But the first possibility of a clue in six weeks of frustration seemed curiously unimportant.
And his first taste of love in as many years was bittersweet.
Chapter Six
Moonlight caught the lavender satin of her robe, turning it to muted silver. With each step the ribbon-bound hem flared around her feet, almost brushing the top of the ground as she passed. Elleny kept her eyes focused on the path before her, although they occasionally strayed to the garage apartment window where a soft, golden glow beckoned her like a bonfire on a foggy night.
There was a hollow feeling in her stomach, and her heart was beating like hummingbird wings. It had seemed so simple in the sanctuary of her bedroom. Needing, wanting, loving all blended into a perfect rationale that had led her through the shadowed house and outside. Her destination was Phillip’s arms, although she wasn’t sure he would allow her in.
No complications, he’d told her that afternoon, and she’d thought of little else since. But thinking hadn’t eased the empty ache of wanting him past the point of reason, and no amount of reasoning had altered her strengthening belief that she loved him. And despite what he’d said, she believed he loved her, too.
Maybe his divorce had been more traumatic than he’d made it sound. Maybe that was his reason for being so cautious of relationships. Of all the possibilities that had occurred to her, that one seemed the most likely. Although it still didn’t quite fit with her perception of him.
Elleny reached the bottom of the stairs and paused to look up at the closed door. The risk she was taking rippled through her and settled jellylike in her knees. She had no experience with this sort of thing. Going to Phillip and honestly, openly telling him she wanted to make love was a little bit frightening. But in her own room she had reached the conclusion that it was more frightening not to go.
There were no guarantees in life or in loving. Promises could be broken, commitments could be violated, but memories couldn’t be taken away. She was willing to wager the pain of losing against the possibility of happiness, and regardless of the outcome, she would have no regrets in the years to come.
Taking a deep breath of conviction, she started up the steps, her nylon slippers a mere whisper in the darkness.
* * * *
Inside the studio Phillip lay on the daybed staring at the square of night sky visible through the skylight overhead. With hands clasped behind his head, the sketchpad balanced tent-like across his bare stomach, he bent one pajama-clad leg at the knee and ruffled the already scattered sheets with his foot. He probably ought to get up to turn off the light, but why should he bother?
What difference did it make if the room was dark or well lighted? His mind would chase the same restless questions, his body would know the same tense longings. Elleny. Elleny. Elleny. It was a litany of all his senses, repeated over and over with soft persistence. What was she thinking as she lay in her solitary bed? Was she asleep? Awake? Dreaming?
He pressed his head against the pillow, massaging the muscles in his neck in a rotating motion. He had never before thought so much about one woman—the way she looked, the way she moved, smiled, spoke, even the way she felt to his touch. He’d never even thought it was possible to fall fathoms deep in love ... until today. And now he wondered why he hadn’t recognized the feeling sooner.
Ironic that he should admit how deeply, irrevocably he loved Elleny on the same day he’d denied the physical need to make love to her. She hadn’t understood his mumbled excuse of no complications. He hadn’t really understood it either, but as with so many other things, it had seemed necessary. And now the opportunity might not come again.
The moment of truth was approaching with the surety of the sunrise. He’d retrieved the sketchpad from the SUV earlier that evening, and within a half hour he was staring at the concrete evidence he needed – an incomplete, but almost perfect sketch of the van Warner original.
He inhaled. The sketchpad shifted and slid from his stomach to fall between the mattress and the wall and then slipped the rest of the way to the floor beneath the bed. Phillip started to retrieve it, then decided not to bother. Settling more comfortably into his meditative position, he frowned at a star winking brightly a world away.
So now, he thought, he had proof that Mark Damon had copied the van Warner at least once. There was no indication of where the original watercolor might be hidden, but Phillip was certain he was closing in on the painting. It was only a matter of time.
And what about Elleny, his heart persisted. When was he going to be honest with her? And once he’d told her, would she turn to him for comfort, for help in dealing with the inevitable disillusionment? Or would she turn from him and not look back?
A sound, soft and indecisive, made him stiffen. Then he sighed the tension away and wearily rubbed his eyes. He’d been hearing noises all evening – imagining noises.
It was just a symptom of his unsettled mood. Nothing more.
The knock was louder, definite this time, and Phillip was on his feet so quickly his soles stung from their sudden contact with the floor. Rubbing a shaky hand along his jaw, he tried to retrieve his presence of mind from the instinctive reaction to being startled. It was after midnight. Who…?
No.
He looked at the door.
The knock came again, this time accompanied by a quiet, feminine whisper. “Phillip? Are you awake?”
Elleny. It was Elleny.
He glanced around for his robe, eventually found it hanging from the hook on the back of the bathroom door, and hastily pulled it on. His hand grappled for the end of the tie belt as he made his way toward the door, stopped to rake suddenly nervous fingers through his hair, and then turned the knob to open the door.
“Elleny...?” The word rushed past his lips and dropped into the vacuum of sound that abruptly surrounded him. There was nothing, no one, except this moment.
