by Diana Palmer
His gaze held hers intently while he drew her arm toward him and pressed his mouth against it, moving slowly from her palm down her wrist to the elbow and back up again. She felt shivers down her spine at the lazy intimacy. He bit softly at the mound of her thumb and then teased the thumb with his tongue and finally took all of it slowly into his warm mouth.
She gasped. She’d read about such caresses, but had never experienced them.
He drew her arm up again and draped it around his neck while his free hand slid in at her waist and brought her body in between his legs. He turned her, ever so slowly, as if they were dancing, and all the while holding her eyes with his. She felt his legs brushing intimately against hers. Even through her jeans the pressure was feverishly arousing. When his hand slid over her spine and down to move her rhythmically against his hips, she felt her knees give way.
He caught her up in his arms and held her like that, off the floor, unprotesting, shocked by her own sensuality, by his mastery of her senses. The look he gave her made her heart beat loudly but she couldn’t utter a word.
“Well?” he asked quietly.
She forced her lips to move as she stared up at him. “I didn’t realize,” she whispered huskily.
“It doesn’t make you afraid?”
She shook her head. “Not in the way you mean.” She bit her lower lip. “I’m a pushover, I guess.”
“Only with me. That’s how it should be.” He drew her close and walked to the sofa, easing down to sit with her across his lap.
She clung, devastated by her intense need of him. It went so far beyond a simple physical attraction that she couldn’t comprehend it fully.
His arms were warm and comforting now, not arousing. He smoothed her golden hair and after a minute he lifted her chin. “Kiss me,” he said quietly.
She reached up to put her mouth softly to his. He gave the kiss back just as gently, savoring her warm lips as if they were the key to paradise. He paused long enough to remove his tuxedo jacket and put it aside. Then he pulled her back against him and kissed her for a long time in just that way, as if they were both adolescents, exploring the right pressure, the right contact, to give each the maximum pleasure.
He lifted his head finally, and laughed softly. “Even this is different,” he murmured. “Kissing like children.”
“It’s so sweet,” she managed, her eyes lingering upon his mouth.
“Sweet,” he echoed, and bent to kiss her again.
But he was a man, and inevitably, his arm contracted and the kiss became slow and deep and hungry. She felt his breathing change, heard the soft groan against her mouth, almost at the moment his long, elegant fingers slid under the T-shirt and up to trace the curve of her breast in its lacy covering.
She shifted to give him access, yielded completely to his lazy ardor. It wasn’t until the cool air became uncomfortable against her skin that she realized he’d bared her breasts while he kissed her.
Embarrassed, she tugged at the fabric, but he shook his head. “Only this,” he promised softly. “And it will cause me some pain. But I want you to know.”
He left her pondering the curious statement and bent to open his mouth and press it down hard over her taut nipple.
She cried out like someone being tortured. Her body arched up in his arms and shivered, and her hands caught frantically in his hair as he drew the nipple into his mouth with gentle suction.
Time dissolved in heat. She arched her body again and gave him liberty to do anything he liked to it. She was weeping and trembling all over when he finally paused to look down at her.
His hand rested on her belly, just above the fastening of her jeans. He stared into her flushed, tearstained face for a long moment, unspeaking, and she returned his gaze. He looked like a lover, his white shirt unbuttoned to the waist, his mouth swollen, his dark face drawn with lines of desire.
“You said...it would hurt you?” she managed to ask.
“And it does. Like hell,” he answered. “But it’s the sweetest hell I’ve ever tasted.” His eyes fell to her breasts. “I want you.”
“I want you, too,” she said, so emotionally out of control that her voice broke on the words and ended in a sob.
“So much.” He drew her close and held her, rocking her, as he savored her warm weight. “So much, so much...!”
Her short nails bit into his broad shoulders. Against her bare breasts she could feel the wiry thickness of the hair on his chest, and she nestled there, awash in another in a series of new and frightening pleasures.
“What...?” He lifted his head and looked, and realized. “Ah.” He chuckled softly, a wicked sound that, added to the gleam in his eye when he looked down where they touched, made her flush.
He held her upper arms and deliberately moved her against him with the sensuality of a dancer. “Who could put into words the glory of skin against skin?” he murmured huskily.
She couldn’t reply to that. Her mind was spinning. Her body was greedy, demanding more of these sensations she’d never before known. She closed her eyes, already lost in a sensual paradise, his willing conspirator, ready to yield whatever he wanted.
“Talk to me,” he whispered at her ear.
“I...can’t. It’s like...dying,” she faltered breathlessly. “I want it never to end!”
His arms slid completely around her, and he held her close without moving, his head bent over hers, his body corded with urgency. But he conquered the fierce, sharp desire after a minute and began to relax.
“No,” she groaned when he started to move away.
He caught her protesting hands and put them to his mouth. “Querida, we can’t,” he whispered huskily.
She looked at him from a daze of swirling emotion. “Why not?”
He held her palm to his hard cheek. “For half a dozen reasons. But the most important one is that I don’t have anything to use with me.” He kissed her palm. “I’m a stickler for prevention. Almost a fanatic. I told you that once.”
