by Nora Roberts
“Until recently.”
She met his eyes. “Apparently.”
He smiled, topped off their wine. “The Hollow doesn’t have a dress shop, or fashion boutique, or whatever you’d call that kind of thing.”
“At the moment, I’m gainfully employed and no longer thinking about opening a boutique. My risk quota’s been reached.”
“What kind of music? Do you like to listen to?” he added when she frowned at him.
“Oh, I’m pretty open there.”
He reached down, slipped off her shoes, then brought her feet up into his lap. “How about art?”
“There, too. I think . . .” Her whole body sighed when he began rubbing the balls of her feet. “Any art, or music, that gives you pleasure, or makes you think—or better makes you wonder; it’s—it’s what makes us human. The need to create it, to have it.”
“I grew up soaked in it, various forms. Nothing was out-of-bounds.” His thumb, just rough enough to thrill, ran down her arch, back again. “Anything out-of-bounds for you?”
He wasn’t talking about art or music now. Her stomach jittered with lust, fear, anticipation. “I don’t know.”
“You can tell me if I hit any boundaries.” His hand went to work on her calf muscles. “Tell me what you like.”
Flustered, she stared.
“That’s okay. I’ll figure it out. I like the shape of you. The high arch of your feet, the muscles in your calves. They draw my eye especially when you’re wearing heels.”
“That’s the point of heels.” Her throat was dry; her pulses skipping.
“I like the line of your neck and shoulders. I’m planning on spending some time on those later. I like your knees, your thighs.” His hand slid up slowly, barely touching, then again, just a little higher until he found the lacy top of her stocking. “I like this,” he murmured, “this little surprise under a black skirt.” He hooked a finger under the top, eased it down.
“Oh, God.”
“I plan on going slow.” He watched her as he worked the stocking down her leg. “But if you want me to stop—I hope you won’t—just say so.”
His fingers skimmed over the back of her knee, down her calf, her ankle, until her leg was bare, and her skin humming. “I don’t want you to stop.”
“Have some more wine,” he suggested. “This is going to take a while.”
Twelve
SHE ALREADY FELT DRUNK, AND THOUGH SHE considered herself fairly adept, Layla didn’t think she was quite adept enough to casually sip wine while he undressed her. By the time he slipped off the second stocking it was all she could do to set the glass aside without spilling it.
He smiled, and pressed his lips to the arch of her foot. Excitement shot straight up to her belly, and pulsed there like a second agitated heart. He took his time, stirring and seducing, kindling little fires under her skin, exploiting odd and wondrous points of pleasure. When he gripped her ankles, slid her toward him in one smooth motion, she let out a sound of surprise and gratitude.
Now their faces were close, so close the rich, golden brown of his irises mesmerized her. His hand—callused fingertips—glided up her legs, under her rucked-up skirt. Slowly, slowly. And down again while his mouth toyed with hers. A brush, a taste, a bare whisper of torturous contact even when her arms locked around his neck, even when her needy body pressed to his. Once again, the easy touch, the easy taste, left her drained and dazzled.
His hands cupped her hips, lifted her. The quick shock had her gasping, instinct had her wrapping her legs around his waist as he rose with her. This time the kiss was deep and seeking as he stood with her eagerly twined around him.
“My head’s actually spinning,” she managed as he began to walk.
“I plan on keeping it that way awhile.” In the bedroom, he sat on the side of the bed with her straddling him. “I figured candlelight for the first time, but we’ll have to save that.”
He trailed his fingers over her shoulders, over the soft wool of the pretty blue sweater, along the tiny pearl buttons down the front. “You always look just right.” He drew it down her arms to her elbows, left it there. “You’ve got a knack for it.”
With her arms roped in cashmere, he pressed his lips, just a light hint of teeth, to the side of her neck, down her skin to the edge of the little sweater she wore beneath.
