by Bonnie Pega
Libby poked her head out of the bedroom. “Zac, would you mind picking her up and just walking her a minute? She’s tired, but she’s fighting it. She’ll settle down soon, and I’ll only be a few more minutes. Thanks.” She shut the bedroom door again.
Pick her up? She had to be kidding. Didn’t Libby know by now the effect that Zac had on babies? With a grimace he lifted the baby into his arms, this time holding her the way Libby had showed him the other night. He held his breath, waiting for the real wails to begin. Instead, the fussing calmed down to a little whimpers. Then, when Zac offered her the pacifier that she’d been lying on in the baby seat, the crying stopped altogether.
Victoria looked up at him, her tiny mouth working the pacifier furiously. Zac watched as her long, dark lashes—so like her mother’s—fluttered once, twice, then closed. He continued to look down at her. Her skin was so soft—he didn’t think he’d ever felt anything as soft. And she was so tiny. Was it his imagination, or did she look a lot like Libby? She did. She had the same curve to her cheek, the same dark blue eyes, even the same stubborn chin. And her one curl of hair was the same rich dark color.
“Thanks.”
Zac turned around at the softly spoken words, then stared, his mouth suddenly dry. She wore a short red skirt with a matching short top, both made of soft cotton T-shirt fabric that outlined the lush curves beneath. But that wasn’t the only thing that made his heart pound and his palms begin to sweat.
It was the gold thong sandals she wore on her sexy bare feet that revealed the bright red polish on each and every toenail. Zac wasn’t sure, but he thought he groaned.
“Why don’t you put Cupcake in her crib?” Libby asked, and led the way down the hall: He gently lay Victoria down on her tummy in her crib. Libby tucked a soft pink and green flannel sheet over the baby’s bare legs and turned out the light. “Thanks for getting her to sleep for me. She settled right down once you picked her up.”
Zac shook his head ruefully and followed her into the kitchen.
Dinner went well. At least Zac thought so. He didn’t remember a thing he’d eaten. He couldn’t keep his attention on his food—or off her long, long legs and delectable toes. But it wasn’t just that.
Every word she said, every gesture she made, was engraved on his mind. If he lived to be a hundred and ten, he didn’t think he’d forget the way her hair cascaded down her back or the way her eyes lightened and sparkled when she laughed or the way she pursed her lips when she was thinking. Here he’d thought the evening would be so simple. Just have a nice little heart-to-heart and be on his merry way. Or spend one, count ’em, one memorable night in her bed—and then be on his merry way.
He didn’t think it was so simple now. He realized he couldn’t tell her he didn’t want to see her anymore because he did want to see her again. And again and again. And he had a sick feeling in his gut that one night in her bed wouldn’t be enough. Not nearly enough.
“Is everything okay?”
Zac blinked his eyes and looked down at his plate. Fettuccine Alfredo. Most of it was gone, so he assumed he’d eaten it. “Everything’s fine. The fettuccine is delicious.” It could have been wood shavings topped with vinegar and he doubted he would have known the difference. He noticed that it was hot in here, though. It had started out as a mild summer day, but the temperature seemed to have climbed steadily since he’d gotten there—or at least since she’d walked out in that killer red outfit.
This was a big, big mistake. He should have left well enough alone. If he had any sense, he’d thank her for dinner and take his leave. If he had any sense of self-preservation, he’d run for the hills. It was much too dangerous to stay. Unfortunately, he’d never been deterred by a little danger. As a matter of fact, he’d always been intrigued by it.
He usually played it safe, though he had flirted with skydiving lessons a few years ago and had even been toying with the idea of bungee jumping. The lure and promise of her danger was too seductive to resist.
“Do you want dessert now or later?”
“Later.” He watched her fiddle with her silverware. He had something different in mind for dessert.
“What are you staring at?” she asked.
“You.” A rueful half-smile curved his lips. No doubt about it, when he decided to give in, he gave in with wholehearted enthusiasm.
“Why?”
