A Summer Smile

by Iris Johansen

  "I believe you." His lips twisted. "Maybe because I want to so damn much. You have to admit it's an odd set-up though. How many men would acquire a fourteen-year-old 'protegee' without ulterior motives? Particularly one who looks like you. What did your mother say about his whisking you out of the country?"

  "She wasn't happy, but she realized it was for the best." Her eyes dropped to the silver sheet and her words came haltingly. "I was very ill at the time. They thought I'd do better in Texas." "111?"

  She nodded. "But I'm well now." She glanced quickly at the uneaten slice of cheese in his hand. “You're not eating. Aren't you hungry?"

  "Not very." He picked up the canteen and took a swallow of water. "Being surrounded by walls makes me edgy. It's a little quirk of mine." He offered the canteen to her, and when she shook her head, he recapped it and set it down. "Are you finished?"

  "Yes." She was carefully rewrapping the bread and cheese. "I've had enough. Hassan gave me some fruit this morning for breakfast." She frowned worriedly. "You think they're out there searching for in­definitely."

  She made a face. "Honesty is all very well, but I could have used a little comforting prevarication at moment."

  "Prevarication, no, comfort, yes." He rose to his knees and pulled her swiftly into his arms. "I could K a little comfort myself." His lips were nuzzling at throat. "You feel like velvet and you taste ..." His tongue licked delicately at the pulse in her throat.

  'Delicious."

  She chuckled. "Is this what you categorize as comfort?" He nipped gently at the soft flesh beneath her chin and she felt an odd throbbing start in the tips of her breasts as if he'd pulled a secret erotic wire. "It doesn't feel very comfortable to me."

  "Then you'll have to settle for pleasant." There was a flicker of mischief in the glance he gave her. "You have to admit that this is quite pleasant." His big hands were suddenly cupping her breasts, weigh­ing and toying with them through the cotton of the shirt. She gasped and she could hear him give a low laugh. "Pleasant?"

  "Remind me to buy you a dictionary," she whis­pered. "That's not the right word either."

  His index finger was tracing the whorl of her nip­ple through the shirt, and she could feel herself hard­ening and peaking more with each circle of that

  teasing fingertip.

  "It's only a question of comparison. What I'm doing to you now is only pleasant"—his finger inserted itself between the buttons of her shirt with shocking suddenness—"when you compare it to

  this."

  The touch of his skin against her nipple sent heat rocketing through her. His finger was rubbing back and forth against the naked peak, then began flicking it with a fingernail with every pass. "What word would your dictionary use to describe this, Zilah?"

  There weren't any words. She was being jolted by tremors with each tantalizing touch. "Daniel ..."

  His navy blue eyes were narrowed with satisfac­tion on her face. "You like that, don't you? I love that expression on your face; I love to know that what I'm doing is causing it."

  Then his hands were rapidly unbuttoning her shirt and pushing it down her arms until it fell to the silver mat. "Ah, that's what I wanted." His eyes were caressing her with the same magic as his hands.

  "Lovely. All gold and pink and touched with warmth." He brought her close, rubbing her naked breasts sen­sually against the cloud of auburn hair on his chest. "My lovely summer girl."

  "What?" she asked dazedly.

  "Never mind," he muttered. His head was bent, his tongue gently stroking her nipple. She felt a white-hot shiver run through her. His lips closed on her with a strong suction that caused her back to arch and a low cry to break from her throat.

  He lifted his head and drew a long, shaky breath.

  Dear heaven, I want to be inside you. I want to hear you cry out like that when I come into you and fill you.

  I want to move and twist until every part of you belongs to me. To feel you tighten and pull at me."

  "Daniel!"

  He shook his head as if to clear it. "I think we were pretty close to sending up a few Roman can­dles." He grinned. "I never did like fooling around with the little stuff."

  "I gathered that"—her heart was pounding so nard she could scarcely speak—"from your conversation."

  "I told you I wasn't subtle." He suddenly frowned n concern. "I tend to get a bit graphic on occasion. Did I offend you?"

  "No." He had excited her. She drew a shaky breath. "You didn't offend me."

  His eyes were narrowed shrewdly on her face. You liked it." He smiled. "And you like me. We fit, don't we, love?"

