Silent Heart

by Claire McNab

  The memory of my failure raw, I said caustically, "What? For me to have an orgasm?"

  "For you to heal."

  Provoked, I pulled myself away from her and sat up. "I'm all right."

  "During the last couple of weeks I've seen a couple of people, asked some questions —"

  "About me?" Fury made my voice thick. "Am I one of your projects, now?"

  Her voice was quiet. "You're a victim of incest."

  I got out of the bed, swearing as I stumbled over my discarded clothes. "I can cope with it. Everything happened a long time ago, and my father's dead. I have to get on with my life."

  Reyne snapped on the bedside lamp and sat blinking in the glare. "Most incest victims need professional help to get over the trauma."

  "I don't!"

  She shocked me with her sudden anger. "I love you, Victoria, but I don't relish the thought of being tied to someone who needs help and won't accept it."

  Rage burst through my controls. "Jesus, Reyne! I'm the victim, not you."

  She smiled at me ruefully. "Right now, I'd say we both are."

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Hugh was enthusiastic about the final day's program. I was too, for a different reason. I'd be spending four days free in New York with Reyne, who was also taking a break before returning to Australia. Hugh rushed me through the revolving doors of the hotel and into a cab — fully as yellow and as dirty as the one the night before.

  The first item on our schedule was a visit to the offices of Rampion Press. As our cab joined a traffic jam, Hugh said, "They've put a larger-than-life photograph of you up in the lobby." His manner was that of one who had achieved this coup single-handed.

  "Should I be impressed?"

  "Well, of course you should, Victoria! The company only does that for major authors."

  In the afternoon rain began in fitful heavy showers. To add to the discomfort, a vicious, gusty wind sprang up. My last official duty was a radio interview, and afterward I insisted on walking the three or four blocks back to my hotel, no matter how unpleasant the weather. "I need to clear my head, Hugh. And it doesn't matter if I catch cold now. The tour's over."

  I strode along the sidewalk, hands jammed into the pockets of my coat, enjoying my freedom, enjoying the cold wetness against my face. My thoughts revolved around Reyne. Last night we'd gone back to bed with our conflict apparently resolved, but I hadn't slept well. I'd lain awake for hours, listening to Reyne's even breathing.

  Back in my hotel room, as I showered, then put on jeans and a deep pink silk shirt I'd bought during the tour, I rehearsed what I'd say.

  Reyne was early. She came in laughing, but I was determined not to be deflected. "Reyne, about last night..."

  "Last night was fine. We were together."

  "Not together enough. When we make love I get so close... and then I can't. I'm sorry, Reyne."

  She brushed my cheek with the back of her hand. "Why are you apologizing?"

  I shrugged. Not wanting to endure her steady gaze, I walked over to the window and feigned interest in the New York skyline.

  Reyne said, "You don't have to prove anything to me. I love you."

  "Why do you love me?"

  She moved behind me to look over my shoulder at the canyons of the city. "There's the Chrysler Building. Great, isn't it?"

  "You're not going to answer me?"

  She pressed against my back, locking her arms about my waist. She whispered against my neck, "I love you because you're a fine, lovable person, but mostly because you're you." She nibbled at my ear lobe. "And, of course, because I can't help it."

  It was as though everything suddenly clicked into place. I wanted to say something significant, something to fix this moment as the one where I had begun to accept Reyne's love unconditionally — to stop worrying why she could love me, and just accept that she did. My career was based on words, but I could find none to express the exultation that rose in me. I had begun to tremble, and she raised her head.

  "Victoria?"

  In answer I took Reyne's locked hands and slid them down my stomach. Her fingers curled against the seam of my jeans, the pressure translating into a pounding ache. She freed one hand and slid it under my shirt. Gasping as she touched my breasts, I turned my head in hunger for her mouth.

  "There's no hurry," she breathed.

  The heat throbbed in me. "There is!"

  I turned in her arms until I could seize her in a hard embrace. My mouth was open for her kiss, eager for the thrust of her tongue. It wasn't enough — I had to be free of all barriers, to have Reyne's skin against mine.

  Clumsy with urgency, we discarded our clothes. I whimpered as her palms brushed my thighs. The ache had become a torrent of exquisite pain that buckled my knees. Still locked in a kiss, we sank onto the softness of the bed. She was above me, the weight of her breasts cupped in my palms. I rose up to meet her, one arm around the curve of her back, the other hand plunging into the heat between her legs.

  She threw back her head with an inarticulate cry, the sound releasing in me a surge of joy that had to find words.

  "Reyne, I love you."

  I gloried in the rhythm of my hand that had the power to flood her with such burning delight. As she vibrated against my fingers, my passion rose to match hers, but I couldn't follow her as she spilled over into orgasm.

  Her release was my agony. I seized her hands. "Please!"

  She was cruel, merciless. "Not yet." She caressed me, gentle as I shivered with the need for force. She slid down my body, her breath hot against my skin, pushed my knees wide. Then her mouth was savoring my swollen flesh.

  I was arched, the breath caught in my throat, sensation spilling in molten drops, then concentrated, tightening in a noose of ecstasy.

  A cry burst from me as I thrashed with the jolting shocks that rolled in wave after wave, until I lay breathless, half-laughing, half-crying.

  Reyne kissed me gently as I lay smiling in her arms.

  "You know," I said, "I think I could grow to like that..."