle above. Bit down on the beginning of his beautiful biceps. Her lips flickered across him in response to the trembling in her limbs.
"Stop teasing me. Please,” Olivia begged, trying to wriggle closer to him.
His fingers slicked through the folds of her sex, over her clit until she came without him. He kept stroking, left her with nowhere to hide while he lifted her to the edge of another orgasm, almost on top of the first.
When Olivia whimpered and writhed with ever[?] fingertip at her clit, he entered her. Holding both her hands, he eased slowly inside her. Just like the first time, he let her feel the stretch of him. Her body curved. Her forehead pressed against his shoulder. Pleasured sobs came with every move deeper into her. She moved her knees up and apart to accommodate him. Slow, liquid rapture ran with the continued slow spread of him inside her. Teeth at his shoulder, she couldn't quiet her whimpers while she strained on the edge of her orgasm.
"Stay with me, Olivia. Let me see how you feel."
She drowned in the sea of his eyes, struggling to stay afloat while he began a rhythm that built riptides in her body. He met her in the swirling currents before thrusting her into oblivion. She felt her entire body shudder and clutch at him, bringing him closer, deeper.
It would be so hard to let go now.
Stroking her hair, Cain kissed her eyelids and nose while she shivered back down to reality. She lay beneath his body, tracing over his face with the lightest touch of her fingers, never wanting to leave this moment. Not wanting to forget. Rolling onto his back, bringing her with him, he didn't stop touching her. Fingertips stroked along her hip. Lips brushed across her hair when he inhaled her. He pushed a knee between hers to rest. She would stay this way forever ... if only he would let her.
* * * *
A peaceful sigh of contentment wafted across Cain's chest as Olivia fell asleep with an eerie smile on her lips. He copied the exhalation, moving a little to look at her. Whatever had happened within the last month and a half, she was immensely different. Softer at the edges, less strung out in the middle, and she'd let him love her in bed. She hadn't frozen when he'd said the word. He could stand a lot more of this woman before they were done. And it was feeling a lot more like she'd stay for the finale.
* * * *
Damn the woman! Did she never stay in bed long enough for a lover to wake her? This was bloody ridiculous! How could such a clever woman not understand the protocol required for leaving a bedroom so early in a relationship? Definitely time for ground rules.
Scowling, Cain rolled out of bed and headed straight for the shower. If they were going to discuss a peace treaty today, he'd better be in top form. Although, peace seemed to have settled in quite nicely last night. In the bathroom, Olivia's brown belt hung from a towel rail ... he'd really need to be in peak condition or she was going to slaughter him. Of course, he was presuming she'd gone for a run and not to the nearest airport awaiting immediate departure for France. She wouldn't ... would she?
Draping a towel about his hips, he made a dripping trek to the kitchen for caffeine. In the middle of her coffee table, pinned down by the little green Buddha lay the neatly clipped picture of him and Simone Guerra. Frowning harder and, now in dire need of coffee, he stormed the kitchen. If Olivia had been upset by that photo, he'd find the bastard with the telephoto lens and feed it to him ... piece by choking piece.
Pouring his coffee, selecting the latest Michael Crichton novel from her bookcase, he settled in to wait. Not ten minutes had passed before the phone rang. The answering machine picked up. Charlotte's usual bantering French opening was enough to have his teeth grinding within seconds.
"Olivia, darling, I know you said you quit, but really I need your help. Jenny is ill and there is no one to escort her date for tomorrow. Can't you make an exception, Olivia?"
"You quit!” Olivia had banged back through the front door in the middle of Charlotte's plea, and Cain could only stare at her.
"Yes, I, um..."
After all the tension she'd created with that bloody job, she'd waited until he'd left before she quit! Where was the logic in that? “Why?” He was trying not to sound incredulous, trying not to strangle her for the angst he'd carried with him into the depths of Turkish gold mines.
"I felt like it.” Her eyes were glinting with the challenge now, her chin raised, pointing at him. He'd do well to step lightly if they were going to discuss this rather than fight about it. “There's a difference between me choosing to quit and you bullying me into it."
His teeth snapped shut around the anger threatening to explode from his throat. She was right. There was a difference. Exhaling loudly, he dragged on a calm exterior before his insides were even close to relaxing. She was also right that there was nothing to discuss. Quitting was her decision and he was happy with her choice, so there was no point in arguing about her timing.
"Well, then, I guess this is a ‘congratulations, welcome to your new life’ gift."
* * * *
Olivia blinked at his rapid change in demeanour. Since when did Cain Warner give in so easily? He removed a large cylinder from his duffe
l bag, placing it in her hands.
"You bought me a present?” While she'd been preparing for a life without him, he'd been buying her presents? Obviously their nasty goodbye scene had happened differently in his head ... or perhaps he was simply more inclined to stick with her than anyone else had ever been. He'd planned on coming back all along!
"I had to. It was perfect for you."
Hands shaking with the enormity of her realisation, she plucked at the tape securing the wrapping. Even the paper was delicate, printed with a scene of mosques, horses and dancing women, a work of art in itself. Her thoughts tumbled over top of one another like the images on the paper. He had no intention of leaving, no matter how angrily they fought or what she did for a living. He wasn't going away. Then she remembered what she had yet to tell him. Maybe there would prove to be limits to his persistence.
The paper fell away. Gasping in wonder, she unrolled the delicate fabric. It was the most beautiful silk rug she'd ever seen. Autumn shades of red, gold and ochre wove like vines through the border and background. At the very edges the vines came together, twining to resemble Arabic script. In the centre of the little rug was a tree, an evergreen of some kind. In grey-green and silver, its roots reached deep into the border of the mat. On the branches, flowers, birds and individual leaves were all easily discernable, just waiting for the right breeze to breathe them back to life.
Vision blurring with unshed tears, Olivia stroked the rug very lightly with the tips of her fingers. The threads were soft and so smooth, she could imagine this was how magic might feel. The rug was enchanting, wondrously appealing to the senses and imagination at once. The colours were rich and vibrant to the eye. The image of the tree surrounded by its intricate web of patterns brought tears of awe. The smell of ancient dust had been insinuated into the threads of its warp and weft through all its years of waiting. Waiting to be sold, waiting to be loved. Running a hand over the silken treasure was an exercise in luxuriant generosity. It gave to the fingers, touching as it was touched, warming with the gesture. Through it all was a whisper of promise, intrigue, the shimmering belief that if she spoke the right words, held it the right way, it might actually fly.
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