by Pamela Aares
“I believe I’ll have to have this dress off you too.”
The light dancing in her eyes was all the go-ahead he needed.
He knelt and ran his fingers from her ankles to her upper thigh, the shiver of her muscles under his hands shooting blood straight to his groin. He spread his hands, using the backs of them to lift her dress up along her legs and to her hips. And then he stopped. She wasn’t wearing panties. His tip of his erection throbbed hard against the buckle of his belt.
“My, my,” he said, stroking one hand up the tender flesh of her thigh, enjoying the quiver that followed the path of his caress. “I didn’t get my dessert tonight. I believe I just might have to taste while I’m down here.”
He used his finger to part her already soft, moist cleft, finding the hard nub that told him she wanted him as much as he wanted her. He bent and tasted, laving in gentle circles. He slid his free hand behind her, spreading his palm to grasp her warm flesh, then pulled her tight against his mouth. Her moan and the sweet, salty taste of her nearly drove him to the brink. He circled his tongue again, slowly and deliberately, learning her taste, learning what she liked. The shudder that racked her as she fisted her hands in his hair told him he’d hit his mark. He pulled his face away and admired the dark curls that he’d parted to give him access to her pleasure spot. He slipped one hand between her legs and rubbed slowly while he used the other to lift her dress. But when he reached her breasts, he paused.
“I believe I’ll have to taste here too.” She convulsed when his finger glided into her. “Would you like that, Zoe?’
She nodded, her eyes dark with pleasure and want. He liked that. Maybe too much. He’d never imagined wanting a woman like he wanted her.
“Tell me you’d like it, Zoe.”
He put a second finger inside her and flicked a slow circle around her clit with his thumb.
She shuddered and fell back across the bed, eyes wide, and her breath gasping and shallow.
“Yes.” Her voice had the soft, ragged edge of want.
The dress draped around her upper body like a silver bandana. He stood to pull the soft silk up, and Zoe stretched her arms over her head to help him. He tossed the dress to the floor.
Then he bent and touched his lips to the cusp of her ear. “Yes, what? What would you like?”
He sank back to his knees and traced his finger through her slick, pink folds. His erection turned to steel.
She was magnificent.
Before she answered, he stood again. Then he kicked off his boots and stripped off his pants and briefs. His erection sprang free.
She leaned up on her elbows. “You, Cody. Like I said, I want you. And I want you now.”
He ran his hand along the length of his erection and watched her eyes flare. Women liked to see men touch themselves. That had been a darn fine discovery. But another minute and he’d lose control. He couldn’t have that. Control was his master tool.
He bent down and pulled a condom from the back pocket of his jeans, ripped it open and rolled it on. She watched his every move, only scooting back when he moved toward the bed. Her hands went over her head again, this time to grab pillows and toss them across the room.
He chuckled and then stroked up her legs as he joined her on the bed. “Now, where were we?”
“Cody, you’re making me crazy.”
He smiled. “That’s what I like to hear.”
She tugged at his hand and tried to pull him onto her. He knelt between her legs, nudging her thighs open with his knees. He bent over her and cupped her breasts in his hands, and the warm weight and beauty of them made his balls pull up. She let out a soft cry and tried once again to pull him onto her. With a quick movement, he pinned her arms above her head.
“Did I tell you that you’re beautiful?”
“ Cody.”
He laughed at her attempt to be stern.
“That’s my name, yes.” He released her hands and leaned down onto his forearms until his chest brushed the tips of her breasts. Watching her face, he eased his erection along her cleft, stroking, pressing the full length against her soft flesh. A quiver rushed through him as she gasped his name again. Even through the condom he could feel her under his shaft, her softness and the tight pearl that said she was as aroused as he was. The heat that beckoned and promised an explosion of pleasure. For a brief moment he was able to tease at her opening—rubbing, ratcheting up her desire—and push back the driving, screaming urge to plunder. He lowered his head and teased her lips open with his tongue. Then she arched up with an almost feral cry. Waiting became impossible. He swiveled his hips and drove into her, taking her moan into his mouth. With the strength of his body, he began to rock slowly, rhythmically. He broke off their kiss and pressed himself up, just enough so he could watch her orgasm build. And as she met him move for move, they began a dialogue without words, a language spoken only by the body. He loved the powerful wordless connection that gave sex its buzz. But the last thought that touched him was the awareness that the intimacy he felt with Zoe was unlike any other experience in his life. When she wrapped her legs around him, gripping tight, and cried out in a voice of heart-stopping, primal pleasure, her body shuddering with her release, that awareness exploded in a sea of hot, unimaginable intensity.
“I’m crushing you,” Cody said as he pushed onto his elbows and lifted his weight from Zoe. As he eased out of her, a strange, empty feeling crept over her. It was so strange, so foreign, she had to catch her breath. Cody brushed a kiss to her lips, stared into her eyes and then swept his hand along the curve of her jaw. He sat up and removed the condom. Her insides clenched at the sight of his still-hard erection.
She watched as the soft light from her chandelier cast rippling shadows on the broad muscles of his back when he stood and walked into her bathroom.
The man was physical perfection.