“I’m trying to decide what I want to do first. Do I want to kiss you till your eyes cross, or do I want to peel off that sexy top of yours and fill my hands with your breasts? Or do I want to kiss the backs of your knees until they buckle? What do you think?”
She could perfectly envision him doing all of those things he’d mentioned. She’d dreamed about them often enough, but his words came as a surprise considering the way he’d been the last time they parted. Unsure how to react, she practically jumped up off her chair, saying, “I have to do the dishes, and I think you should go into the living room and wait.”
“I’ll help.”
Please, don’t. “No! I mean, it’s not necessary. It won’t take long.”
“I’ll help,” Zac repeated as he stood and carried his plate to the sink, turned on the water, and rinsed it off. “You wash, I’ll dry.”
“Zac, I can manage,” Libby said, but didn’t think it would do any good. Zac had that steely, determined glint in his eye that said he wanted to hang around and make her nervous. He was doing a top-notch job of it too. Heavens, but the man confused her!
As she filled the sink with water, Zac came up behind her with an apron and put it around her waist. He managed to brush his fingers down the sides of her hips as he did so, but when she turned a suspicious glance on him, he flashed an absolutely cherubic smile and tied the sash in back. She glared at him and picked up a plate.
“You missed a spot,” Zac said as he reached across in front of her to point, managing to brush his hand across her breasts as he did so.
“I haven’t washed it yet,” she muttered, and picked up the sponge. She angled her body away so he wouldn’t see the automatic response of her breasts to his touch.
“Oops! Sorry.” He didn’t sound at all apologetic.
“Zac, please go in the other room.” She wanted to cringe at the desperate sound of her voice. But she really needed a few minutes, or she was going to blurt out how she felt. Her feelings were still new and overwhelming, and she was already dangerously close to telling him. Only she was afraid he didn’t want to hear it and it might be the impetus that propelled him right out the door. And she didn’t want him to go.
“I’m going to help,” Zac said.
“Help me right out of my mind, you mean.”
“I’d rather help you out of your clothes.” He tugged her back against him so he could nuzzle aside her hair and kiss the nape of her neck, then his fingers unerringly found and brushed across her pouting nipples. She twisted in his hands and faced him, the wet sponge hitting him square in the chest.
“Yow!” He jumped back a step. “What was that for?”
She smiled grimly. “Retribution.”
“Oh. Well, turnabout is fair play, they say.” He took the sponge, dipped it in the warm soapy water, and held it up.
Libby retreated a step. “You wouldn’t dare.”
Zac grinned. “You don’t think so?”
She shook her head uncertainly.
“You’re right,” he said, dropping the sponge into the sink. “I can think of forms of retribution I like better.”
“Like what?” She eyed him with suspicion.
“I’ll think about it and let you know.” He grabbed the bottom of his damp shirt and pulled it over his head, then tossed it over the back of a chair.
Her eyes widened. Heavens to Betsy, he was gorgeous—broad and golden tan, with little whorls of dark hair just on the upper portion of his chest. Libby swallowed hard, her eyes glued to his body. The other night, when she had touched him, she hadn’t really looked at him. She’d been too engrossed in t
he feelings he was arousing in her. But now she let her hungry gaze wander freely. She’d never before thought a man could be beautiful. But that was the only word that could describe him.
She wondered briefly, foggily, how a desk jockey kept such a nice tan, then decided she didn’t care. She just cared that he looked wonderful—strong, solid, secure. And here.
“When you look at me like that, you make me want to touch you. More than anything else in the world, I want to touch you.” His voice vibrated with his need.
Their gazes locked, and Libby asked herself if this was wise. Maybe not, but she wanted him, trusted him. Loved him. She’d begun to realize that he couldn’t, or wouldn’t give her the security she needed; but did she want to go through life never knowing what it would have been like to have been loved by him, however briefly?
