by Sandra Brown
He smiled so seldom. Perhaps it was a good thing he didn’t. When he did, he was disarming and captivating. A weakness that had nothing to do with her illness permeated Erin’s body. The nightgown over her breasts vibrated with the rapid beating of her heart. She saw Lance’s eyes take note of that stirring cloth as he leaned across her to place the tray on her lap.
“The tea sounds good,” she said nervously. “I couldn’t have stood anything sweet, but I’m thirsty for something cold.”
“Dr. Joshua said you should lay off milk and fruit juice for a few days.”
“I never drink milk anyway.”
“Never?” he asked.
“No, it’s fattening,” she answered, taking a bite out of the corner of a piece of toast.
“Ah!” He looked her over carefully, following the outline of her legs under the blankets. “You’re a real heavyweight all right.” For the first time, she saw a spark of humorous mischief in the depths of his startling blue eyes. He was actually teasing her!
“I might be if I guzzled milk all the time,” she said, laughing, and he joined her. “What is this?” she asked, looking dubiously into the bowl of hot cereal. “It looks like paste.”
“I beg your pardon, madam. That bowl of cream of rice is the specialty of the day. There is not one lump in it.”
“Cream of rice. Agh!” she shivered. “Do you expect me to eat that?”
“Every bite. You need your strength back, and toast alone won’t do it. You’ve got to eat something that will stick to your ribs.”
“I think this is going to stick to my throat.”
“Now, now, don’t insult the chef.” He picked up the spoon and ladled a big portion out of the bowl. Stubbornly and without a modicum of compassion, he held it in front of her mouth until she opened it. He shoved the mouthful inside. She had barely swallowed the gooey stuff when he was holding another spoonful for her. She laughed when he began opening and closing his mouth in the way he wanted hers to move.
“This is just like feeding a baby,” she managed to say before another bite was pushed into her mouth. “You’re very good at it.”
“I should be,” he said.
God! He’s married! she thought. That had never occurred to her. He was probably married and had a house full of children.
“I’ve been roped into feeding my sister’s kids too many times not to have learned a few tricks,” he was saying. “That’s why I knew about the crackers. Every time she was pregnant, my sister would go through boxes of soda crackers to control the nausea.”
“Do you have any children of your own?” She had been relieved to hear that he was referring to his nieces and/or nephews, but she still didn’t know his marital status. Before she could stop it, the question had popped out. The spoon with the next tasteless lump of cream of rice on it stopped on its journey to her mouth.
“No,” he said quietly. “I haven’t been married for ten years. The woman I married so ill-advisedly decided after two years of matrimony that I was stifling her and that she wanted a career. She left and filed for divorce.” His pragmatic explanation didn’t leave much room for discussion, so Erin didn’t pursue it. He wasn’t married and hadn’t been for a long time. For some reason that fact relieved her immensely and made her extremely happy.
After another few bites, she said, “I don’t think I want any more. Thank you.”
“You’ve probably had enough for now. For lunch you can have potato soup.”
“Vichyssoise?” she asked delightedly.
His light eyebrows lowered in derision and he said flatly, “No, just plain potato soup out of a can.” Then they both laughed.
“Tell me about your family,” Erin said as Lance removed the tray from her lap. She caught a whiff of shaving soap as he leaned over her. “You have a sister?”
“Yes. She and her husband have four children. When we all get together with Mom and Dad, it’s a madhouse.”
Erin felt a pang of jealousy. Gerald O’Shea hadn’t had any brothers or sisters living. Her mother only had the one sister in Louisiana who was childless and widowed. Erin had hoped she would find Ken with a large family. She longed for relatives. Bloodlines. Descendants. Family.
“I envy you your family,” she said. “I always wanted cousins, relatives to visit during the summer and holidays, things like that. I wish Ken and Melanie had children.” She sighed. Sometimes the simplest dreams were the most elusive.
Lance crossed the room and stood with his back to her, looking out the window. “We have a lead on Lyman,” he said unexpectedly.
She sat up instantly, her lethargy vanishing. “You do? Melanie said last night that she thought you might. What happened?”
“We found out that he rented a car. We had checked out that possibility immediately, of course, but someone missed a private rental firm. When the owner reported to the police that someone had used a phony driver’s license, they called us. The man confirmed Lyman’s identity when we showed him a picture.” He drew a deep breath. “So now we have a concrete lead. We know the kind of car he’s driving and the license plate number. We should find him in a matter of days.”
There was nothing to say. Erin lay back and closed her eyes, offering up a silent prayer that her brother would soon come to his senses and turn himself in or at least that he would be found.
“Dr. Joshua sent over a report for you to take back to your doctor in Houston. It’s downstairs.” Lance didn’t sound really interested in the subject and neither was she.
She answered mechanically, “Good. I’ll remember to pick it up before I go home.”
For the first time Erin noticed that it was raining. Quite hard, in fact. Large round drops were striking the windowpanes, and the eaves of the house were dripping heavily with a haunting percussion. The room was dim, encapsulating, intimate.
