by Diana Palmer
His face pressed against her cheek. She could feel his breath at her ear.
"Thank God we don't have an audience," he whispered huskily. "Stand very still, Dani."
His hands rose, moved to her shoulders. He eased the fabric down her arms with a slow, sinuous, achingly tender pressure. Her heart stopped beating as she felt the blood rush through her veins, felt the coolness of the salty night breeze touching her shoulders, her upper arms, and then her breasts as he slid the fabric to her waist.
She moaned again, a catching of breath that acted on him like a narcotic. He felt his own legs go weak at the wholehearted response she was giving him. Giving to him, when he knew instinctively that she'd never have let any other man do this to her.
"I wish that I could see your eyes," he whispered. He lifted his head and looked down at her shadowed face. His hands slid against her face, her throat. "You're so silky-soft," he said under his breath. His hands slid down her arms and back up, his fingers barely touching, experiencing her skin. "Like warm cream. I can feel you trembling, and it brings the blood to my head, did you know? And that little sound you made when I pulled your dress away from your breasts..." His hands moved back to her shoulders. "Sweet, sweet virgin," he whispered. "Make it easy for me. Lift your arms and let me hold you in my palms."
She stood on tiptoe as his hands began to move over her collarbone. Her hands reached up into his thick, straight blond hair as his thumbs moved down ahead of his palms and rubbed sensually at the hard tips of her
breasts.
She jerked helplessly at the exquisite contact.
"I want to put my mouth on you," he whispered as his lips brushed hers and his hands slowly, achingly, swallowed her, feeling the involuntary tremors that shook her. "All of this is a natural part of lovemaking, so don't be frightened if you feel my teeth. All right?"
"People," she moaned helplessly.
"There was only an old couple down the beach," he
whispered. "They've gone inside now. Dani, Dani, of all the erotic, unbelievably sexy things I've ever done with a woman, this has to be the sweetest!"
She was arching her body toward him, blind and deaf to everything except sensation. Tomorrow, she told her conscience, tomorrow I'll worry about it.
"You want my mouth, don't you, darling?" he said, and with something like reverence he began to run his lips along her throat, down the side of her neck, over her collarbone, her shoulders. "I'm going to make a meal of you right here," he breathed, and all at once she felt his teeth on her and she stiffened and cried out.
"Eric," she moaned, frightened, her hands catching in his hair.
"It's all right," he murmured against her breast. "I wouldn't hurt you for all the world. Relax, darling, just relax. Yes, like that, Dani. Lie down. Lie down, so that I can get to you...."
He was easing her down onto the sand, and she let him, grateful to have some support under her, because the world was spinning around wildly. She clung to him, glorying in the feel of his lips, his teeth, his tongue, as he showed her how inexperienced she really was. By the time he got back to her mouth she was on fire for him.
With fierce enthusiasm she pulled his body down over hers and kissed him back with a naive but satisfying passion. He laughed delightedly against her open mouth and eased his hips over hers. She was his already. "Eric," she ventured shakily.
"What do you want?" he asked, tasting her closed
eyelids.
Her hands went to the front of his shirt, and he lifted
his head. "Do you want to feel me?" She flushed. "Yes." "Unbutton it."
He was heavy, but she loved his weight. Overhead there were hundreds of stars. But all she knew was the unexpected completeness of his passion.
She touched his bare, hair-rough skin with hands that tingled with excitement. She'd never touched a man's body before, but she loved the feel of Dutch's. His muscles were padded, warm and strong, and she could imagine that his strength was formidable.
"Move your hands," he said seconds later, and when she did, he dragged his bare chest roughly over hers, shocking her with the force of desire the unexpected action caused in her body.
"Do you like it?" he asked as he moved sinuously above her.
"I never dreamed..." she began huskily. She was trembling, and so was her voice. "Oh, I want you," she confessed on a sob. "I want you, I want you!"
