Secrets Vol 2

by DeSalvo-Hamre-Knight-Paul

  Her eyes looked a little wet, and he saw her swallow. Please, Sarah, don't cry. Don't make my last memory of you be the sight of you in tears.

  She smiled. "I can't thank you enough for what you've done for me," she said.

  She sounded like she had herself under control. Like she hadn't been ready to cry. Maybe he'd imagined it, projected his own misery onto her. "I'm glad I could help. When's your next appointment with Dr. Lansing?"

  She glanced at her watch. "In an hour."

  "Good." She could talk to Dr. Lansing if she was upset about not seeing him anymore. But she didn't seem upset. She seemed calm. Collected. Rational. As if she wouldn't even notice if she never saw him again.

  She stood up. He did too, and quickly reached across the desk to shake her hand. She ignored his outstretched hand and walked

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  around the desk.

  Her arms slipped around his waist, and she hugged him tightly, almost fiercely. There was nothing he could do but hold her. Her body fit so perfectly against his, her cheek rested so trustingly against his chest. He brushed his lips against the top of her head, so lightly she probably couldn't feel it. He'd never forget how soft her hair was. He wouldn't forget anything. The herbal scent of her hair, the light warmth of her body pressed against him ... he'd never forget, even without this last embrace imprinted on his brain.

  She pulled away, and looked up at him with another of those gentle smiles. "Thank you."

  Gratitude again. "You're welcome." Any other response would have stretched out the conversation, kept her standing here, next to him, making more tortuous memories for him. He couldn't take much more. In another minute, he might break down and tell her.. .tell her what? That he thought he was in love with her?

  He pulled his hands from her waist and took a step back, breaking all contact with her.

  And she turned and walked away. He watched every step as she went to the door, then left the office. She never looked back at him.

  Go after her. The command came from somewhere deep in his subconscious. Compelling. Tempting. Pointless. There was no future for him and Sarah. Whatever they'd had between them, it was over. She felt nothing but gratitude for him.

  He sat down and stared at the clock. There was no way he could get any work done today. He'd wait fifteen minutes, until she was long gone. Then he'd leave. And try to find some way to fill all the empty hours.

  ******************

  Adrian slung the wet towel over the shower rod, then reached behind the bathroom door for his robe. Sarah. She'd worn this robe.

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  Just last night, she'd sat on his couch, looking pale and golden and waifish in all these yards of black terry cloth, combing the tangles out of her wet hair after their shower.

  He put the robe on, rolling the sleeves back down to their full length. Everything reminded him of Sarah. There was no escape. He'd gone for a long, bruising run after he left the office, hoping that the physical exertion would clear his mind. But he'd caught himself comparing the sky to Sarah's eyes. And somehow he'd ended up in Golden Gate Park, standing in the parking lot where she'd had her first taste of fulfillment, hearing her breathy little sighs and soft, shy moans as though she was in his arms again, aching for him again. She never had told him what her secret fantasy was. Now he'd never know.

  He walked downstairs to the living room. More memories here. Memories of Sarah in his robe, and then out of it, stretched along this couch, her eyes shining with passion.

  He turned away from the empty couch and pulled a record from the shelf at random. Great. Roy Orbison, singing all about loneliness. That suited his mood just fine. He put the record on the turntable and threw himself on the couch, resting his forearm across his eyes. The music drifted over him, as sorrowful and melancholy as he felt.

  The memories would fade with time. They had to. He'd give himself the rest of the night to wallow in misery. Tomorrow, he'd drown his sorrows in work, let the book become his life.

  The doorbell rang. Sarah? No, it couldn't be Sarah. He was crazy to even imagine that. He got up and walked to the hallway, then looked through the small window in the front door. God, it was Sarah. Had she missed him? Been thinking about him? No, that was just wishful thinking. Any feelings she had for him were based on gratitude. Clients had chased him before, refused to accept the end of their relationship. He'd treat Sarah the same way.

  He opened the door. "Hi."

  "Hi," she said. She looked a little nervous, but she was smiling.

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  "Can I come in?"

  He couldn't handle this. Not again. Not tonight. Once had been bad enough. He'd take control of the situation, have it out right here. He wouldn't give an inch. And he certainly wasn't going to let her inside. "I don't think that's a good idea."

  Her eyebrow rose a notch. "Don't be silly." She brushed past him and walked in.

  So much for taking control. He closed the door. When he turned, Sarah was headed down the hallway, and he followed. She wore a slinky little blue dress, one that barely covered her ass and looked like an oversized tank top.

  When she got to the living room, she smiled at him over her shoulder. "Cool music."

  "Thanks."

  She wandered over to the shelves that held his records. She'd noticed them last night, but now she studied them as if she hadn't seen a record before. "Don't you believe in CDs?"

  Why was she here? To talk about his record collection? "Sure, for newer music. But I collect oldies, and I like having them in the original format."

  She turned to face him. The dress was cut low over her chest, practically down to the nipples, so low that he could tell she wasn't wearing a bra. And the blue color did wonders for her eyes. Seeing her like this, when he'd finally resigned himself to giving her up.. .it was torture. "Sarah, why did you come here tonight?"