“I suppose you’ll have to go back to your business and… everything… after Lyman is found.” Lance’s voice was low and deep, like the rolling thunder that echoed from hillsides far away. He looked so large outlined against the gray light of the window. His forearm was braced against the window frame. As his head leaned into his fist, his thumb raked back and forth across the cleft in his chin.
“I suppose so,” Erin replied vaguely. Suddenly, going back to Houston was a dismal prospect. But she loved her life there! Her business. She was fond of Bart. However, none of that seemed very important any longer. Understanding this man, knowing his needs and meeting them took precedence over everything else. His happiness became essential to hers. Were she forced to choose, at this moment; she would rather be with Lance in this room than anywhere else in the world.
It was almost as if she loved him.
His uncanny knack for reading thoughts didn’t fail him. Without moving his body, he turned his head and pierced her with his cerulean eyes.
Her own eyes were wide with the confusion that swept over her. Unaware of what she was doing, she slowly shook her head in denial of the unpredicted emotions coursing through her. Her trembling lips formed his name, but no sound came out. A tear, crowded by the others that were flooding her eyes, slipped over the lower lid and rolled down her pale cheek.
Lance left the window and walked toward the bed. His eyes locked on hers. “Erin?” Her name was barely audible even in the still room.
Then he was beside her, leaning down, supporting himself on still arms spread wide on either side of her. “Erin, why are you crying?” he demanded softly.
“I don’t know,” she breathed.
“Yes, you do. Why, Erin? Tell me.”
She couldn’t face him with the knowledge of her love so evident in her eyes. She bowed her head, shaking it again. “I don’t know,” she said with the barest expulsion of breath.
He lifted her chin with his index finger, forcing her to look at him. “Tell me to go away. Tell me this is insane.”
“This is insane,” she whispered. Her heart was thudding. All she could see, wanted to see, was his face
only inches from hers.
“Tell me to go away,” he grated.
“No,” she said, shaking her head in refusal. “I can’t.”
“Then God help us.” The words were scarcely out of his mouth before it was fused with hers.
The mattress sank under his weight as he lay down beside her and gathered her to him. Wasting no time with subtleties, he covered her mouth with his. An insistent tongue pushed past her lips and pillaged the honeyed crevices of her mouth, claiming it as his.
When the initial hunger had been appeased and ownership established, he sipped her slowly. His tongue lifted the remnants of tears off her face, then lingered to taste each feature of her face, her ears, her neck.
She cradled his face between her hands and looked up at him with dark, liquid eyes, swimming with unstemmed, but as yet unshed, tears. “Lance,” she luxuriated in saying his name. “Lance, Lance.” Raising her head slightly, she kissed the cleft in his chin and aggravated his bottom lip with her teeth until he groaned and pressed her down into the pillows once again, covering her with his body, his mouth fastened onto hers.
Holding her tightly, he rolled them over until Erin was looking down into his face. His hands roamed her back, along her thighs, and over her hips, pressing her ever closer. She adjusted herself over him with a precision so maddening that it forced the breath out of his lungs only to be caught in his throat.
She nibbled at his neck and the triangle at its base was thoroughly explored by a rapacious tongue. Unable to stand any more, he entwined his fingers in her dark hair and raised her mouth to his. Breathless and laughing from sheer joy, he rolled them over onto their sides until they were facing each other. Their heads shared the same pillow. Fingers traced; noses nuzzled; mouths nibbled. They relished each other.
Timidly, Erin raised her hands to the necktie knotted below his top shirt button. With awkward fingers, she loosed it until she could ease it over his head. He accommodated her by raising his head off the pillow. He could be patient with her blunderings. He had all the time in the world.
Her fingers worked with the buttons on his shirt until they were all undone. Then she pushed the smooth cotton aside. She studied him for a moment. He was so boldly virile that she knew a moment of shyness. “I think you’re beautifully made, Lance,” she said unevenly.
Still timid, but tempted beyond endurance, she placed her hands on him and combed through the thick mat of tawny hair on his chest with her fingers.
“You have a gray hair!” she exclaimed. “Right here,” she said, tweaking the novelty.
“Ouch! That’s attached, you know.”
“How old are you?” she asked, soothingly rubbing the spot where she had pulled the hair.
“Thirty-seven.”
“I thought you were thirty-three. But that’s when I thought you were Ken.”
“Nope. I’m an old man. Much too old for you.” His fingers were memorizing her collarbone.
“I’ve always had a penchant for antiques,” she teased, as her hands smoothed over the hard muscles beneath the furred skin.
He indulged her idle, playful exploration until she touched his nipples with inquisitive fingers. His breath hissed out from between his lips and he caught her hands and pressed them over the hard, distended buds.
“You’re not playing fair,” he scolded her tenderly and kissed her briefly on the mouth.
“Teach me the rules,” she taunted softly.
He raised her hands and wrapped her arms around his neck. The twelve tiny pearl buttons that formed a neat row from the yoke of her nightgown to her waist taxed his patience. But when he was finished, he paused for a moment, savoring the anticipation before he separated the folds of wispy fabric.
His eyes wandered leisurely over her, and Erin wondered at her own immodesty. Even when his fingers followed the path his eyes had charted, she could conjure up no inhibitions.
