SUSPICION'S GATE

by Justine Davis

  Nicki pressed her full length to him, nibbled at his lips, stroked his dusty, tangled hair, savoring every hot, vital, alive part of him. She met his probing tongue with her own, drinking in the taste of him, urging him on until he groaned against her lips.

  Her heart was soaring, her blood bounding with triumph, and a joy heightened by the knowledge of how near she had come to never having these precious moments. She tangled her fingers in the thick hair at his nape, pulling him closer, deepening the kiss until all she knew was the heat of his mouth and the stroking velvet of his tongue.

  Then she was flying, truly flying, and only after a moment did her hazy mind realize he'd lifted her in his arms and was carrying her up the curved stairway. White carpet, she thought vaguely. Everything in this house seemed white. She didn't care. Travis was all the color she needed in her world; he gave her every shade of the rainbow.

  When he set her down beside a huge, sunken tile tub, unexpectedly blue in a spacious white bathroom, he closed his eyes for a long moment, holding her away from him.

  "Travis?"

  He shuddered at the sound of her voice, low and throaty; it was as if she'd brushed him physically with the feathery sound of it.

  "We've got to slow down, Nicole. I've waited too damned long for this to rush it."

  She reached up to touch his face, stroking her fingers over the bruise beginning to show on his cheekbone. "Later. We can go slow later," she whispered. "We have all night."

  He shuddered again. "Don't," he ground out. "Don't talk like that, or it'll be right here, right now, on the floor, and to hell with the fact that I'm not fit to be touched, let alone touch you."

  The flush that crept up into her face had nothing to do with embarrassment and everything to do with the hot, swirling thoughts his words aroused. The heat, the need, glimmered in her eyes unmistakably, and Travis clenched his jaw against the flaming dart of desire that lanced through him.

  As if to deny his words about being fit to touch, Nicki slid one hand through the rip that slanted across the front of his shirt, ignoring the dirt and dust. Her fingers sought and found hot, living skin, stretched taut over the ridged muscles of his belly, and she felt an answering quiver in herself as those muscles rippled violently beneath her touch.

  "God," he exclaimed, "you're tearing me apart already, and we haven't even begun." He seized her hand and drew it up to his lips, kissing the bandaged knuckle. "We have to talk."

  She made a face. "Talk?"

  His mouth quirked. "Yes." He released her, then bent to turn the faucet on, sending a rush of water into the big, deep tub. When he straightened, she was watching him with that hunger still in her eyes, and he barely stopped himself from grabbing her.

  "Stop looking at me like that."

  "Like what?" She was getting impatient with this. "Like I love you? I do. Like I've been waiting for this all my life? I have. Like I'm going to go crazy, wanting you? I am."

  She had brought him to his knees then. He sank down to sit on the edge of the tub, marveling at how she could do this to him, he who had clung to his strength when there was nothing else to have pride in. And do it with mere words.

  But words he'd never in his life thought to hear, never dared hope to hear.

  She came down in front of him, reaching for him. He grabbed her hands before she could touch him, gripping them tightly before the flicker of pain on her face told him he was hurting her and he eased his clasp.

  "Nicole," he said seriously, "we do have to talk. I never expected this. I don't … have any way to protect you."

  She colored, but held his gaze. "It's all right."

  "It's not. You don't need that complication, not now."

  "I mean … it's all right. I had some problems, when mother was so sick. My doctor said it was stress, but when it got worse, she put me on the pill … to regulate things."

  She watched him absorb it, saw the emotions flicker across his face.

  "I'm sorry," he whispered at last.

  "No. None of that. Not now. Just us, you and me."

  After a long, silent moment, he nodded. "Just us," he whispered, standing up and drawing her into his arms.

  When he kissed her it was long, and soft, and infinitely tender. He cradled her head in his hands, warmed her with his heat, and stroked that deep, hidden part of her into a glowing pool of molten pleasure. She felt surrounded by that warmth, precious, treasured, in a way she'd never known.