He loved the light tremor that ran through her, the sound of her breath quickening, thickening. And the look of her, flushed, just a little anxious. He ran his hands down her arms until both his fingers and the cashmere cuffed her wrists. Then he took her mouth, ravishing it, saturating himself with the taste of her, devouring the quick, helpless sounds she made while her pulse thundered under his hands.
He eased back, a whisper back, and smiled into her dazed eyes. “We’ll save this one for later, too,” he said and released her hands.
He watched her face as he drew the little sweater up and away; he watched her face as he played his fingertips over her warm, bare skin. Then he pleased himself, looked down at breasts clothed in a fancy bra of blue lace. “Yeah, you always look just right.”
Reaching behind her, he eased down the zipper of her skirt.
She felt as if she moved through water, warm, softened with fragrance. Her heart thudded, slow and hard as she unbuttoned his shirt, as she found the hard muscles of his shoulders, his chest, his back. When he kissed her again, when he lowered her to her back, she was the water. Warm, soft, and fluid. His hands, his lips played over her, tirelessly, relentlessly. She had no defense against them, against her own need, and wanted none. When he freed her breasts, she arched to him. Thrilled to the steady greed of his lips, of his tongue.
He worked down her, coating her with pleasure until he drew the matching lace away and exposed her.
Then came the whirlpool. She was caught in it, a mad spin that dragged her under to where the water whirled hot and fast. She cried out, shocked, her hands fisting in the sheets for purchase as the orgasm ripped through her. Even when she sobbed out his name, he didn’t stop. When she came again, it was like going mad.
Her body quivered and writhed under him, clawing at what was left of his control. She sprawled over the tangled sheets in absolute surrender while the dim light of the dying evening spilled over her and sheened her in gold. Once more he cupped her hips, lifted them. Once more his eyes met hers, held hers as he filled her. As he trapped himself inside her. He watched her eyes as he thrust deep. Watched them as he took her, and as she wrapped tight to take him.
Watched until they closed on the peak of her pleasure, and until his own needs swallowed him whole.
SHE WASN’T SURE SHE COULD MOVE, OR THAT THE bones in her body would ever solidify again and hold her upright.
She wasn’t sure she cared.
He sprawled on top of her, dead weight, and that didn’t seem to matter either. She liked his weight, his warmth, liked feeling the thunder of his heartbeat so she knew she hadn’t been the only one to fly.
She’d known he’d be gentle, and that he’d be fun. But she hadn’t known he’d be . . . astonishing.
“Want me to move?” His voice was thick, just a little sleepy.
“Not especially.”
“Good, ’cause I like it here. I’ll get the wine and maybe order us some dinner at some point.”
“No hurry.”
“Got a question.” He brushed his lips over her cheek as he lifted his head. “Do you always match your underwear to your clothes?”
“Not always. But often. I’m a little obsessive.”
“Really worked for me.” He toyed with the glittery chain she wore around her neck. “So does this, or the fact that this and earrings are all you’re wearing.” He lowered his head again to kiss her, and while he lingered over it, released the chain to rub his thumbs over her nipples. His lips curved to hers when she let out a little moan.
“I was hoping you’d say that,” he murmured and slipped inside her again, hard as steel.
; Her eyes went wide. “How can you—don’t you have to . . . Oh God. Oh God.”
“You’re all soft now. Wet and soft and even more sensitive than the first time.” He moved in her, long, long, slow thrusts, leaving her shuddering on each stroke. “I’ll take you deeper this time. Close your eyes, Layla. Let yourself take what I’m giving you.”
She had no choice; she was beyond will. Her body was so heavy, while inside it a thousand small eruptions burst. He touched her, his hands alighting needs she thought had gone quiet.
So she went deeper, into pleasure both intense and foreign.
“Don’t stop. Don’t.”
“Not until you get there.”
When she did, it was like plummeting out of the sky, a tumbling free fall that stole the breath.
SHE WAS STILL LIMP WHEN HE BROUGHT HER A glass of wine. “I ordered pizza. That okay?”