  She looked a little surprised by the question. "Well, I..." She gave a nervous little laugh. "I wanted to see you."

  How many times did he have to go through this? "I can't see you anymore. I told you this afternoon."

  "You said you couldn't see me as a therapist."

  "Right."

  "That I didn't need any more sex therapy."

  "Right."

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  She moved closer, until he could almost feel the heat radiating from her body. Or maybe it was his own body heat. His temperature seemed to be soaring.

  She smiled up at him. "I don't want to see you as a therapist."

  This couldn't be happening. She couldn't possibly mean it. He took a step back, away from the temptation of being within reach. But seeing her in that dress was tempting, too. "Listen to me, Sarah. I can't see you anymore. Not at all."

  "Why not?"

  "Because I'm your therapist."

  Her smile widened. "Not anymore."

  Why did she have to make this so difficult? Every nerve in his body wanted to hold her. "But I was your therapist. I could never have a different relationship with you."

  "Never?"

  He couldn't lie. But he had to. "No, never."

  "But if you'd met me some other way, you could?"

  "But I didn't meet you any other way. You were my patient."

  She laid a hand on his chest, gently, barely resting it against him. Just having her touch him in that simple way, through his robe, drove him crazy. He wanted to hold her so bad, to haul her into his arms and bury his face in her hair.

  Her smile was soft, teasing, beautiful. "What if you met me again, a year from now?"

  He gripped her arms, pulling her hand away from his chest. "You aren't going to wait a year. You're going to get on with your life. Find a man to share it with. Forget about me."

  She slipped her hands behind his neck and pressed her body against him. "Will you forget?"

  Blood thundered in his ears. To have her this close again, offering herself to him.. .no, he couldn't let her do it. He stepped
back, and she let him go, her hands falling to her sides.

  "Sarah, what you're feeling right now...it's only temporary." He

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  ran a hand through his hair. "You feel grateful to me. That's normal. But you need to find a man you feel more than gratitude for."

  "I feel more than gratitude for you, Adrian."

  He shook his head. "That's temporary. You don't really want me."

  "I do want you." She sidled up against him again, and wrapped both arms around his waist. Somehow his hands ended up on her back, holding her close. "Let me show you how much I want you," she murmured. She used her face to push his robe apart, and he felt her lips move across his chest. "Just give me one more night."

  He'd pay for this later. When her feelings for him wore off, he'd regret this. But he couldn't resist her any longer. He took her face in his hands and kissed her deeply, achingly. To hold her again, kiss her again, when he'd thought she was gone for good...he felt like a condemned man who'd just been given a reprieve.

  She wriggled against him, as if she couldn't get close enough. She really did want him. His desperation faded, and he eased his grip on her. They had all the time in the world. She was here, in his arms, and she wasn't going anywhere. She'd come to him, sought him out, even after he'd let her go. She wanted him. And nothing on Earth would make him let her go again. He brushed his lips over her face, lightly, lovingly.

  They slid to the floor together, stretching out side by side. He touched her face, outlined every beautiful feature. Her fingers mirrored his, stroking his own face. She seemed to be memorizing him, as if she felt the same sense of rediscovery that he did.

  She kissed him, deep and sweet. Her teeth caught gently at his lip, setting fire to nerve endings all over his body, making him moan against her mouth. She pulled away, and he opened his eyes. She was looking at him, watching him, with lust and need written on her face. He'd never seen her look so desirable.

  She caught his gaze, and smiled. "What are you thinking?"

  He cupped her cheek. "That I want to look into your eyes when we make love."

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  She turned her head and kissed his hand. "Do you ever fantasize?"

  "Sometimes. But just being here with you feels like a dream."

  She quickly dropped her head to his chest, as if she wanted to hide her expression from him. "I have to fantasize," she said softly.

  She sounded like she was confessing to murder. "There's nothing wrong with that," he assured her. He stroked her hair, cradling her head against him. "Tell me your fantasy."

  She shook her head.

  "Let me help you make it real." Whatever she wanted, whatever she needed, he'd do it. Gladly.

  She took a deep breath. "I've been imagining that you're in love with me."

  He felt like his heart had stopped. "You don't have to imagine that." He moved until they were face to face, until he could see her eyes. "I do love you, Sarah."

  She closed her eyes for a brief moment, then opened them. Her lips trembled. "Say it again."

  "I love you." Adrenaline surged through him, a heady burst of freedom. He could finally say those words. He almost laughed, but he kissed her instead. "I love you," he whispered against her lips.

  She kissed him back, eager, frantic, until he was gasping for breath. She seemed wild, almost delirious, as if his words had freed all the passion in her soul. As if she couldn't hear them enough. "I love you," he said again. He tried to hold her, to soothe her, but she pulled away and spread burning kisses down his chest. Her hair fanned across his skin, and he looked down, loving the sight of his hands tangled in all that golden hair, the sight of her lips on his chest.

  Her hand moved down his body, over his robe, searching, finally touching his aching hardness. He moaned, and tried to pull her back up for a kiss. But she resisted. "Let me," she said. "Let me please you."