She took a step toward him, her need transparent. But he didn’t touch her right away; instead, he looked long and hard at her. “Think about it, Libby. Because, God help me, if I start, I’m not going to stop this time—unless the house caves in.” He gave a ghost of a smile. “And maybe not then.”
God, she was scared. This was going to change her life. But then, just knowing him had already done that. She was mesmerized by the sudden flames that danced to life in his eyes—flames that promised to set her on fire with the heat of their passion. “I don’t want you to stop.” Was that breathless whisper really her voice?
Zac reached out a hand to her, then dropped it to his side, his fist clenched. “If you need to go check on the baby, go now. I might not be able to let you go later.”
Obediently, Libby turned and went to Victoria’s room, making sure the infant was dry and sleeping peacefully. She stopped by the bathroom to run a brush through her hair, then paused for a moment, staring at her reflection in the mirror. Her eyes glistened with anticipation and her lips curved in a tremulous smile. Her face was so clearly that of a woman in love, she was amazed Zac hadn’t seen it.
A frisson of apprehension ran down her spine. Bobby had been the only man she’d ever been with, and she had always assumed that the reason she hadn’t enjoyed sex more was that he’d been an impatient, often selfish lover. But suppose she hadn’t enjoyed it because she was no good at it? Certainly Bobby had never taken the time to introduce her to any of the finer points of lovemaking.
Suppose Zac found her sadly lacking and hopelessly inexperienced? Her jaw firmed. What she didn’t have in finesse she’d just have to make up for with love and enthusiasm. And she had plenty of that. Smoothing an errant strand of hair back off her face, she went into the living room.
Zac was standing next to the picture window, peering out between the trailing stems of the huge ivy that flourished there. Libby watched him for a moment, uncertain what to do next.
He looked over at her, smiled, and held out his hand. “Come here, baby.” He clasped her hand in his and turned back to look out the window. “Look.”
Libby tore her gaze from him long enough to see the fading colors of what had to have been a spectacular sunset. The orange and rose streaks were giving way to deeper blues and purples which would soon disappear, swallowed up by the black velvet sky. “It’s beautiful.”
“Come outside and watch it with me.” Still holding her hand, he tugged her outside and pulled her down to sit next to him on the top step of the front porch.
Libby was thoroughly confused. Wasn’t he going to make love to her? “Zac? I thought you … we …” She stopped. How could she possibly ask him if he had changed his mind?
“We have all the time in the world,” he murmured, and put his arm around her, drawing her close. “But right now I need to slow it down some. You make me feel too much like a teenager with his first girl, and I want our first time to be long and slow and wonderful for you.”
Would he never cease to amaze her? She was touched by his concern for her as they sat watching the sky slowly darken, though she had no doubt that it would be wonderful with him no matter what, and her pulse quickened and her breath caught at the thought of a long, slow night with him.
Zac kept his arm around her, the fingers of his hand threading through her hair. As they watched the last faint purple streaks disappear, Libby became increasingly aware of him, hearing his measured breathing, feeling the beating of his heart as if it were her own, feeling her skin become more and more sensitized to his every move. His hand left her hair and traced slow, sensuous circles on the back of her neck, making Libby wonder how Zac would react if she melted into a boneless puddle on the porch step.
He finally stood, held out a hand to help her to her feet, and whispered, “Now, Libby.”
Wordlessly, she nodded and led him to her bedroom. She sat on the edge of the bed and reached down to unbuckle one of the gold sandals. “Not yet.” He stopped her, tugging her to her feet and running his hands down her arms. “You’re so beautiful, Libby. Did you know, when I first saw you, I thought you looked like a Madonna—so cool and serene.”
“A Madonna?”
He nodded. “But when I saw your eyes, that’s when I knew there was a warm, passionate woman underneath.” He held her gaze with his own as he ran his hands just beneath the bottom of the short top, then lifted it over her head and tossed it aside.
“I wanted you even then.” He pulled the elastic-waist skirt down over her hips and let it slither to her feet.