She managed a nod. “How do you . . . Can you always recover that quickly?”
“One of the perks.” He sat cross-legged on the bed with his own glass of wine, and cocked his head. “Hasn’t Quinn mentioned it? Come on, I know your breed talks about sex.”
“Mentioned . . . Well, she said it’s the best sex of her life, if that’s what you mean. And that he’s . . .” She felt very strange, talking about their friends this way. “Well, he’s got amazing staying power.”
“You know how we heal fast, since that night? Sort of the same thing here.”
“Oh.” She drew the word out, and slaked her thirst with wine. “That is a very fine perk.”
“It’s a particular favorite of mine.” He rose, walked around the room lighting candles.
Yes, yes, she thought, that was a very nice ass. His hair tumbled messily around that sharp-featured face. Those gilded eyes were satisfied, and just a little sleepy.
She wanted to lap him up like melted chocolate.
“What’s your record?”
He glanced back and grinned. “What time frame? An evening, an overnight, a lost weekend?”
Over the rim of her glass her eyes challenged him. “We’ll start with an evening, and I bet we can beat it.”
They ate pizza in bed. The pie was cold by the time they got to it, but they were both too ravenous to care. The music changed to B. B. King, and the candles wafted out lovely light and fragrance.
“My mother makes them,” he told her when she commented.
“Your mother makes candles—gorgeous, fragrant candles—throws pots, and does watercolors.”
“And weaves. Does other needlework when the mood strikes.” He licked sauce off his thumb. “Now if only she’d cook real food, she’d be perfect.”
“Are you the only carnivore in the family?”
“My father sneaks a Big Mac now and then, and Sage fell off the veggie wagon, too.” He contemplated another slice of pizza. “I decided to do it.”
“To do what?”
“To, ah, give Sage—or I guess it would be give Paula— the magic elixir.”
“The . . . Oh.” She angled her head. “What made you decide?”
“I just figured I’m not doing anything with it, right at the moment. And they’re family. If I can help make them happy, help give them a family, why wouldn’t I?”
“Why wouldn’t you?” she repeated quietly, then took his face in her hands to kiss him. “You’re one in a million.”
“Let’s hope I’ve got one or two in a million that’ll get the job done for them. I know it’s a strange thing to bring up under the current conditions, but I thought you should know. Some women might find it a little weird, or off-putting. I’m not getting that you do.”
“I think it’s loving, and lovely.” She kissed him again, just before the phone rang.
“Hold that thought.” He scooted back to answer the bedside phone. “Hey. Oh yeah.” He tipped the phone to address Layla. “It’s Cal. No, we’ll get to that tomorrow. It can wait until tomorrow. Because I’m with Layla,” he said. He hung up the phone, looked at her. “I’m with Layla.”
SHE HADN’T MEANT TO SPEND THE NIGHT, AND was vaguely surprised by the sun streaming through the windows. “Oh my God. What time is it?”
She started to roll out of bed, was rolled right back and under Fox. “It’s morning, it’s early. What’s the rush?”
“I have to get home, change. Fox!” Amusement, arousal, and sheer bafflement warred inside her as his hands got busy under the covers. “Stop.”
“That’s not what you said last night. How many times was that?” He laughed as his mouth covered hers. “Relax. So you’ll be a little late. I can guarantee your boss won’t mind.”
Later, a great deal later while she hunted up her second stocking, he offered her a can of Coke. “Sorry, it’s the only caffeine on the premises.”
She winced at it, then shrugged. “It’ll have to do. It’s a good thing you don’t have an appointment until ten thirty, because I’m barely going to make it into the office by ten.”
He watched her slip her foot into the hose. “Maybe I should help you with that.”
“Stay away from me.” She laughed, but pointed a finger at him. “I mean it. It’s almost business hours.” She drew up the stocking, slipped on her shoes. “I’ll be in the office as soon as I can manage it.”
“I’ll drive you home.”
