"Try. Try to stay relaxed, no matter how I touch you. Pretend that you're a warm piece of clay."
"I feel … more like a lava flow."
"You feel like an angel." He stroked her rib cage. "With a bit of devil in her."
She loved his hands there, but she wanted them lower. Her body remembered the delight those hands could bring, and the yearning had begun from the moment he'd touched her. As he dropped more oil on her belly, she moaned, wanting him to slip between her thighs, part her curls and use those knowing hands to shower her with ecstasy.
Instead, he circled her stomach and stroked down over her hipbones, arching away from the spot that pulsed with longing.
She moved restlessly beneath him. "Greg…"
"I will," he murmured. "Lie still."
She was on fire for him. Containing that fire, forcing herself to lie quietly while he moved to her feet and massaged each toe, was torture, but so sweet, so erotic, that she imagined even her cells had begun to vibrate in anticipation. No matter where he touched her—the arch of her foot, the curve of her ankle, the back of her knee—she felt that touch in the throbbing center of her femininity.
He dripped more oil on her inner thighs and began to knead the muscles there. They were still sore from her workout, but the slight pain mattered so little compared to the tactile pleasure of his hands moving over her body.
And then … at long last, he spread her legs. The dribble of oil over her damp curls felt cool, like the slide of chocolate syrup over her heat. She trembled.
"Easy." His voice rasped with eagerness. "Stay still." He stroked her gently, using both hands, keeping to the outer folds.
She began to pant, the sound of her breathing mingling with his harsh gasps. When he parted her and stroked deeper, she started to lift her hips. With steady pressure, he urged her back down, holding her still with one hand while he massaged her more deeply.
Her climax happened in a rush, coursing through her in a tidal wave of sensation, blotting out everything but the tremors that spread in pulsing waves, consuming her. She lost all sense of time and place, barely registered that he was no longer touching her, that he'd left the bed. Still the tremors continued.
She was still shaking when he moved over her and with one thrust of his hips, slipped deep inside. Then he settled gently against her oiled body, giving her just enough of his weight that his chest hair lightly grazed her breasts.
"Open your eyes," he said hoarsely.
Her lids were so heavy. She lifted them with effort and struggled to focus. At last she could see him—his green eyes lit with passion and something more. There was far more than lust in the way he was looking at her. Her heart surged with joy.
"People can make love for years and never really know each other," he murmured, his voice unsteady. "But I know you, Suzanne." He anchored himself even tighter. "I know you."
"Yes." Her body continued to quiver as she reached up and cupped his face. "Yes."
"And when I'm inside you like this, it's as if I know … everything of importance in the world."
She nodded, too filled with emotion to speak. She'd never felt this close to anyone. In her limited experience, making love had been … nice. She'd had no idea that a climax could shatter her this way.
His voice was hoarse with emotion. "I almost hate to move. This is so perfect."
"I know." No matter what happened, she would never forget this moment as he lay with her, his body covering hers, blended with hers, touching the intimate core of her.
"But I … I need…" He eased back and closed his eyes before pushing home again. "That." When he opened his eyes, the blaze was out of control and his breath came in harsh gasps.
With only that easy friction, he'd set her on fire. She slipped her hands down to his hips and pressed her fingers into his tight bottom. "So do I."
With a groan, he began to move within her.
As sensations bombarded her, she struggled for breath. "Good," she whispered.
"More than good." He thrust faster. "This is … paradise. Ah … that's it. Move with me, Suzanne."
She rose to meet his thrusts because she couldn't do otherwise. Her body quaked with each penetration, and her smile trembled as she gazed up at him. "You don't want me … to lie still … anymore?"
"No." His answering smile was tight with tension. "Go wild." He gasped and pumped faster. "Scratch and claw if you want."
She did want that. He was driving her out of her mind, and her fingernails raked his bottom, urging him on.