“But the first time I kissed you, and we both went up in smoke, that’s when I knew we were going to make love.” He stopped talking as his gaze fell on her red lace bra and matching panties. “Oh, God,” he breathed. “I may not survive this night. Did you know red’s my favorite color?”
“I know.”
He traced a finger around the lacy edge of her bra, then brought long strands of hair around to fall over her breasts. He arranged them like a silk curtain, letting only glimpses of the red lace show through. “This isn’t any nursing bra, either, is it?” He reached around her to unfasten it. When the clasp popped free, he slid the straps down her arms and tossed the lace scrap aside. His breath rasped as he reached out and gently brushed her hair aside, baring her to his gaze. He laid a palm flat above her breast. “I can feel your heart beating,” he murmured. “It’s like a part of me.”
He cupped a breast in each hand, fascinated with the warm, heavy weight, then ran a thumb lightly over each pebbled pink tip, teasing them to aching rosiness. Libby gasped as if the feeling was almost too intense to bear.
Her nipples leaked a little, but Zac just massaged the droplets into her breasts. “Watch,” he whispered, his voice barely audible. “Watch my hands touch you.”
Libby looked down, hypnotized by the sight of his large hands touching her so intimately. She noticed that his hands were trembling slightly, and she felt an answering shiver begin deep inside her.
She reached out her hands, now trembling to match his, and ran them over his chest. “Watch me touch you,” she said as she repeated his motion and ran her thumbs over his nipples, satisfied at their pucker.
When he drew his thumbs in slow, tantalizing circles around the tight buds of her nipples, she did the same to him, causing him to draw in a deep, shuddering breath. He allowed his hands to slip down to her waist, and she let her hands do the same, pausing in breathless wonder.
As he hooked his fingers in the lacy waistband of her panties, Libby rapidly unbuckled his belt and unfastened his zipper. When Zac began to slide her panties down an inch at a time, she did the same with his trousers.
He put his hands on hers and stilled them. “Please, baby,” he pleaded hoarsely, “let me do this my way. This first time. The next time will be all yours, but if you touch me anymore, I’ll go off like a Fourth of July firecracker.”
“I don’t care if it’s quick the first time.”
He drew her hand to his lips and kissed the back of it. “But I care. I want to spend all night loving you.”
He urged her down on the bed, then sat on the edge next to her feet. Lifting her le
ft foot into his lap, he slowly unfastened the buckle on the sandal and slid the shoe off, dropping it onto the floor. He felt himself grow harder and hotter as he massaged every last inch of her foot, from her toe to her heel and back. His fingers caressed a path from her ankles over the top of her foot and around to the instep.
Libby drew in her breath and curled her toes. Only then did he turn his attention to the other foot. When her eyes closed as if to savor the sensation, he began moving his wicked fingers to her ankle, then her calf, then her knee, then her thigh. She moaned, and he finally moved his hands up over her hips and slid her panties the rest of the way off.
Zac sat next to her for a long time, looking at her, almost afraid to touch. Slow and easy, he told himself over and over, as if saying it would somehow make it happen. But his self-control already hung in tatters.
He’d never imagined how beautiful she’d be with her black satin hair tangled over the pillows. Her skin was smooth cream, her body perfectly proportioned. Her full breasts with their rosy tips topped a narrow waist, and her stomach was smooth and flat with only a few faint silver lines marking it. He traced one with the very tip of his finger.
Her eyes opened. “Stretch marks,” she said, her voice muffled, and she laid her hand flat on her stomach as if to hide them.
“Marks of courage and strength.” He pulled her hand away and traced another mark with his finger, then bent suddenly, and followed behind with his tongue. Her whimpers of pleasure shot through him like hot arrows, adding to the need that churned inside him.
It was a basic need, a primitive need, a need to claim and conquer. And it was a need he’d never before had. Before, there had been a desire only for momentary pleasure; now there was a need for more. He couldn’t put words to it. He just knew he had to make his feelings known to her—feelings so deep and rich that he couldn’t name them. But somehow, maybe, she’d understand.