by Cindy Gerard
“I’m not asking for promises, Colin. I know you’re going to leave. It’s okay. I’m not asking for anything but this moment.”
More than when she’d first entered the room, he saw the measure of her vulnerability. The asking was hard for her. The denial was killing him. Still, he gave it one more try.
“I don’t want to hurt you.”
She blinked hard. Looked at the hands folded tightly together on her lap. Met his eyes again. “The only way you could hurt me is if you turned me away.”
He’d been looking for an excuse. She’d just given it to him. And in that moment he hated himself for his weakness.
“If I was half the man I ought to be, I’d have convinced you to be gone by now. But I can’t fight this. Not any longer. I want you too much. I have from the beginning.”
Relief. Anticipation. Desire. He saw everything she was feeling through her eyes. Everything but the one thing that should be there. Regret.
Tomorrow she’d be sorry. But not today. Today he wouldn’t give her anything to be sorry for. Today he’d give her everything he could as a man.
He held out his hand. Hers was trembling when she placed it in his and let him pull her down to his side.
“So what do you say,” he whispered, in a weak attempt to ease the tension that was suddenly as thick as the storm riding on the air. “Should we try to figure out a way to make two wrongs into a right?”
She nestled against his heat. Trusting. Compliant. Electric with the energy of expectancy. “I say if anyone can do it, we can.”
With a tenderness he’d never felt for a woman, he raised himself on an elbow and looked into her eyes. “You’ll tell me...what you like...what you don’t like. What I can do to please you.”
Her breath was shivery with anticipation. Her smile as fragile as crystal. “Something tells me you already know.”
She was right. He did know. He told her as much when he lowered his head to hers and took her sweet mouth the way he’d been aching to take it since he’d first tasted her that night in the dark. Any lingering fantasy that he could play the white knight and send her away, faded to black with that kiss. He became totally immersed, completely involved in the wonder and the wealth of her responses.
Scarlett sank into his kiss, surrendered to his seduction and the deep, drugging possession of his mouth. His body above hers was hot and strong, pressing her into the mattress, moving in compelling enticement against her.
She ran her hands along the sleek muscle of his back, reveling in the feel of him beneath her fingers, the slight trembling of his arms that spoke of his bid for control.
His mouth was amazingly soft, achingly gentle as he scattered a string of nipping, claiming kisses along her jaw.
“I’ve dreamed of this.” He raised his head, looking into her eyes as his hand forayed lower to glide along the inside of her thigh. “I’ve dreamed of you coming to me in red silk and sweet heat. I’ve dreamed of you beneath me—I’ve imagined you above me,” he whispered and, with a groan of need, shifted and lifted until he was on his back and she was straddling his hips.
She caught her breath, braced her palms on his chest as he reached between them and undid his pants. Shoving them roughly down his legs, he kicked them free.
“Do you have any idea how beautiful you are? No,” he said, reacting to the slight, shy shake of her head. “I don’t think you do.
“Look,” he prompted, turning his head to the mirrored dresser by the bed. “Look at yourself. See why you’ve been driving me out of my mind with wanting you.”
Slowly she did as he asked. She turned her head toward the antique dresser. The mirror was wavy with age, the silvering faded with time. The images caught in its reflection seemed locked, somehow, in another place and era.
Spellbound, she saw the woman and the man together. She knew it was them but felt removed from the picture, somehow—but not from the sensual pleasures his body beneath hers fostered.
The woman in the mirror was wanton and lush. Her cheeks were fired with desire. Her hair, a tumble of red-gold curls, fell seductively over one eye. Tangled and riding high on her thighs, her red silk robe was held in place only by the sash at her waist and the sleeves slipping in soft folds down her arms.
The lapels were parted, baring breasts that were full and proud, flesh the color of ivory, nipples of rose velvet.
“No...don’t look away,” Colin softly commanded when she tore her gaze from the erotic sight. “Look. See how we look together.”