Elleny stood before him, captured in moonlight and shadow, delicate, lovely as an orchid awaiting the final, perfect touch of dawn. Dark curls tumbled past her shoulders, her eyes were wide and softly brown in the pool of light that swept past him to encircle her. His grip on his robe slackened, and he felt the pounding, deafening rhythm of his pulse.
“Is … Is something wrong?” It was a vacant question, void of meaning, unnecessary because he knew why she was here. But it seemed important to say something.
Elleny breathed again. At least he’d opened the door. And it was still open. The tip of her tongue glided over lips that felt incredibly weak. “No.” She meant to say more, to explain, but her voice hovered, captive, in her throat.
Phillip nodded in understanding of what she didn’t say, and an evanescent smile rewarded him. He stepped back, making room for her. “Do you want to come in?”
“Yes, thank you.” She walked through the doorway, and the sound of the lock flooded the studio with privacy. A shiver coursed a path to her fingertips, and she turned nervously, one hand moving to touch the ribbon-bound lapel of her robe. Phillip stood only inches from the door, as if he were considering the advisability of getting too far from the exit.
The corner of her mouth lifted with the thought, and the feeling of shyness ebbed a little. He looked devastatingly disheveled. His hair was uncombed, his jaw wore the faint promise of tomorrow’s whiskers, his black, terry cloth robe gaped open to reveal the crinkly growth of dark chest hair. The pajama trousers he wore were a soft, wrinkled blue, loose-fitting and somehow ... risqué. Her brows arched in approval, but she frowned with insecurity when her eyes met his.
What should she say? What should she do? The awareness, the awful possibility that she might be wrong, that he might not want her, spun from one corner of her thoughts to another. All the right things to say, the appropriate way to conduct a seduction, had come to mind so easily when she’d been alone. All was forgotten now when she faced rejection eye to eye.
“What can I offer you, Elleny?” He crossed his arms over his chest, an action diametrically
opposed to the low, sensuous suggestion in his voice. “Coffee? Conversation? A few complications?”
Searing, spiraling heat streaked across the pocket of air between them, unexpected, a little frightening, a lot thrilling, like a faraway flash of lightning in an otherwise black midnight. The undefined restlessness that had been a part of her ever since the first moment she’d met his dark gaze took shape and gave her courage. “No complications, Phillip. Just tonight.”
“And?”
She swallowed the awkward knot of self-consciousness and faced him with dignity. “You. Tonight. Nothing more.”
Phillip closed his eyes and then opened them slowly to reassure himself that this was indeed real. He’d thought he knew this woman, the nuances of her personality, the boundaries of her behavior. But he’d never dreamed she would come to him, wanting him badly enough to overcome her innate innocence of spirit. Or was it because of that innocence she could face him, honestly communicating her needs and emotions to him?
He had been much less than honest with her, and now he was trapped between trust and deception. She trusted. He had deceived. It was too late for regrets. Or forgiveness. Whatever he did at this point would end in betrayal of the trust shining so clearly in her eyes. This was hardly the time for a confession, even if he had the resolution to make one. And silence was as fraudulent as any single lie he might have told her.
He moved toward her, stopped, raked unsteady fingers through his hair, once and then again.
“Elleny.” He looked at the floor, looked back to her, saw embarrassment warm her cheeks and knew her intention almost before she did. He caught her wrist as she whirled toward the closed door, and at the touch of her silken skin beneath his fingertips, he lost all semblance of reason.
“Let go,” she whispered hoarsely. “I shouldn’t have come.”
There were tears in her voice, and suddenly, he was angry. Angry with himself for letting the situation reach this point. Angry with Mark Damon for deceiving Elleny in the first place. And angry with her because she had loved a man so obviously unworthy.
Why did she have to be so damn trusting?
He pulled her against him with unnecessary force and took her lips with an inexplicable need to punish. But one taste, one moist, trembling taste of her, and his anger vanished, vanquished by the strength of an emotion he had always deemed as weakness. His arms were gentle around her, and the kiss he’d begun as punishment became a sweet penitence. And then a tender, urgent desire.
His mind reeled. His body ached. She was so pliant, so willing, her lips responding eagerly like a tree that bends to the wind. She pressed her slender, willowy body against him only far enough to entice and entangle his senses before her arms wove a seductive trap around him. But he wouldn’t leave her now, couldn’t move away from her if he’d wanted.
How could he have lived alone for so long without realizing the hollow core of his contentment? If he hadn’t met Elleny, would he have spent the rest of his life in an increasingly cynical shell of solitude? Never knowing, never dreaming there was more? So very much more.
His hands moved to cup the curve of her hips and press her against the throbbing ache she’d created. Cotton-covered thigh met satin in a sensual mating of intent and promise. The sleek material of her robe teased his seeking fingertips, yielding to his touch and then slipping out of his grasp with the elusive ease of mercury.
It was frustrating, exhilarating, and elicited a fleeting memory of his first encounter with sexual desire – when passion and satiation were all that mattered, when there was nothing beyond the frantic rush to possess and assuage.
The flash of remembered youth faded into the knowledge that maturity brought self-control. He hadn’t known that hot, eager ache of wanting in years. That he should experience it now, with Elleny, whom he desired on so many different levels, was an oddly sweet realization and he softened the demanding pressure of his lips, wanting to slow the pacing, to enjoy the moments, to celebrate this communion of body and spirit.