  When he at last broke the kiss, she stared up at him, a little shaken. "I'm supposed to be taking care of you."

  Passion darkened his eyes, and his voice was somehow dark and hot, as well, when he said, "So go ahead."

  With fingers that were trembling she reached for the buttons of his shirt. She fumbled with them until she reached the middle of his chest, then she had to stop to steady herself.

  "You know," he said mildly, "this shirt's already shot, anyway."

  Her gaze shot to his face questioningly. He shrugged, then tugged the shirt off over his head, heedless of the rest of the buttons popping and the widening of the tears in the fabric. Then he put her other hand back where it had been, braced against his stomach.

  She stared at him, at the reddening marks that marred the sleek, satin skin of his chest.

  "Oh, Travis."

  With a boldness that surprised her, she leaned forward to press her lips to him over the worst of the marks. She felt the hammering of his heart beneath her mouth, felt the searing heat of his skin, felt the undulation of the muscles of his belly once more beneath her hand.

  "You do want me back," she whispered in wonder.

  He groaned, covering her hand with his and sliding it over the heavy denim of his jeans, down below his waistband.

  "God, Nicole," he grated as her fingers instinctively caressed his rigid flesh, "how can you doubt it? I've known it for years. Even when you were fourteen, I knew that someday you'd be the one. That someday, when you were old enough, it would be us, and it would be so damned right…"

  He trailed off, his fingers plucking at the buttons of her silk shirt with an urgency he couldn't disguise. And every stroking caress of her fingers, even through the thick cloth, drove him closer to the brink. He didn't know which he wanted to be rid of more, the thin silk that hid her from him, or the heavy denim that kept him from feeling the naked touch of her hands.

  Then she solved the dilemma for him, reaching for the snap of his jeans and popping it open; he was surprised it hadn't given way of its own accord, he felt so swollen and hard. The zipper gave way and she freed him at the same moment he finished with the last of the buttons and the pale blue silk drifted away. The combined impact of the feel of her hands on him, tracing the naked, pulsing length of him, and the sight of the sweet swell of her breasts above the delicate blue lace of her bra made him gasp.

  He bent to kiss that full, ripe curve, savoring the quivering softness with his tongue. He could taste the grit of the dust that had settled on her delicate skin, but he didn't care. It only made him think of how she had worked so fiercely to get to him, and a flood of tenderness filled him, enabling him to rein in his surging senses.

  He straightened, gently gasping her wrist and pulling her hand away from its too sweet caresses.

  Nicki looked up at him. "Did I … hurt you? I know my hands are rough right now, I—"

  "Your hands," he said thickly, "are beautiful. And having them on me is the most incredible feeling I've ever known. But I can't take much more of it." He kissed her softly. "Time for your bath."

  He undressed her as if she were a child, gently, carefully. But the heat that filled his eyes when he looked at her, the sharp intake of breath she heard as he unfastened her bra and her breasts spilled free into his hands, and the low sound that rose from him when he slipped her jeans and panties down over her hips told her he was not thinking childish thoughts.

  He slipped off her shoes, taking too long at it to be businesslike, stroking the high arch of her foot, circling
her slender ankle with one strong hand, then caressing the taut curve of her leg. She heard him make that sound again, low and harsh in his chest, then he moved quickly, lifting her in his arms and lowering her into the steaming tub.

  The heat was a shock at first, but then it began to seep in, meeting with the warmth he'd begun inside her, making her feel deliciously relaxed. She looked up from beneath half-lowered lashes then, and suddenly the heat from the shoulder-deep water was nothing beside the burst of heat that shot out from that glowing pool inside her.

  He was sliding his jeans and briefs off, taking his shoes and socks with them, leaving him naked to her eyes. He stood beside the tub for a moment, as if her gaze had frozen him there.

  He was beautiful, she thought, filled with wonder at both the sight of him, and how her body seemed to swell and tighten at the same time in response to the sculpted planes of his. She'd known how broad his shoulders were, but not how strongly muscled. She'd known he was lean, fit, but not how the flat, ridged belly would make her own quiver. She'd known his long legs carried him with easy grace, but hadn't realized how powerful they were. She'd seen the way the taut, muscled curve of his buttocks snugged a pair of jeans, but she hadn't expected her fingers to curl with the need to touch him there.