Mesmerized by the huskiness and the heat in his voice, she did as he asked. A shiver of sensual need sluiced through her as she met his silver eyes in the mirror. A shudder of carnal anticipation had her arching her back as he raised his hands, tugged her sash free and, inch by calculated inch, pushed the robe fully open for the pleasure of his gaze—and the touch of his hands.
He was right It was beautiful seeing them together this way. The contrasts were stunning. He was lean strength and bronze muscle. She was soft curves and pliant flesh. His hands were wide, his fingers long as they closed over her breasts and cupped them in his palms. Her hands were small, her fingers fine-boned and delicate as they covered his and she leaned into his kneading touch.
She asked him with the rocking rhythm of her hips, the caress of her hands over his to pleasure her, to love her, to do what he would to ease the ache spreading deep and low inside her.
The heat and length of him nestled against that secret, moist place between her thighs. She dug her knees deeper into the mattress on either side of his hips and pressed herself against him.
With a muffled oath, he reared up in the bed, clasped her ribs in his broad hands and sought her breast with his mouth. He found a nipple and surrounded it, sucking hard, tugging harder, voracious in his passion, greedy in his need.
She cried out, stunned by his intensity. Loving it, feeding it with the press of her breast to his mouth, she knotted her hands in his hair and rocked her hips deeper against his arousal.
He wrenched his mouth away on a ragged groan. “Sweet heaven,” he murmured, nuzzling his mouth between her breasts. “You steal a man’s control.”
With a touch of her hand to his jaw, she tipped his face to hers. “This isn’t about control. This is about what we feel...what we need. And right now I don’t need your control. I need you. Please...please Colin,” she whispered against his mouth. “Please—”
He cut off her plea with the crush of his mouth as he lifted her and, laying her with her head at the foot of the bed, pressed her to her back beneath him.
He didn’t ask where the condom came from. He didn’t even take the time to appreciate her foresight. Instead, he tore it from her hand, ripped it open and sheathed himself.
And then he was inside her. Filling her, stroking liquid velvet and sleek, tight heat. He couldn’t get deep enough. Couldn’t go slow enough to savor and satisfy this insatiable need to possess and pleasure this woman who had become a wanton at his touch.
She threw her arms over her head, gripped the iron foot rail with her hands and braced herself against the thrust of his body. With each pump of his hips she lifted to him. With each withdrawal, she whispered his name and enticed him back with the lushness of her body and the sultry sweep of her lashes.
She brought him to climax with a speed that transcended any experience he’d ever known. The rush was dizzying. The force devastating. It swept over him like a flash fire. Shot through him like the lightning that crackled through the air and set it alive with sizzle and sound.
Beneath him, her lips parted by the force of her cry, she reached the summit with him. Through a haze of consuming pleasure, he watched the sensuous drift of her lashes, was aware of the glorious arch of her back, the white-knuckled grip of her fingers on black iron. Of her trembling, of her sighs. And he knew... even before the last exquisite ripple of release rolled through him, even as she held him deep and snug inside her, he knew he had to have her again.
She awo
ke to the sound of thunder. A distant, rumbling farewell as the storm rolled on to the north, leaving a mellow, cleansing breeze in its wake.
She awoke to the touch of a man. A slow, sensual stroke of callused palm to bare breast that said not goodbye but hello. Hello again, I’m not through pleasing you yet.
“Good.” A sated murmur in her ear. “You’re awake.”
“Ummm.”
A deep, sexy chuckle.
It was too good. Too rich. The sweet friction of his hand on her skin. The gentle tug of his thumb and finger at her nipple. The heat of his breath as his mouth replaced his hand and he made languid, delicious love to her breast.
As pampered as a cat, she stretched, then moaned in sensual abandon as his mouth forayed lower, a gentle nip at the base of her ribs, a lingering kiss at the hollow of her belly.