“Thanks, but I’ll walk. I think I need some air.” She stood, pointed at him again. “Hands up.” When he grinned, held up his hands, she leaned in to kiss him.
Then she escaped before she could change her mind.
Her hopes to dash straight upstairs when she got home were scotched as Cybil stood on the bottom landing, leaning on the banister. “Ah, look who’s doing the Walk of Shame. Hey, Q, baby sister’s home.”
“I’ve got to change and get to work. Talk later.”
She made the dash, but Cybil was right behind her. “Oh no, you don’t. Talk while you change.”
Since Quinn swung out of the office and into Layla’s bedroom with Cybil, Layla gave up.
“Obviously, I spent the night with Fox.”
“Playing chess?” Quinn grinned as Layla stripped on her way to the shower. “Isn’t that his game?”
“We never got to that. Maybe next time.”
“From the smile on your face, it’s obvious he has a few other games,” Cybil commented.
“I feel . . .” She jumped into the shower. “Used and energized, amazed and stupefied.” She whipped the shower curtain back an inch. “Why didn’t you tell me about the perk?” she demanded. “About how they recover, sexually, the same way they heal?”
“Didn’t I mention that?”
“No.” It was Cybil who answered, giving Quinn a hard poke.
“Speaking of energy, the Energizer Bunny is a worn-out, sluggish rabbit comparatively.” Quinn gave Cybil a sympathetic hug. “I didn’t want to make you feel sad and deprived, Cyb.”
Cybil just narrowed her eyes. “How many times? And don’t try to tell me you didn’t count,” she added as she pulled the shower curtain open.
Layla pulled it back, then stuck out a hand, five fingers spread.
“Five?”
Then put the tips of her pinky and thumb together to add another three.
“Eight? Holy Mother of God.”
Layla switched off the shower, grabbed a towel. “That’s not counting twice this morning. I have to admit, I’m a little tired, and I’m starving. And I’d kill for coffee.”
“You know what?” Cybil said after a moment. “I’m going to go down and scramble you some eggs, pour you a giant cup of coffee. Because right at the moment, you’re my hero.”
Quinn stayed behind as Layla, wrapped in the towel, rubbed lotion on her arms and legs. “He’s a sweetie.”
“I know he is.”
“Are you going to be able to work together, sleep together, and fight the forces of evil together?”
“You’re managing it with Cal.”
“Which is why I ask, because the combinatio
n can have its moments. I guess I wanted to say that if you run into one of those moments, you can talk to me.”
“I’ve been able to talk to you from the first. I guess that’s one of our perks.” Because it was true, Layla considered as she drew on her robe. “My feelings for him, for just about everything right now, are tangled and confused. And for just about the first time in my life, confusion isn’t such a bad thing.”
“Good enough. Well, try not to work too hard today because we’re having a summit meeting tonight. Cal wants to know what Fox came up with.”
“About what?”
“I don’t know.” Quinn pursed her lips. “He didn’t mention anything to you? A theory.”
“No. No, he didn’t.”
“Maybe he’s still working it out. In any case, we’ll talk about whatever we talk about tonight.”
By the time Layla got to the office, Fox was already in and on the phone. With his next client due in shortly after, it wasn’t the time, in her opinion, to pin him down about their other collaboration and theories.
She checked his schedule, hunting for a reasonable span of free time, then stewed while she worried about why he hadn’t mentioned anything about it to her.
When Sage came in just as Layla was about to take advantage of a lull, Layla decided she was outnumbered for the workday.
“Fox gave me a call, asked me to come by. Is he free now?”
“As a bird.”
“I’ll just go on back.”
Thirty minutes passed before Sage came out again. It was obvious she’d been crying even when she sent Layla a brilliant smile. “Just in case you’re not aware, you’re working for the most amazing, most beautiful, most incredible man in the entire universe. Just in case you didn’t know,” she added, and ran out.
With a sigh, Layla tried to bury her own questions—and the annoyance that had been working up through them— and went back to see how Fox had weathered what must have been an emotional half hour.