She searched his face. There was something he was hiding. “It isn’t only because you’re worried about diseases. It has something to do with babies, hasn’t it?” she asked hesitantly, without understanding how she knew.
Shocked by her perception, he looked straight into her eyes. Pregnancy. Ivory, pregnant with his baby. Images flashed into his mind. He thought of her body racked with pain, her voice accusing him, blaming him...
With a rough groan, he put her aside and stood up.
CHAPTER NINE
HE FASTENED THE buttons of his shirt absentmindedly. “It doesn’t matter what all my reasons are,” he said quietly. “I have my hands full with my mother. I can’t afford complications in my private life. And you’re career-minded, aren’t you? The last thing you need right now is something to distract you from those designs.”
She rearranged her own disheveled clothing, a little shyly. “Well...yes. I want to see what I can do, even if I fall flat on my face. It’s important to me, to make my name known, to be somebody. Away from my family background, of course.” She sighed. “I appreciate the chance you’ve given me. I guess a lot of people think the same thing Harry did, that I’ve come too far too fast not to be involved with you.”
He glowered. “So that’s what he said. Damn him!”
“It’s all right, you know. I told you that he changed his mind when he saw my designs.” She stared down at her lap and saw in her mind the image of her greedy mother, scarcely kept at bay. With enough money, she could get her mother out of her life for good. She could buy her off. “I want to be rich,” she said with determination. “I want it more than anything in the world.”
She felt his intent gaze on her. “But I want to make my own fortune,” she emphasized quickly, so that he didn’t think she was asking him for anything.
He picked up his tuxedo jacket and slid it o
n with a rueful smile. “Being rich isn’t all it’s cracked up to be, Ivory,” he said. “The thrill wears off pretty quickly when you realize how much hard work it takes to keep what you make. And being famous has its drawbacks, too.”
“I won’t mind finding out the hard way,” she replied.
He chuckled. “I see. You want the furs and diamonds you mentioned before?”
“Oh, yes,” she said lightly. “I’ll get there.”
He saw that light in her eyes and recognized it. He’d had the same look once, when he was lean and hungry. “Yes. You’ll make it. Just be sure that what you find at the end of that rainbow is what you really want.”
She frowned. “Why, of course it will be what I want. Money is the most important thing. If you have that, you’re safe—everything else just falls into place.”
“And will it be enough to make you happy?” he asked softly.
“Certainly!”
He didn’t argue with her. But he knew that the glitter wasn’t real. She’d have to learn it the hard way.
He ran a comb through his dark hair, picked up his overcoat and scarf, and looked at her intently. “I lose all my common sense and reason when I touch you,” he mused. “I never meant that to happen.”
“It’s Christmas,” she said gently. She fingered her pearls. “Thanks for my present.”
“Same here.”
“Are you going to a party?” she asked curiously.
“I was at one before I came here,” he replied. “I left the family at the Rainbow Room. I have to go back for them. Mama probably hasn’t missed me yet, but she will.”
“But that’s in the middle of Manhattan! You came all this way...!”
He pulled her up from the sofa and kissed her softly. “I wanted to see you,” he murmured, searching her eyes. “It wouldn’t have been Christmas if I hadn’t.”
She touched his face lovingly, hating the thought of letting him leave. “We can be friends, can’t we?” she asked seriously.
He smiled. “The very best of friends,” he said with faint wistfulness. He searched her soft eyes, drinking in their gentle adoration. He bent and kissed her again, but on the forehead this time, with tenderness. “Happy Christmas.”
“Happy Christmas to you, too.”
He let her go with deliberation. She really was too green for a man his age, and too vulnerable. Probably everything she felt right now was hero worship. After all, he’d given her a shot at fame and her first taste of desire. It was natural that she’d be infatuated with him.
But it was different for him. He found her irresistible. He wanted to be with her all the time. He’d never felt like that with other women. He couldn’t afford to become obsessed with Ivory, though. Not with his own hang-ups about children and marriage. So friendship was really all he had to offer. But he could live for a long time on the memory of her body in his arms. And if she ever grew hungry for a physical relationship with no permanent ties—well, he’d be around.
He put on his coat and his white silk scarf. He really did look elegant, she thought.
“I’ll be in touch soon,” he assured her. He walked to the door, hesitated for just an instant, then went out without looking back.
Ivory spent Christmas Day visiting other people in the apartment house. In the late afternoon she went down to the homeless shelter to see Tim and his family.
Miriam had a new scarf that Mrs. Payne had made for her, and she’d given Mrs. Payne an embroidered silk handkerchief. Tim still had his beautifully embroidered jacket that Ivory had given him, although it had a tear from a fight at school. His mother had sewn it up neatly. Ivory thought as she sat talking quietly to them that Tim looked very tired for a child his age. It worried her, all the way back home.
On Monday, everyone was on the job again. Christmas was over and New Year’s Eve was coming up. Ivory had no plans to celebrate, and she didn’t expect to see Curry, either. The grapevine had provided the information that Christmas had proved exhausting to his mother, and she was confined to bed following her latest round of treatment.