She raised her head and, through eyes heavy with arousal and electric with anticipation, met his gaze. With a sweep of his dark lashes, he looked up the length of her body. His gray eyes were slumberous and sure, as, watching her face, he dragged his tongue along her hip point and slipped his hand between her thighs.
With a shivery groan, she parted for him, opened for him, then came apart for him as he loved her with his mouth until tears leaked from her eyes and she was crying his name in sensation-induced desperation.
For long moments afterward, he held her. While she trembled and cried and finally laughed self-consciously at her shattering response to his loving.
“You were beautiful,” he insisted, stroking a hand along the length of her back.
She sniffled into the hollow of his throat. “I was out of control.”
He smiled against her temple. “And then some.”
She managed a lazy chuckle. “You’re sounding way too pleased with yourself.”
“Ummm.”
She pushed up on an elbow. Dragging a handful of hair away from her face, she smiled into his laughing eyes. “Somebody’s going to have to put you in your place.”
“Ummm?”
“I think, the sooner the better.”
With an aggression she’d never been confident enough to display, even during the years when her marriage had been good, she proceeded to wipe that cocksure smile off his face—and replace it with one of sheer, unadulterated exhaustion.
Eight
When she awoke again, it was to the light of the oil lamp burning in the window. She sat up slowly and groaned when her body reminded her she’d stretched muscles in ways they hadn’t been stretched in many, many years.
Raking her hair away from her face, she searched the room... and came up empty. She eased carefully off the bed, found her robe on the floor and, still cinching it around her waist, tiptoed barefoot down the back stairs.
She found him in the kitchen. When he spotted her, his face broke into a smile that turned her knees to noodles.
“Hi,” he said, walking toward her.
“Hi, yourself,” she returned shyly, and let him pull her into his arms.
“I thought you were going to sleep through until morning.”
“What...? And leave you to fend for yourself? You must be hungry.”
A dangerous light danced in his eyes. “For many things.”
She couldn’t help it. She blushed.
He couldn’t help it. He laughed, then squeezed her hard before letting her go and returning to the counter.
She leaned a shoulder against the wall, content to simply watch him. He’d pulled on his pants, but nothing more. Bare-chested and barefoot, and breathtakingly beautiful, he moved around her kitchen with the sureness of a man who knew exactly what he wanted to accomplish.
“What are you up to?”
“I’m fixing your dinner,” he said with a roguish grin.
“You’re fixing my dinner? Haven’t you got the roles reversed, here? I’m the innkeeper. I should be—”
“You should be sitting,” he said, promptly walking toward her. He swept her up in his arms and deposited her on the counter with a deliberateness that left no opening for debate. “It’s time, Ms. Morgan, that someone saw to your needs for a change.”
“But—”
“No buts,” he said, and, reading the protest in her eyes, faced off with her. He made a place for himself between her thighs and cupped her face in his palms. “You can fuss till the lake runs dry, but frankly, Scarlett, I don’t give a damn.”
She smiled, feeling sappy, silly and completely enamored with this extraordinary man. “You’ve been waiting for a chance to deliver that line haven’t you?”
He kissed her quick and hard. “Sometimes my originality astounds me,” he said with a deadpan grin. They both knew she’d heard that line a hundred times.
You astound me, too, she told him with her eyes. If not for his originality, for his charm and for being the sweetest, most selfless, most exciting lover a woman could hope for.
“You’ve got a little explaining to do Miz Scarlett.”
His expression had suddenly turned so serious, she frowned. “Explaining?”
“How does a charming, chaste innkeeper, just happen to have—” he reached into the pocket of her robe and pulled out a foil packet “—these so handy?”
“Oh. Those,” she said with a self-conscious little smile.
“Yeah, those.” Tucking the packet into his hip pocket, he draped his wrists over her shoulders as his scowl transformed to a teasing grin.
“We do have a honeymoon suite, you know.”
“And?”