She clutched at him, her body writhing and hot, demanding the orgasm that he promised with each thrust. When at last she reached it, she arched upward with a moan of triumph.
He drove once more into her quivering body and came, shuddering against her as he uttered a low, keening cry of release.
As that vulnerable cry echoed in the small room, as she held him close while they rode the aftershocks, she fell completely, irrevocably in love.
* * *
"Her name was Amelia," Greg murmured as they lay together in the early-morning hours. They'd made love twice more, and he knew that soon she'd have to sneak back upstairs. After all, she'd come down wearing only her coat and boots. He could understand why she wouldn't want to be caught in the hall like that. But before she left, he needed to tell her about Amelia.
All traces of sleepiness left Suzanne's gaze. "The woman who didn't think you should aspire to be a handyman?" she said.
"A girl more than a woman." He pulled the covers over her bare shoulder, not wanting her to get chilled. "We met in college."
"So you went to college?"
Six hours ago her surprised question might have put him on the defensive, but he knew Suzanne now. She wasn't a snob, and there was no hidden agenda in her question. "I'd always planned to go, so I saved from the time I could earn my own money. I figured that was the only way I'd get there, because my grades weren't going to earn me any scholarships."
"Now, that surprises me." She traced the line of his jaw with one finger. "You're obviously a scholar, so why wouldn't you get good grades?"
He shrugged. "I never liked the regimentation of high school. I had higher hopes for college, but to be honest, I was having trouble with the assembly-line atmosphere there, too. I loved the subjects but I hated the way they were taught, at least to the underclassmen. Everybody said upper-level classes were better, so I was holding out for those. But then my dad died, and I decided to drop out."
She looked confused. "Because…?"
This was the part that always made him uncomfortable. "I don't want you to think I'm some sort of martyr, because I'm not. But my dad never bothered with life insurance, so my mom was strapped. I gave her the money I'd saved for college."
"Oh, Greg, that's so sad."
"It's not sad. At the time I felt like it was a huge sacrifice, and unfortunately I'm afraid my mom still thinks so. But I didn't belong in college. I've been far happier studying all this stuff on my own. And if I'd gotten a degree, I would have felt honor-bound to use it in some profession." He realized what a relief it was to finally talk to someone who would understand. "I like being a handyman."
Suzanne gazed at him. "You know, sometimes when people are forced into making choices like that, they justify it as being for the best, when it really—"
"I'm telling you, it was for the best." He heard the sharpness in his voice, and realized he might not completely trust her with this, after all.
"You didn't let me finish," she said, her voice calm. "I was going to say, but in this case, I believe you. I think it was for the best."
"Oh." He let out a breath. "Most people don't react that way."
"I'm sure." She stroked his hair. "But I'm not most people."
He caught her hand and brought it to his lips. "No, you most certainly aren't," he said, kissing each finger in turn.
"I'm not Amelia, for example."
"No." He brushed her knuckles over his lower lip. "Not by a long
shot."
"Did you … did you love her very much?"
As he looked into Suzanne's eyes, he wondered if he'd ever understood love before. What he'd felt for Amelia, as opposed to the depth of feeling he had for Suzanne, was like comparing a drawing done with crayons to a Rembrandt. Yet he hadn't told Suzanne he loved her, and she hadn't said those words to him.
They would say the words soon, he thought. But they were both being cautious, and that made sense. Feelings this powerful needed to be handled with extreme care.
"I thought I loved her," he said at last. "Maybe I did, as much as any twenty-year-old guy with very little experience in the matter can love a girl. When I dropped out of school, I took a job as a janitor at the college so I could be near her. Of course, that wasn't acceptable. She wanted a college boy, not a janitor."
Suzanne cupped his face in both hands. "What a fool she was."
"I think she was pretty smart. She knew herself. And she did me a favor, because if she hadn't dumped me, I'd be pushing papers right now at some job I hated instead of doing what I love."
"And you really do love it?"