"I want you, too, little one," he whispered, kissing her softly. "But I can't treat you like a one-night stand. I find I have too much conscience."
Tears were rolling down her cheeks. He kissed them all away, and his tongue brushed the tears from her eyelashes, and she realized suddenly that she hadn't had her glasses on for quite a while.
"My.. .glasses?" she faltered.
"Above your head," he said with a smile. He sat up slowly, catching her wrists to pull her up with him. She was in a patch of light that allowed him a delicious view of creamy, hard-tipped breasts in blatant arousal.
"Oh, you're something else, Miss St. Clair," he said gently. He bent and touched his mouth to the very tip of one breast.
Her breath wouldn't come steadily. She looked down at his blond head. "I.. .we should.. .that is..."
He lifted his head. "Suppose in the morning we get married?"
"M-married?"
He nodded. "Married." He pulled up her bodice with obvious reluctance. Then he reached behind her, retrieved her glasses, and put them back on her.
"But..."
His knuckles brushed one perfect breast lazily, feeling it go hard again. "This isn't going to get better," he said. "By tomorrow we'll be in such a fever that nothing is going to keep us away from each other. I haven't experienced anything this powerful since I was about fifteen. And I'm damned sure you're feeling it for the first time."
"Yes, I know that, but we're strangers," she protested, trying to keep her head.
"We aren't going to be strangers for much longer," he said flatly. "My God, I want you," he ground out. "If you won't marry me, I'm getting the hell out of this hotel tonight, and on the next plane out of Veracruz. Be-
cause I can't bear to be around you without taking you. And I won't take you without marriage."
"But..."
"Am I so unmarriageable?" he burst out. "My God, I've had women propose to me I'm not ugly, I'm well to do, I like dogs and cats, and I pay my bills on time. I'm in fairly decent health, I have friends.. .why in hell won't you marry me?"
"But it's only desire," she began. "Stop trying to be logical," he said gruffly. "I'm not capable of logic when I'm aching like this. I want you. And you want me. For God's sake, put me out of my
misery!"
"Would.. .would we have a divorce if.. .after we.. .if
you..." she began.
"I'm getting older." He got to his feet and drew her up with him. "I travel a lot, you'd have to get used to that. But until now I've never had anyone of my own. 1 like you. I like being with you. And I think we' 11 set fires in bed. It's more than most people start out with. At least we aren't kids who believe in fairy tales like love. I'd rather have a woman who doesn't bore me than an infatuation that wears off."
"And if you fell in love with someone later?" she asked quietly, hearing her dreams die.
'I'll never love again," he said with equal quietness. "But if you do, I'll let you out." He took her hands in Ws. "Yes or no? I won't ask again."
Yes," she said without hesitation. Harriett would Nobody would believe it back home, that she'd
found a man like this who wanted her. All the questions she'd meant to ask went right out of her mind.
He bent and kissed her—without passion and very tenderly. "My full name is Eric James van Meer. I was born in the Netherlands, although everyone calls it Holland, in a place called Utrecht. I lived there until I was in my teens, when I joined the service. The rest, you know, a little. Someday I'll tell you all of it. When I have to."
"That sounds ominous."
He put an arm
around her. "It doesn't have a lot to do with us right now," he said. His arm tightened. "Do you want to be a virgin until tomorrow morning?"
Her lips parted. Her breath came wildly. Of course, she thought, and started to say it. But she couldn't. The words stuck in her throat. She thought of the long night, and her logical mind was booted out of its lofty position by a body that was in unholy torment.
"I want you so much," she said unsteadily.
"No more than I want you," he returned gruffly.
They were in the light of the hotel lobby now. He stopped, turning her toward him. His hands cupped her face and his eyes were dark and hot and full of anguish.
"I was raised a Catholic," he explained. "And in my religion, what I'm going to do to you tonight is a sin. Probably in your religion it is, too. But in the sight of God, for all our lives, I take you for my wife here, now. And tomorrow, in the sight of men, we make it right."