She heard the water run, heard his movements near the sink. Every sound echoed, hollow and odd. Shouldn’t she feel thrilled? Sated? Joyful? She’d just had the best orgasm of her life; the shuddering release still danced in her, teasing her senses. But a floating, vacuous feeling settled around her heart like a dim fog. He’d pleasured her, no doubt about that. But she’d sensed that though she’d been lost in the glory of their lovemaking, he’d held back, maintained control, held tight to some sort of boundary.
And why not?
She’d imagined holding to just such a boundary herself—enjoy his amazing body and meet desire with desire. Enjoy a night of blissful pleasure without getting caught up in any emotional complications. And she had. At least the enjoying the pleasure part. And what woman wouldn’t with a man who looked like a god, made love like a stud, and seemed to care more for her pleasure than his own?
But having sex with Cody had been so much more than pleasure. Something in her had broken free of its bounds. All the emotion she’d dammed up since her mother’s death and the drastic uprooting from Rome had rushed out when Cody filled her, flooding her. She’d known, somewhere deep in her being, that opening to him would feel like that. She’d ignored the quiet voice telling her, warning her, that keeping her feelings for him at arm’s length might be harder than she’d imagined.
He returned with a warm washcloth and gestured to her. She took it from his hand, not able to bear the intimacy of him washing her, not now, not while her feelings were so raw.
He sat on the edge of the bed, perhaps sensing her reticence. She pushed up onto her elbows and twisted until she was nestled in the pillows piled against her headboard. With the warn washcloth in one hand, she used the other to pull the sheet up to cover her breasts. He looked away, giving her time to use the washcloth. She stroked its warmth between her legs and drew in a breath, letting it out in a soft sigh.
“Hey,” he said, turning back to her and taking the washcloth from her hand. He studied her face as he dropped it to the rug beside the bed. “You okay?”
“Yes.”
“You don’t look okay.”
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What was it about him that made her want to bare her soul?
She leaned back against her pillows and traced the small scar along his jaw. “How’d you get such a scar?” she asked, striking out for something, anything, to beat back the tide of emotion washing through her.
“That’s a story for another time,” he said.
“It’s your only imperfection,” she said, conjuring a smile that she hoped would lighten her mood.
To her relief, he laughed lightly. “Hardly. Wait till you get to know me better.”
The thought of knowing him better stirred the fog inside her, and she felt the mist rise and engulf her heart. She really needed to get a grip.
He watched her face as she attempted to school her features. She wished Alex hadn’t told her about Cody’s remarkable ability to read people, about his almost unbelievable aptitude to anticipate the thoughts of hitters and then call for pitches that would confound them. She wanted to doubt that he knew the effect he had on her. But as he scooted across the bed and pulled her against his warm body, she knew that all the wishing in the world wouldn’t wish away such a core trait, such an unimaginable sensitivity.
Her cheek pressed against his chest, and the steady beat of his heart pulsed against her skin. He stroked his hand gently along her arm. And to her horror, she burst into tears, tears that she’d thought she’d cried, emptied out, months before.
He cradled her as she fought to control her sobs. But they rose in waves that wouldn’t be turned back. He rested his chin gently against the top of her head and rocked her as sobs racked her body.
And then he started to hum, the quiet, gentle, almost otherworldly melody he’d hummed to her horse that day in the barn. And to her surprise, her body quieted and her sobs slowed, dissolving as she drew in longer breaths.
“I’m so sorry.” She sniffed self-consciously. She pulled away from him and hugged her knees. And opened her mouth to say that she wasn’t a very good date, that bawling uncontrollably in his arms was a poor way of celebrating the bliss he’d shown her. But before she could, he put his finger to her lips.
“Don’t be.”
His voice was like a velvet cape she could snug around her and burrow into for comfort. He closed his hand around hers and lowered it from her knees. She stared at his fingers, feeling the warmth of his palm, the steady beat of his pulse against her. There was magic there, in his hands. With his other hand he tipped her face to his.
“Want to tell me?”
She shook her head. She’d learned early on that when most people asked how she was doing, they didn’t really want to know. They thought that after several months had passed since her mother’s death, she should be pulling herself up and getting on with daily life
He grasped a corner of the sheet and dabbed at her cheeks. She felt his strength, his concern. His patience.
“I’m a good listener,” he said with the gentlest, most honest smile she’d ever seen.
“It’s not a happy story.”
“Some of the best stories aren’t. Try me.”
“I don’t know. It’s just that no matter how I try, no matter how many times I tell myself that I should be grateful, that I should be strong, that I should be over it, I can never walk through to the other side. I can’t get through the deep grief and into the next stage of mourning.”
“You mean about your mother.”
He held her gaze. It was as if his presence, his witnessing of her feelings, had crafted a bridge out in front of her, a bridge she could step onto to find her way forward. God, how she wanted to take new steps. Steps that had the spring of exuberance for the life that she once knew.
The dammed-up feelings she’d held in for so long began to flow, this time in unstoppable words.
“Watching my mother die shook everything I’d ever known about life. In the months when she was so sick, I wanted to be there for her. She didn’t want to pretend that she wasn’t going to die. But it was almost impossible for me to give up my notion that if I just tried hard enough, she wouldn’t go.