While Ivory often thought of Curry’s mother and hoped that things would go better for her, she concentrated on her designs. Refreshingly, none of the other senior designers seemed jealous of her. They were remarkably creative themselves, and optimistic about the new lines bringing the firm out of debt and into the black. For all their sakes, Ivory prayed that it would. Her career would be well on its way if they were right.
New Year’s Eve came, and Ivory planned to greet it alone in her apartment with a glass of eggnog laced with a finger of whiskey that Mr. and Mrs. Johnson had given her for the occasion. But her plans didn’t work out as she’d expected. Just after eight o’clock, there was a sharp knock on the door.
When she opened it, there stood Curry, resplendent in his tuxedo and overcoat, his gleaming white silk scarf around his neck. He carried two dress bags bearing the distinctive red-and-black script KM, Kells-Meredith’s logo, and a gaily decorated Christmas shopping bag.
“Am I allowed to come in?” he asked with a smile.
Her heart went wild at the sight of him. She hadn’t expected him, and she deplored the picture she must make in faded jeans, T-shirt and thick socks. She hadn’t even combed her hair.
“Oh...of course.” She stood aside to let him in, feeling small and shy.
He chuckled at the telltale flush of her cheeks. “You didn’t expect me, I gather.”
“No. I...thought you’d be with your family, or maybe that you had a date.”
“I do. You.”
She gnawed her lower lip. “I can’t go out. I haven’t anything to wear, and that’s the truth.”
“Not anymore it isn’t.” He handed her the bags. “A late Christmas bonus. And before you refuse out of hand, let me tell you I’ve already made reservations at the Rainbow Room. Just think of yourself as Cinderella and me as the fairy godfather.”
She’d been expecting a dull evening at home and all at once, there was magic in the night. She caught her breath when she opened the bag and found one of her own gowns in it—a beautiful white silk with her signature crystal butterfly. There were matching pumps, in her size, and the coat he had brought was deep-piled black velvet.
“That coat must have cost a fortune,” she faltered when she saw the label. “I can’t...”
“On loan,” he said easily. “It’s my sister, Audrey’s, and she’s delighted that I have someone to spend the evening with. She’s generous and sweet. You’ll like her.”
She sighed as she stared up at him. “I’m dreaming.”
“No.” He flicked back his cuff and looked at his Rolex. “Hurry.”
She picked up the dress and rushed to the bathroom with it, pausing along the way to dig in a drawer for lingerie.
It took her only five minutes to dress. She made up her face, just lightly, and then came out in her stocking feet to slip on the shoes.
“Wear your pearls,” he said softly, admiring the look of her in the exquisite dress.
“Of course.” She dug them out, too, and put them on, fumbling with the catch just as she had when he’d first given the necklace to her.
He chuckled with delighted amusement as he fastened it for her, and his warm hands on her throat played havoc with her pulse.
His mouth drew lightly along the side of her throat, making her gasp. Without conscious thought, she leaned back against him and tilted her head to make room for his warm face.
His hands tightened on her shoulders and he made a rough sound deep in his throat as his mouth lingered on the pulse where her shoulder joined her neck.
“You smell like heaven,” he whispered gruffly.
“So do you.”
He turned her slowly and looked down into her eyes, drowning in their gray softness. If she didn’t love him already, she was well on her wa
y to it, he thought delightedly and without conceit. And he didn’t think it had one thing to do with the help he’d given her career. This was physical as well as emotional and he’d have bet his life on its sincerity.
His unblinking, intent stare made her breathless, and his grip on her shoulders was beginning to hurt.
“Is something wrong?” she whispered.
He didn’t move for an instant. Then his face relaxed into a smile. “Something,” he murmured. “Nothing that concerns you.” He forced himself to let her go. “We’d better be on our way.”
She let him drape her in the velvet coat, drinking in the warmth of it, the luxury. She was going to own one of these one day, she promised herself.
He ushered her down to the street, and she stopped dead at the sight of the long black stretch Lincoln sitting there, with a liveried driver getting out to open doors for them.
“You should be used to these,” Curry said with a chuckle. “Surely they have them back in Louisiana.”
“Oh, yes. But it’s been a long time,” she said, glad that he couldn’t see her face. “That is, it seems like a long time since I’ve ridden in one!”
“It will all come back to you. In you go.”
The interior was black leather with room enough for six people facing one another. It had footrests and a bar, a television set, a record player and a telephone. The glass partition between driver and passengers could be raised and lowered.
Curry sat back and watched her explore her surroundings with amusement.
“It really has been a long time, hasn’t it? I’ll have to send you around town in a limo and get you used to it again,” he said. “Having fun?”
She laughed delightedly. “Oh, yes.”
“They’re only exciting the first time or two, aren’t they? After that, it becomes routine,” he returned.
“Yes. Of course.” She glanced at him. “Is this one yours?”
He nodded. “The driver’s name is Tommy. He’s worked for me for several years. Ever since I bailed him out of jail.”
She gasped.