He parlayed a series of zephyr-like kisses into a breathtaking reward of murmured delight. From the corner of her mouth he followed the contours of her cheek to the shadowed softness of her throat. Leaving one hand to shape and maintain the close contact of their lower bodies, he stroked the curve of her spine, feeling the cool, lustrous satin, imagining the warm, silken flesh beneath. He wrapped his fingers in thick strands of sable hair and returned to the tempting fullness of her lips.
Elleny balanced on tiptoe and relaxed into his strong, supporting arms. There was an agonizingly tender sensation stirring within her, a beautiful heat enveloping her. Had she forgotten the pleasures to be found in loving? Or had she truly never before felt this magic consummation of her senses?
Yes, she thought as his tongue circled her own in a duel of tantalizing promise. She had almost forgotten the simple splendor in sharing her body with a man she loved. But she had never loved anyone in quite the same way she loved Phillip, either. She wanted to touch and caress, excite and possess him. She wanted to demonstrate the love that was just coming into season in her heart.
Her hands slipped beneath his robe to discover the coarse, masculine feel of his chest. She pressed a palm flat against his racing heartbeat and let the constant, quick rhythm flow into her. Her fingers feathered lower to push aside the cumbersome robe and trace the muscular curve of his waist, but they hesitated when her knuckles brushed the elastic waist of his pajama trousers. After a moment shyness lost its bid to desire, and she slid her hand beneath the fabric in bold exploration.
His reaction was immediate – a sharp intake of breath, a low groan of pleasure, and then his hands at her waist, lifting her out of the crushing closeness and setting her back a mere whisper away. Elleny met his eyes and saw the wonder she felt reflected there.
He placed his hand on her shoulder while he stroked her hair and touched her cheek with his other hand. His gaze never left hers, and in his velvet dark eyes she thought it might be possible to drown in yearning. Her body was taut with need, an inner fire burned low and hot within her, but the interlude would not be hurried. And she wouldn’t have wanted it to be any different. Elleny felt the smile coming before ever it curved her lips … lips that were kiss-swollen and rosy from his touch.
“Time-out already, Phillip?” Her brows arched in sudden teasing curiosity, and her fingers danced a playful arabesque amidst the dark curls on his chest. “And to think I was worried about being able to seduce you.”
“Elleny.” It was a murmur of surprise, laced with a definite thread of pleased discovery. His thumb brushed the corner of her smile as his eyes gathered a spark of mischief. “You were right to worry.”
Happiness swirled lazily through her veins. “Really?” She let the word fade into innuendo as her gaze dropped to his waist, but he caught her chin to keep her from looking lower and proving her point.
He sobered then and bent slowly toward her, brushing her lips once and then again, carefully, with a reverence that echoed in the waiting hush of her soul. When he drew back this time, it was only to give himself enough room to release the clasp of her robe and slide it from her shoulders. It fell to her feet in waves of lavender, revealing the diaphanous gown beneath—a gown of palest lilac anchored by narrow ribbon straps. A gown without form that took its shape and its beauty from the woman who wore it.
Phillip caught his breath and let his palm drift in slow wonder from her shoulder to the rounded slope of her breasts and lower to the slight flare of her hips. His hand followed the curvature of her stomach, lingered there, and then wandered upward, pulling the translucent fabric with him.
She trembled at his touch, and he, in turn, trembled at the tactile pleasure of soft fingertips caressing his shoulders. As he cupped her breast in his palm, her hands wandered down the muscular terrain of chest and stomach to sketch control-shattering circles along his inner thigh.
Phillip paused to gaze into her eyes, to wonder at the emotion, the passion wit
hin him that was building and churning like a storm on the edge of a summer sky. He was enchanted and aroused by this new, provocative Elleny. Her boldness stirred his desire, and yet, somehow the very fact that she had come to him in a gown of gossamer seduction betrayed her natural shyness. She could have worn nothing beneath the satin robe. The result would have been the same.
Yet the very fact that she had chosen the gauzy gown told him how carefully she had planned, how much she wanted to please him.
The thought wrapped his heart in poignant tenderness, and he lifted her into his arms, holding her tightly to him, exulting in the clasp of her hands at the back of his neck. He kissed her then, a long, searching, searing kiss that left him weak and hungry for more.
So very much more.
Carrying her to the bed, he knelt on the edge of the mattress and lowered her. Then he straightened and smoothed the gown around her, allowing his hands to caress and hold her warmth. With a fingertip he traced one ribbon strap and then strayed to discover the silky hollow between her breasts.
Her sigh was a quivery breath of need, but Elleny lay still, savoring the torturous deliberation of his loving. Her hands would not be still, though, and roamed along his arms. She wanted to know every part of him in the same way she knew a treasured book or favorite song. She longed to be a part of those things he cherished.
He bent his head and kissed her breast. The fabric of her gown clung to her nipple with tantalizing wetness while he duplicated the same arousing circle at the other breast. She felt excessively hot and aching. One sensation followed another, rippling through her and pooling into a molten heat low in her body.
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