  An offer he couldn't refuse. He couldn't even believe she was here, let alone taking the lead. For the first time, they were making love, really making love, as lovers, as partners. He wanted to take it

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  slow, savor every second. She spread his robe open, and her hand caressed his hot skin. Next time. They'd take it slow next time.

  He felt her hair brush against his stomach, moving lower, lower. And then the moist heat of her mouth enclosed him, an unbelievably erotic caress. A mist settled over his vision. So good. Too good. He pulled her away, and she made a small noise of protest. "Easy, love," he murmured. "I can't take much more."

  She rose above him, her smile as tempting as Eve's, her legs straddling his hips. That sexy dress was so short, he could see that she wasn't wearing any underpants. Shocking. Thrilling. And she used her nakedness, stroked his hardness with the soft, wet heat of her sex. He groaned. She smiled, and teased him more.

  The dress covered too much of her. He tugged at the hem, trying to lift it. She leaned forward to help. He pulled it over her head, dropped it somewhere on the floor. His hands fell to her thighs, and he let his gaze devour her. She was so beautiful. Naked and unashamed, flushed with desire. And her eyes were open, looking down at him, watching him.

  As she moved to sit up again, she angled her body so that his erection pressed inside her, deep inside her. She felt so hot, so wet — oh, God, he wasn't wearing a condom.

  He should stop her, protect her. But she laid a hand on his chest, distracting him. "It's all right," she whispered. She moved then, her body swaying in a slow rhythm that took his breath away. And she watched him, through half-closed eyes, watched him panting for breath as she drove him higher and higher.

  He'd bring her higher, too. He reached for those beautiful breasts, touching, teasing, until she cried out. With one hand he stroked gently downward, down to where their bodies were joined. When he found her sweet center, she sobbed with pleasure. She closed her eyes then, but he saw the passion on her face, saw the need build, saw the glorious, fierce pleasure of her release. And he let himself go, let the wild, hot convulsions of her body take him over the edge.

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  She collapsed on top of him, still trembling with aftershocks. He held her close, stroked her back, her hair, waiting for his own heart to calm down, gasping for breath. He could stay like this forever.

  What had she done to him? Her sudden passion, her aggressiveness, had transformed him. She'd claimed him, branded him. He felt utterly possessed. Utterly satisfied. And for the first time in his life, he wanted to ask a woman to marry him.

  No, it was too soon for that. He'd wait a few months, make sure she didn't feel pressured. Give her a little more time to get used to all the changes in her life. No hurry.

  He couldn't ask her to marry him right now, but he could say this. "I love you so much."

  She froze. "You can stop now."

  "Stop what?"

  "Stop playing along with my fantasy."

  He went cold. Had this all been a fantasy to her? He rolled over, settling her beside him. She couldn't hide now. But he couldn't read anything from the shuttered expression on her face. She'd never said that she loved him. She'd said that she felt more than gratitude for him...maybe she'd meant lust. But if she didn't love him, why would she fantasize that he loved her?

  He struggled for words. "Sarah, I..."

  She put her fingers against his lips, stopping him. "You don't have to explain. I understand."

  That made one of them. He took her hand and moved it away from his mouth, held it against his chest. "Good. Maybe you can explain it to me."

  She bit her lip, obviously troubled and confused.

  Now he'd really have to spill his guts. And not knowing how she felt about him made it all the worse. "You don't believe I'm in love with you."

  Her eyes looked misty, and she blinked a few times. "It's okay. I know you just said it to make me happy." A faint glimmer of hope

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  shone in her eyes, tenta
tive and fragile. "Didn't you?"

  Later, much later, he'd hassle her for thinking he could lie about something so important. "I didn't lie," he said. "I really do love you, Sarah."

  The tears spilled over then. She ducked her face against his shoulder, and he cuddled her close. She loved him. He knew that now.

  He wouldn't make her say the words to him. When she was ready, she'd tell him. He could wait. "Well?" he demanded.

  She laughed, and pulled back until he could see her smile. "Of course I love you. Why do you think I came here tonight?"

  "To seduce me?"

  She blushed, just a little. "What on Earth gave you that idea?"

  "The scandalous dress you were almost wearing. And the underclothes you weren't."

  She blushed full force. "You taught me that one," she protested.

  He kissed the end of her nose. "I'm not complaining." She kissed his nose in return. "You're a very good teacher."

  He stroked her hair back from her forehead, just because he could, just because he wanted to relish touching her. "And you're my top student. My only student from now on."

  "I'm glad," she said, simply. "I just wish you didn't already know it all. I'd like to teach you something."

  He laughed. "Don't worry, love. I'm sure you'll think of something."

  She snuggled against him, and pulled the loose side of his robe over them both. Under the sheltering folds of fabric, he felt her nip gently at his earlobe. "You better believe it," she whispered.

  He did. After all, she had plenty of time. Like the rest of their lives.

  About the Author:

  A lifelong daydreamer, Doreen DeSalvo sold her first short story at the age of eight. Her payment was a candy bar. Over twenty years later, her passion for writing-and chocolate-remain. She currently lives in a Victorian house in San Francisco with the man she fell in love with as a teenager. Having experienced her own personal fairy tale, she can think of no career more rewarding than writing romance.