He saw there was no judgment implied by her question, just natural curiosity. "I really do. I used to wonder what my dad saw in the job, but now I know. Every day is different, and I don't have to wear a tie or play office politics. Plus, my mind is free to go over all the things I read at night. Now that I think about it, my dad was a big reader, too. He used to…" Greg paused as he heard a familiar scratching at the bedroom door.
Suzanne lifted her head. "Matilda?"
"Yeah. I'm afraid she's feeling left out."
"Poor kitty. She's used to sharing your bed." Suzanne glanced at the bedside clock. "Good grief. I had no idea it was that late. I need to scurry back upstairs or risk running into some of our early risers."
He sighed. "I hate for you to go."
"I hate to go." She gave him a gentle kiss. "But I need to."
"I guess you're right." He gathered her close and gazed into her eyes. 'This has been the best night of my life."
She smiled. "Mine, too. Now let me go, or you know what will happen."
"Nice things."
"Nice things can be postponed until tonight."
Tonight seemed like an eternity to wait, but he knew they both had lives to lead. He had a feeling that tonight, however, would be the magic moment when they each confessed how they felt. "Let's go out to dinner," he said.
"At Jerry's?"
"No, not Jerry's. A quiet place. A romantic place. Somewhere we can dance."
She smiled. "You dance?"
"Uh-huh. Do you?"
"Sort of."
"Sort of is good enough for me. All I really want is a little public foreplay."
She laughed as she wiggled against him. "As if we need that."
"We don't, but it'll be fun. Now stop that, or you'll never get out of this bed and Matilda will scratch a hole in the door while we're otherwise occupied."
"Can't you fix the door?"
"Yep. But I'd rather spend the time with you." He kissed her quickly and released her. "Now's the time for you to go upstairs. And get lots of rest. I have a feeling you won't be sleeping tonight."
* * *
Suzanne left Greg's apartment in a hurry. Before long, some of the other tenants would be stirring, and she wanted to be back in her apartment before then. Perhaps no one would know that she was naked under her coat, but she would know. She was a wilder woman than she had been twenty-four hours ago, but not quite wild enough to carry off waltzing down the hall wearing only a winter coat.
But she hadn't liked having to race away like that, she thought as she climbed the fire stairs to her floor. Perhaps if she'd been able to leave at a more leisurely pace, one of them would have worked up the courage to speak those three little words. It might even have been her.
She wouldn't mind having Greg say it first, though. Although she was nearly positive that he loved her, she couldn't completely erase the thought that this was all part of his comforting technique. She didn't really believe that, but a trace of doubt remained. A declaration of love on his part would wipe it out.
Still, he might be waiting for her to say something. Even though she'd said that she didn't care how he earned his living, he was obviously sensitive about it and might wonder if she'd be happy with a handyman. Smiling, she thought about how absolutely happy she would be with one particular handyman.
Maybe she needed to be the one to speak first. Tonight would be the perfect chance, now that they had a romantic dinner planned. She wondered if he could afford the kind of place that he'd suggested. Something told her not to question that, though. Someday they might have to deal with the fact that she made more than he did. She didn't care at all, but he might.
They had more to work out, but she believed they'd have no problem doing that. And she'd definitely buy him a Christmas present—something naughty, like body paints or flavored oil, something she would never, ever have had the nerve to buy a man before. Because of Greg, she had the nerve now.
She opened the door to the fire stairs on her floor and peered down the hall, relieved to find it empty. She walked quickly toward her door, and didn't realize she had a problem until she stood facing it.
She'd forgotten to bring a key. She, who never forgot such things, had forgotten this time. It was sort of funny, that her transformation into a wild woman had caused her to be less anal.
But now she'd have to run back downstairs and get Greg up here to let her in. In the amount of time that would take, someone was liable to come along, which was exactly what she'd been trying to avoid.