Tears stung her eyes as the words touched her heart. "And I take you for my husband, for better or worse, as long as I draw breath."
He bent and brushed his mouth tenderly over her wet eyes. "In Dutch, we call a married woman Mev-rouw," he whispered.
"Mevrouw," she repeated.
"And darling," he added, smiling, "is lieveling."
"Lieveling," she repeated, smiling back.
"Upstairs," he said, turning her, "I'll teach you some more words. But you won't be able to repeat them in public." And he laughed at her expression.
CHAPTER FOUR
DUTCH'S ROOM WAS NOTHING like Dani's. It overlooked the bay, and its quiet elegance would have suited royalty. She watched him lock the door, and nervously went to stand on the balcony where she could see a lighted ship in port.
The wind blew her hair and her dress, and she felt like a voyager on the brink of a new discovery.
"One of the passenger ships," he remarked, nodding toward the brilliantly lighted vessel. "Beautiful, isn't she?"
"Yes. I don't know much about ships, but I like looking at them."
He lit a cigarette and smoked it quietly. "I used to sail," he said unexpectedly.
She turned, looking up at the stranger who, in less than twenty-four hours, would be her husband and her lover. "Did you?"
"I moved to Chicago about eight years ago," he said. "I have an apartment on the lake, and I had a sailboat. I got drunk one night and she turned over with me. I let her sink."
Her eyes narrowed uneasily as she stared up at him, and he stared back, unblinkingly.
"I'm not an alcoholic," he said gently. "I probably
sound like one to you, with these veiled references to the past. I don't drink often, but there are times when I get black moods. I won't drink around you. Ever."
It sounded as if he were willing to make any compromise, and something warm and soft blossomed inside her. She went close to him, her eyes trusting, quiet and deep. "I can make compromises, too," she said quietly. "I'll live anywhere you like."
He searched her eyes. "I don't mind readjusting."
"Yes, I know, but your work is in Chicago, I gather, or you wouldn't live there."
"My work is international," he said, and scowled. "I don't work out of Chicago. I live there because I have friends there."
"Women friends?" she blurted out.
He only smiled. He finished the cigarette, tossed it into an ashtray and drew her gently against him. "You're going to be the first woman I've been with this year," he murmured with a mocking smile. "Does that answer the question?"
She felt and looked shocked. "But...but don't you need...?" She couldn't find a delicate way to say it.
"I thought I was beyond all that, until you came along," he confessed. "I can't even remember the last time I felt this way about a woman."
"Are you sure you want to marry me?" she asked.
"Don't worry so," he told her, bending to kiss away the frown. "Yes, I want to marry you. I'll still want to marry you in the morning, too. That was no lie to get you in bed with me."
Part of her had thought that, and she lowered her eyes to his collar.
"Second thoughts?" he asked.
Her fingers toyed with the buttons on his shirt. "I'm afraid."
"Yes, I imagine so," he said matter-of-factly. "The first time was hard for me, too. I was nervous as a cat." He laughed.
"I can't imagine you being nervous," she said.
"It was forever ago. But I haven't forgotten. I'll go slowly." He bent and touched her mouth with his, very gently. "I just want you to remember two things. The first is that there are no set rules in this—it all depends on what pleases the people involved. Will you try to keep that in mind?"
She swallowed. "Yes."
"The second thing is that I'm not superhuman," he said softly. "Inevitably, there will come a moment when I lose control absolutely. Hopefully, I can bring you to that point before I reach it. But if not, I'll make it up to you afterward. Okay?"
"It all seems so mysterious," she whispered, as if even the night had ears.
"It won't by morning." His gaze went slowly over her, from head to toe and back up again, and his breathing began to change. "Rosebud," he muttered softly as he suddenly swung her up into his hard arms.
She relaxed a little and burrowed her face into his warm throat. He smelled of expensive cologne, and she loved the strength that made her seem so light in his embrace.