  And she had never in her life expected to want, to need, to ache for anything the way she ached for the full, proud, jutting flesh nestled in the dark curls below his belly. He would fill her with that maleness, with himself, until that empty place she'd always thought inescapable didn't exist anymore. That empty place that, until now, she hadn't realized was empty because it was his, and he was gone.

  She held her arms out to him, and he slipped into the tub and into her embrace. He tried, she knew he tried to go slow, to give her time. He soaped her body, washing her as gently as if he felt nothing more than a tender concern. But again, the heat in his eyes as her nipples tautened beneath his fingers, and the surging of his naked body when she arched into his hands, betrayed him.

  She waited as long as she could stand, then took the soap from him and began to return the favor. She washed the grit from his body, the dust from his hair, and sponged the warm, soothing water over his bruises. And she took no care at all to see that her breasts didn't rub against his skin, that her thighs didn't slip over his as she knelt before him.

  When at last she returned her soapy hands to that rigid flesh between his thighs, a harsh, rumbling growl broke from him. He came up out of the water like some mythic god, and she thought him just as magnificent. It was her last rational thought, for his hands were on her stroking, caressing, sliding over her wet skin until she knew there wasn't a nerve ending he'd missed. Then his mouth began, tracing the same path, and she shuddered under its heat.

  He lifted her breasts, cupping their weight in his palms, until the crests were clear of the water. His eyes went to her face and she shuddered again; she'd never seen anyone look like that before, so raw, so hot, so hungry. And she wondered if she looked like that herself, as, wrapping her arms around his neck, she convulsively lifted herself upward, thrusting her breasts to him.

  He smiled, an ardent, satisfied smile that sent a shiver down her spine before he bent his head once more. When he caught her taut nipple between his lips she gasped, arching even further as wildfire raced along every nerve. He flicked it with his tongue, then suckled deeply. Nicki cried out his name sharply, then again as he repeated the caress on the other tingling peak.

  The sound of his name bursting from her on a wave of pleasure sent a rush of sensation through him so hot and fierce he shook with it. His body clenched under its force, demanding to be let loose, to slip the restraints he'd put on it. It took all of his rapidly fading will to hold back.

  He suckled her again, savoring the way she rippled in his arms, moaning. Her hands slid down from his shoulders, stroking over his back, sliding over wet skin until he felt on fire with her touch. He slid one hand down her body, over the slight gentle curve of her stomach, stroking, caressing. When at last he slipped his fingers down to her thighs, she parted for him eagerly.

  She gasped when he found the spot he'd been seeking, and he felt the convulsion go through her as he began a slow, circular caress. The water around them rippled as she moved in time with his touch, as her hips lifted to him invitingly.

  He felt himself tighten unbearably, surging to a hardness he wouldn't have thought possible. And suddenly it was an invitation he could no longer deny. He'd waited fifteen years, yet fifteen seconds more was too much.

  "Ah, Nicole, I can't wait."

  "Travis," she whimpered, "please."

  He gathered her into his arms and stood up. The feel of her naked in his arms, her slick, wet skin sliding over his, robbed him of the strength to do any more than step up out of the tub. He lowered her to the thickly carpeted floor with exquisite care and went down beside her.

  "I'm sorry, love," he murmured against the curve of her neck. "I can't make it any further."

  In answer she lifted her head, trailing quick, fiery kisses across his jaw and down the corded tendons of his neck. Her hands slipped down his sides, to grasp at his hips and pull him against her. He gasped as his heated flesh slid over the silken skin of her stomach.

  "Travis, please," she said again. "I don't want to wait anymore…"

  He groaned, lifting himself over her. "Neither do I. God, neither do I."

  He slid between her slender thighs, his body probing, seeking her heat. He paused then, looking down at her, hovering on the brink of what he'd waited so many years for.