Then she had a thought. Maybe she'd not only forgotten a key, but she'd also forgotten to lock the door behind her. In her wild-woman mode, anything was possible. She turned the knob and jiggled it, just in case. No such luck.
With a sigh of resignation, she turned to head back down the hall. Then she heard the click of a lock. Turning back, she stared as the knob turned and the door opened.
A fully dressed but tousled Jared stood in the doorway rubbing sleep from his eyes.
At first she wondered if she could be having a nightmare. Jared didn't live in her apartment anymore. But as she realized that she wasn't dreaming, a sick sense of inevitability settled over her. He'd packed up and left during a big fight, and she'd never talked to him again. Hadn't wanted to, actually.
But Terri, far more worldly than she was, had urged her to have one more conversation with him, just so that she could get her key back. She, coward that she was, hadn't done it. She'd rationalized that Jared had probably thrown it away. Apparently not.
He glanced at his watch, then back at her. "Where the hell have you been all night?"
* * *
Chapter 15
«^»
Suzanne's first reaction was to blush and stammer. After all, she was standing in the hallway wearing only her coat and her snow boots. Besides, Jared used to intimidate the heck out of her, and old habits were hard to break.
But damned if she wouldn't break them. She lifted her chin and gave him an icy stare. "Excuse me." Then she walked right past him, through the living room, which she noticed was already cluttered with his stuff, and into her bedroom. She closed the bedroom door and locked it.
"Suzanne!" Angry-sounding footsteps approached the door. "You didn't answer me!"
She took off her coat and boots on her way to the bathroom.
"I've been here since eleven," he called through the door. "I assumed you'd come home sometime, since your suitcases weren't gone. Are you gonna tell me where you've been or not?"
"Not!"
"Damn it, unlock this door." He rattled the knob.
She ignored him, turned on the shower and stepped under the spray. She would have to deal with him sooner or later. For one thing, she needed to get her key back. Either that or change the locks, but that was stupid, considering that changing the locks would cost her money. Greg could do it for her, b
ut she'd rather have Greg do other things for her, things that made better use of his clever hands.
Oh, he had such clever hands. She was reminded of that as she scrubbed her thoroughly satisfied body. Maybe tonight they'd take a shower together and experience making love under the spray. She was considering asking him if he'd like to come up to her place tonight. And bring his condoms.
Just thinking of tonight aroused her all over again. Greg made her feel like the sort of woman who drove men mad with desire, like Cleopatra or Helen of Troy. In his arms she lost all her inhibitions, as evidenced by the red marks on his gorgeous buns. She was glad she hadn't drawn blood with her fingernails. He'd assured her he wouldn't have cared.
Although staying in the shower had considerable appeal, she finally faced the fact that she was hiding in there. She might outwait Jared, but that was the sort of tactic the old Suzanne would have favored. The new Suzanne took decisive action.
So she turned off the shower and stepped out on the fluffy mat. Sure enough, Jared was still carrying on outside her bedroom door.
"…ridiculous to be wandering around Chicago in the middle of the night by yourself. I assume you were by yourself, because nobody walked you to your door. If you were with a guy and he didn't even bother to see you to your door after keeping you out until dawn, then he's a loser."
While Jared raved on about the dangers single women faced on the streets of Chicago, she dressed in a pair of black sweatpants. As she was about to put on the black sweatshirt that matched them, she saw the sweater she'd worn the night before lying across her bed where she'd left it. She picked that up and pulled it over her head.
Then she wandered back to the bathroom and gazed at herself in the mirror as she wondered whether or not to put on makeup. Although she didn't want to fix herself up for Jared, she didn't want to look young and vulnerable, either. She settled on some mascara, a little blush and some red lipstick.
There. She looked more like a woman to be reckoned with now, especially if she left her hair kind of wild and kinky, which increased her sense of presence. Finally she put on her running shoes, ran her fingers through her hair to make it stand out even more, and walked over to the door.
THE NIGHTS BEFORE CHRISTMAS Page 16