He laid her down on the bed gently. She expected him to start undressing himself or her immediately, and she lay there uneasily, a little frightened.
But he sat down beside her and laughed gently at the look on her face. "What are you expecting, I wonder. That I'll strip you and take you without preliminaries?"
Her eyes firmed. "I'm sorry...."
He touched her mouth with a hard finger. "Think about how it was on the beach, when I bent you back into the sand and kissed you, here." His fingers traveled down to her soft breasts. "And you threw back your head and moaned and begged me."
Her lips parted as she remembered vividly the sensations he'd aroused.
"That's how it's going to be now," he said, bending to her mouth. "Except that this time I'm not going to let you go."
His mouth opened hers with practiced ease, and his warm, callused hands were on her bare back, caressing it slowly and confidently, while all her inhibitions melted slowly away.
Seconds later the dress began to ease away from her body, and she felt his lips follow its downward movement. But she couldn't protest. The fires were burning again, and she moaned as his mouth covered her breasts, tipping at them with a tender pressure that was more arousing than frightening. His mouth followed as the dress merged with her tiny briefs and then was swept downward along with them. Shockingly, she felt his
hands on thighs, on the soft inner skin of her legs, and
her body moved as the edge of his teeth followed the same path. Incredible, she thought through a fog of anguished desire, incredible that people could survive this kind of pleasure!
She wasn't even aware of what he was doing anymore; she was all sensation, all aching hunger. Her eyes were closed, her fists clenched beside her arched neck as his mouth searched her hips and her flat stomach. At the same time he was lazily divesting himself of his own clothing, making it so much a part of his seduction that she didn't even realize he'd done it until finally he slid alongside her and she felt him.
Her eyes flew open and went helplessly down the length of his body before she realized what she was doing. And then it was too late; she couldn't look away. He was glorious. Absolutely the most beautiful sight she'd ever seen, tanned all over without the slightest streak of white, as if he'd sunbathed in the nude all his life.
And meanwhile his hands touched her in a new intimate way. She started to draw away, but his mouth opened hers and his hands began a soft, tender rhythm, and soon she was weeping helplessly against his lips.
In seconds she was trembling and pleading with him. He moved, dragging his aching body into a sit
ting position against the headboard, his dark eyes glittering with frank desire. He lifted her over him and guided her, his body rigid with self-control, his face hard with it.
She gasped at the contact and her hands clenched on his shoulders as she found herself looking straight into his eyes.
"You do it," he told her huskily. "That way you can control the pain."
She started to argue, but she knew that it was becoming unbearable for him. She swallowed down her fear, closed her eyes, bit her lip and moved. She caught her breath and tried again.
"Help me, Eric," she begged, guiding bis hands to her hips. "Please...oh!"
"It's bad, isn't it?" he ground out. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry...." His fingers contracted as his body began to fight his mind. The hunger was exploding in him. He began to tremble, his hands clenched. "Dani...!"
She opened her eyes at the new note in his voice and looked at him. The sight of his face took her mind off the pain. She watched him, fascinated. His eyes opened and found hers. Then his body seemed to take control away from his mind. His face changed, his breathing changed, the movements of his body intensified as she stared into his wild face. He arched and his face contorted, and all at once she realized what she was seeing and blushed wildly.
He was still for an instant, then he shuddered. His eyes opened slowly, looking into hers. His body still throbbed, his breathing unsteady and strained. His hands on her hips became caressing.
"I thought.. .you were dying," she whispered. "I felt as if I were," he whispered back. His voice trembled, like his body, in the aftermath. His eyes searched her face. "You were watching me. Were you shocked?"
"Yes," she confessed, but she didn't look away.
"Was it bad?" he asked.
"Yes. Until I started watching you."
He brought her fully against him, still a part of him, and held her gently, with her face against his damp chest "I think that was what pushed me over the edge," he murmured. "I saw you watching me and my head flew off."