“For months after her memorial I was so consumed with memories that they crowded out my thoughts. I was so submerged by my deep, intense longing for her that I thought I would go mad. I felt like I was drowning, slipping away from life. And I was afraid to talk about her death, to talk about her pain, perhaps afraid that the water would rise and sink the fragile boat I was trying so hard to row forward.
“So I clamped on to the familiar: the house and horses, my friends, Mama’s favorite shops. And when my father announced that he was moving all of us to California, I soldiered on. I couldn’t bear the thought of anything happening to Papa. You’ve seen him—he still hasn’t come up for air. He’s still in a deep, dark space, lighting matches as fast as he can. He still thinks he can direct outcomes, fix everything, keep all of us from ever facing the abyss.”
Cody’s eyes darkened as she spoke about her father.
“Sometimes action, a driven focus, keeps us from falling apart,” he said.
She thought about the gallery, about how working on it had begun to shift her out of her shock, had given her something to work for, something of value that connected her to her mother, a project that would return her to Rome, to the place that spoke to her heart, the only place that felt like home.
“I know these things take time,” he said softly, drawing her back from her still-forming thoughts. “And don’t get me wrong—I mean, this may not be the right thing to say—but I’m sure she wouldn’t want you to grieve forever.”
Zoe shuddered. And then her breath caught.
His brows drew together when he narrowed his eyes. “I may be a good listener, but I can see I’ve made a scrambled mess of this. I just thought that—”
“No, you’re right. You’re so right.” She shivered again, the sensation raising goose bumps on her arms. “And if you hadn’t just said what you did, I might not have ever recalled what I’m about to tell you. It’s as if the experience had slid back and away from me, out of my consciousness, and just now you brought the memory back. Thank God you brought it back.”
She rolled up to her knees, facing him, and grabbed his hand. “I’ll tell you if you promise you won’t think I’m crazy.”
“Cross my heart.”
“Does that mean you promise?”
He grinned. She loved his easy grin. There wasn’t a man in Italy who could grin like that. But he might not be grinning after he heard what she had to say. Promise or not, she was taking a risk. He might conclude she was actually crazy.
And maybe she was. What she’d just remembered...
He took her hand in his. “I promise.”
Her heart thundered in her chest as she struggled to call back the images, the moment, the unbelievable feelings she’d nearly buried. He stroked his thumb along the back of her hand, encouraging her. She lifted his hand to her lips. God how she loved his hands. On her. Around her.
He caressed her jaw with his other hand. “You were about to tell me something.”
She leaned into the curve of his palm and closed her eyes. If there was magic in the world, it was here in her room. Between them.
He pulled his hands away and sat back, resting his hands on her knees.
“About a week after I returned from Argentina and many weeks before I met you, I rode out in the hills to paint. As I stood at my easel, I felt an odd dizziness come over me, but I didn’t fall. And then light began to shimmer all around me—it was like it had wings and was flying and dancing and laughing. And I understood that she was out there—my mother—out of my reach, but enduring. And at that very moment, almost as if it was carried to me, borne on the light, I heard a voice, a voice so real that I turned to look for its source. The voice told me that she wouldn’t want me to grieve forever.”
Zoe took in a breath, watching his face. He didn’t blink, only nodded.
“It was your voice, Cody, I know that now. And I don’t even believe in such things. I... well.
..” She fought for the words. “Remembering that moment, letting myself understand what it meant, I feel that the dread that has cloaked me, weighing on me, is lifting. That the worst is behind me and that I can find my way.”
She fluttered her hand in the air.
“Meeting you warmed me, Cody, made me want to reenter life.”
“I like warming you.”
She rocked forward onto her knees and put her palm against his cheek. “You have no idea how much I like you warming me.”
He brushed a strand of hair from her face, then kissed her, gently, slowly, and as his hands roamed her body, luring pleasure as he stroked and kissed, she fell back across the bed and drifted in the wordless ecstasy of lovemaking, floating like a cloud—light, free and forever changed.
Chapter Eighteen
The sound of a door clicking shut snapped Cody out of his dream.
“I brought breakfast,” Zoe said as she eased down to sit on the edge of the bed and slide a tray between them. “You were so deep in sleep I didn’t want to wake you.” She gestured to the tray. “And I thought you might prefer to avoid the mayhem in our kitchen.”
Cody sat up and dragged a hand through his hair. Embarrassment slapped at him. Hours of the best sex of his life had sunk him into a deep, dream-filled sleep. Mighty deep if he hadn’t sensed Zoe wake and leave the room.
She was already fully dressed in riding pants and a sweater. No makeup. But there was no mistaking the glow lighting her features. At least he could feel good about that.
“There’s coffee.” She nodded toward the tray. “And toast.” The uncertain tone of her voice told him she was as unaccustomed to the situation as he was.
In the morning light, her eyes took on a deep green hue dappled with flecks of gold. He’d always thought the beautiful women portrayed in paintings by the old masters were composites, that no women like the ones in the paintings he had to study in college really existed. But Zoe was proof that they were real.