Gently he cupped her breasts in his hands and lifted them slightly. Heavy lids screened her eyes as his thumbs stroked her until she felt herself tauten under this bewitching manipulation.
“You’re beautiful,” he sighed. “Just as I knew you were. Just as I felt you were.”
Her throat hurt with the constricted muscles unable to contain her emotion. Her fingers outlined his lips as she entreated him, “Please,” and drew his head down to her.
His mouth was wet and hot as he closed it over the rose-tinted crest. He tugged on her gently, then tortured her with his flicking tongue. His hand was at the small of her back, urging her hips against the hard tension in his. When she moved so eagerly and naturally against him, a deep moan issued out of his throat and in desperation he clasped her to him.
He heard that now familiar purring in her throat that made the blood pound in his veins. That sound, her scent, the feel and taste of her, filled his brain and obliterated every rational, reasonable, responsible thought. Even as he argued with himself that this was lunacy, he was helplessly drowning in the essence of Erin O’Shea.
He left the bed only long enough to strip off his clothes. Erin studied him and experienced no fearful dread even when his aroused virility was fully revealed. Carefully he sat down on the bed and eased the nightgown off her shoulders and down her body. His eyes were hungry and devoured every inch of her before he lay down, blanketing her body with his.
They had both come home.
Their breaths mingled and spiraled above them as they each released a long, contented sigh. Lance buried his face between her breasts and held her tightly. Erin’s arms wound around his back. His naked masculinity so complemented her femininity that they both gloried in the contrasts—hair-roughened skin against silkiness, hard muscle against soft curve, throbbing power against a welcoming vulnerability.
His hands began a sensuous assault, thrilling her with every touch. They found her breasts and massaged them gently, then grew bolder and teased the responsive nipples into hardness. Lowering his head, he took her nipple between his lips and laved it with his tongue until she heard soft cries of bliss and realized that they had come from her own lips.
Murmuring his name, Erin arched and writhed along his large body, but he held her away from him by placing his hand on her stomach, his thumb between her ribs. He started a slow, mesmerizing descent. How could a hand, fingers, a thumb possess such provocative powers? Yet when they continued downward to discover the secrets of her body, it was she who gasped at the revelations.
Without persuasion, she countenanced a more thorough exploration. Sweetly he tormented her. His fingers deftly separated the protective petals and tenderly stroked that center of her desire that was moist and yielding. “Erin,” was all he said, but the wonder in his voice conveyed a million unspoken meanings.
Arching against him, she cried his name. Or was it merely an echo that reverberated in her brain? Hearing her plea, whether vocal or silent, he greeted it with an obliging thrust.
Then he became perfectly still and looked down into her eyes with disbelief.
“My God, Erin. Why didn’t you tell me?” he asked in a soft, urgent whisper.
“I didn’t think it was important,” she answered in kind.
He searched her eyes with his. “You’re wrong. It’s very important.”
“I don’t mean to minimize its importance. It’s just that right now it doesn’t matter.”
“What does matter?”
She touched his face with trembling fingers. “Being good for you.”
“Oh God,” he breathed as he kissed her and broke that last seal of her innocence.
They moved together as though choreographed, in perfect synchronization, each bringing the other to the height of ecstasy and filling a need that hadn’t even been realized until now.
There was no explanation for this spontaneous act of love. Had they taken the time to examine their motivations, they couldn’t have found a logical reason for it. They were victims of an ancient force that made no apology or justification for its being. It didn’t
even exist until it was born between two people. And that was justification enough.
Patiently whispering words, the meanings of which were unintelligible and unimportant, Lance encouraged her, bringing her to a destiny she couldn’t have anticipated. When she reached it, he joined her on the crest of the wave, and she felt his full magnificence fill a void deep inside her.
He didn’t leave her immediately. His breathing was harsh and uneven in her ear as he nuzzled it with his feverish face. He held her tenderly, but possessively. Did he think she was a mirage? The stroking hands that celebrated her body seemed to fear that she would evaporate at any moment.
When she adjusted her hips more comfortably under his weight, he made a moaning sound that diminished into a shuddering sigh of delight. An answering passion championed her original dismay when he began to move inside her again.
Finally when they were totally spent and their breathing had returned to normal, he left that warm, silken harbor. With their legs entwined, he pulled her close and nestled her head against his chest.
“Are you okay?” he asked. His fingers traveled up and down her spine.
“Slightly better than okay,” she said.
A deep chuckle rumbled in her ear and she raised her head. “You’re laughing,” she said in surprise.
“Is that so unusual?” He quirked an eyebrow quizzically.
“For you it is. You rarely smile, you know,” she chided gently.
He smiled then, but his eyes were serious. “You make me smile,” he whispered.
“Do I?”
“Yes. You do.” He kissed her deeply. When her tongue darted past his and sought the interior of his mouth, he pushed away from her. “Erin, stop that or I won’t be able to. And you’re supposed to be sick.” He got up from the bed and began to dress. “What kind of a cad do you take me for, to insinuate myself on a helpless, weak woman? Besides all that, I’m on duty. Government business.” His grin was decidedly wicked. “But this has been one helluva coffee break.”
Erin giggled. “You’re improving. You even made a joke.”