“And it was occupied a week ago.”
He tilted his head. Interest danced in his eyes. Amusement colored his voice. “Well now, that really is original. Instead of chocolates or flowers on the pillows, you provide complimentary condoms.”
She rolled her eyes. “Not quite. I checked the room first thing in the morning after they left, before I’d even gotten dressed... just in case they missed something when they packed.”
“Just in case?”
“Well I do have a teenage daughter. When I found them, I pocketed them before she cleaned the room. I guess I forgot about them.”
“Until today.”
“Until today.”
“Lucky for us you remembered in the nick of time.” He dipped his head and smiled into her eyes. “You’re very pretty when you blush.”
“You’re really enjoying this, aren’t you?”
“What I’m enjoying is you.” To prove it, he kissed her again, long and slow and savoring, before he went back to the business of their dinner.
And as she sat there, watching him prepare salads and take secret peeks into the oven, she let something happen that she knew was the mistake of her life.
She let herself fall in love. Let herself admit that from the beginning she’d felt much more than a physical attraction for this man. Made herself accept that until the end—which for him was little more than a week away, but for her would extend into forever—she would love him.
With a bittersweet longing, she indulged in his attention as he served her in the dining room and charmed her over candlelight and wine, With an ache in her heart, she let him feed her strawberries and whipped cream and lost herself in the sweetness of his kiss when he licked the juice from her lips.
She made herself laugh and play and pretend it wouldn’t end, as she convinced him he needed her help with the dishes that turned into a soapsuds fight. She luxuriated in every nuance of attention, saved every precious memory, savored the richness of his loving, when he took her again to his bed.
In the tender hours before morning, she rose slowly and curled up in a chair across the room. For a long time she sat there, watching him sleep, limned in a ribbon of moonlight that washed in through the window. Watched him stretch and sprawl over the bed in all his golden glory. Listened to the sound of his breathing and, unaware of the tear trickling down her cheek, thought of the loneliness that would come when he was gone.
Morning dawned sunny and warm. After a shared shower th
at turned into another steamy session of lovemaking that sent them back to bed to recuperate, they decided to forgo their morning run and instead, hike to the falls. Colin, equipped with a backpack Scarlett had filled with a picnic lunch, let her lead the way.
The forest was lush and green after the rain. She pointed out dozens of wildflowers, naming them, praising them, asking, didn’t he agree this was just about the prettiest place on earth?
He smiled and agreed. And felt the guilt settle in.
She was trying too hard. She smiled too much. She laughed a little too quickly. He knew the reason. She was already regretting that they’d crossed the line. She was preparing herself for his leaving. And all the while he was trying to come up with excuses to stay... at least for a little while longer. An extra week. Maybe two.
With a muffled oath, he nixed the thought. He couldn’t stay. They’d both known it from the onset. He had a business to get back to. He had his life to get back to. And she had hers to get on with.
“Is this fantastic or what?”
He’d been so engrossed in the futility of his thoughts, he hadn’t realized they’d reached the top of the cliffs. Neither had he been aware of the increased volume of the sound of rushing water.
He crossed the few yards toward her and saw then what she was so taken with. On the other side of the rise, in all its wild, rolling glory, Crimson Falls spilled in a froth of white foam and rippling red water over the cliffs to the lake, five hundred feet below.
And yes, it was fantastic.
So was she.
Backlit by sunshine and an iridescent, arching rainbow that shimmered in the mist from the falls, she looked breathless and vital. And so beautiful that he felt the effect of her smile in ways he couldn’t catalogue or define. No woman had ever touched him as deeply as this one had. No woman had ever moved him as completely.
“Can you imagine anyone wanting to desecrate this beauty with roads and power lines and condominiums?”
He didn’t want to talk about roads or power lines or condos. But he didn’t want to talk about his feelings, either. They were too strong. Too intense. Too real. And totally futile. He was going to leave here. He was going to leave her.