  "Look at me, Nicole," he said thickly.

  She lifted lashes still spiked with water from the tub. She wanted to look away from the intensity in his eyes, but as his hot, rigid flesh began to slide into her, she knew he was right, that there should be no concealment between them, that this was only the culmination of all the sharing that had gone before.

  And then he was inside her, driving hard and deep and home. Her cry of shocked pleasure blended with his hoarse exclamation as he sheathed himself in her heat. He filled her, stretching her, driving her upward until her hands clenched convulsively on his back as he thrust again and again. She writhed beneath him, caught in a flaming web of sensations she'd never known before.

  She couldn't take any more, couldn't take all of him, she knew it, she was filled to bursting. Then he moaned her name, low and deep, and she knew she could never have enough. She arched up to him, taking him deeper, and her hands slid down his back, at last fulfilling that need to curl around the taut curve of his buttocks. She clutched at him as the muscles there flexed with every driving penetration.

  "Oh, Nicki! Nicki-ee-ee…"

  He'd never called her that. And now, uttered as he bucked wildly against her, gasping out his passion, the nickname everyone else used became something rare and precious. Then, impossibly, she felt him swell inside her, felt him shudder, and gasp her name once more. The sound itself seemed to propel her upward, until she was quivering helplessly.

  "Let go, Nicki," he gasped harshly. "Now."

  She had no choice, not when he sounded like that. Not when his every movement sent wildfire racing through her. She felt him shudder again, then he arched against her, his head flung back as he drove into her one last time. He sent her flying, whirling off into an exploding world of heat and light and pleasure, and she went with joy in her heart and his name shimmering on her lips.

  * * *

  Chapter 11

  « ^ »

  Travis knew he was crushing her, pressing her down into the carpet with his full weight, but he couldn't seem to move. He tried, moving his hands to brace himself, but his arms seemed useless. She had sapped him of all his strength, draining him in that shuddering, violent explosion of pleasure that had been unlike anything he'd ever experienced.

  At last he managed to lift his head to look at her. He opened his mouth to speak, then stopped when he realized that the drops on her face were not from the bath.


  "Nicole? God, did I hurt you? I didn't—"

  He broke off as she shook her head fiercely.

  "Then what…?"

  She shook her head again, and looked away. He turned her chin with a gentle finger. She bit her lip, and Travis felt a sinking, queasy sensation in the pit of his stomach. Was she regretting this, already, when he was still buried deep inside her? How could she? It had been perfect, as right as he'd always known it would be.

  "Nicole? Talk to me, please?"

  "I wish…"

  Wished what? She'd never come here? Never made love to him? Never met him? The queasiness turned to acid, knotting his stomach painfully. But he had to know.

  "You wish what?"

  She looked at him, then, her eyes bright. "I wish I'd waited."

  He froze. She did regret it. His jaw clenched and he looked away, unable to look at the gleam in her eyes that he knew came from tears.

  "I'm sorry," he said, low and quiet. "I should have known it was too soon. I should have stopped."

  "No!"

  Startled, his head came up. "That's not what I meant."

  He looked at her, bewildered. When she spoke again, her voice was a soft, feathery caress, made all the more precious for its shyness, and by the color tinging her cheeks.

  "I meant I wish I had waited for you. To be … the first."

  Travis sucked in a sharp breath, then closed his eyes, afraid he was going to lose the fight to control the emotion her simple words had aroused in him. His throat tightened until he could barely breathe, and he had to blink rapidly against the stinging of his eyes.

  "God, Nicole… If you only knew how that makes me feel."

  It made him feel as if he could take on the world. At the least, he could move, and he gathered her into his arms and got up. She draped her arms around his neck, letting her head loll against his chest. She began to press tiny kisses over his breastbone, then let her tongue creep out to taste his skin.

  "Nicole," he said warningly.

  "What?" she murmured, leaning forward to trail her tongue across his chest, ending with a teasing flick at his nipple. She felt him nearly miss a step, then his arms tightened convulsively around her.