  "Yes, I think perhaps we do." She returned his smile and then her breath abruptly caught in her at as she met his eyes. The world narrowed down just the two of them in a dark intimacy that glowed

  1 all manner of starlike things. She pulled her gaze away with an effort. "I guess I'm not much on subtlety either."

  "Lie down."

  Her eyes flew to his in surprise.

  He smiled slightly and shook his head. "No Roman candles, not even any firecrackers. Just you sleeping in my arms. I think we'd both like that.

  Okay?"

  She nodded, her throat tight. "Okay." His chest was warm and solid and the soft mat cushioned her naked back as he turned her spoon fashion, his palms lovingly cupping her breasts. Her hair splayed in a silken mass over his upper arm.

  Treasured. The word came to her even as weari­ness flowed over her in an irresistible tide. Desire was still there, smoldering low, but it was that blessed feeling of being treasured that she was most con­scious of now. Considering that he was a dangerous man who had exploded into her life with shocking violence, she was astounded that she should feel this way in his arms. Treasured and protected and . . .

  She awoke to darkness and the uneasy feeling that something was wrong. Yet what could be wrong? she wondered drowsily. Daniel's arms were still around her, holding her securely, his warm breath feathering her ear. Her forehead knitted in a frown as she realized what was wrong. Daniel's breathing was jerky and labored and his arms around her were shaking. He was trembling as if he were a malaria vic­tim! The panic that thought engendered jolted her wide awake.

  "Daniel?" She tried to sit up but his arms were suddenly rigid manacles around her. "What's wrong?"

  "Nothing's wrong." The words were jerky, as if they were spoken between clenched teeth. "Go back to sleep."

  "There is something wrong," she insisted. "Are you ill?"

  He laughed shortly. "If you can call being gutless ill, then I guess I am."

  "Gutless? I don't know what you're talking about." Her concern was growing by the second. "Daniel, what's wrong? Dammit, you're scaring me."

  He drew a deep breath. "God knows I didn't want to do that. Look, there's nothing to be afraid about. It's just my damn nerves. I told you I didn't like walls around me. I thought I had it under control, but I woke up and there it was gibbering at me in the dark­ness. Sometimes it happens like that. I'll be all right in a few minutes. Go back to sleep."

  "Let me go, Daniel. I'm not going to go meekly back to sleep and leave you like this. I couldn't do that." She felt a slight loosening of his arms and she turned over to face him. Her arms slipped about his waist with an instinctive maternal protectiveness as old as time. "Now, what's wrong? Tell me."

  The darkness was complete. It both isolated and bound them together with an unbelievable intimacy. It must be like this floating in space, she thought vaguely as her hands began to soothingly stroke the tense slide of muscles that corded Daniel's back and shoulders.

  "Why?" she asked softly. "If you suffer this badly from claustrophobia, why the devil are we here in this cave?"

  "I told you why." His lips were buried in her hair, and the words were scarcely audible. He was obvi­ously trying to stifle the trembling that was wracking his body, but an occasional shiver still shook him. There's no way I'm going to make a bad situation riskier because of this damn weakness." He was
speaking through set teeth. "It's been years since it happened. I thought I could control it."

  "Since what happened?"

  "A number of years ago I found myself thrown by a revolutionary group into a sod hut about the size of a postage stamp in the middle of the desert. It was six months before Clancy blew the group and got me out. My nerves were in pretty bad shape, so I left Sedikhan for a few years. I batted around the world for a while as captain of a schooner and then came back to work

  for Clancy."

  "You were a sea captain?" Zilah's eyes were wide with curiosity.

  "There weren't any walls," he said simply. "I needed that."

  She felt a rush of sympathy so strong that she couldn't prevent helpless tears from forming in her eyes, and she couldn't speak for a moment without revealing the pity she felt. She hated pity herself and she could see that he detested revealing his weak­ness. Despite his offhand explanation, those few words had drawn a graphic picture that made her shudder. How terrible it must have been for a man of Daniel's temperament to be caged for that length of time. It was clear he was still feeling the effects even after all these years. Yet he hadn't hesitated to undergo an experience that he knew would be excru­ciatingly painful just to make life safer for her. "I can see how you would," she said huskily. "But what an idiotic man you are, Daniel Seifert," Her arms tight­ened instinctively around him. He had stopped shak­ing, but the muscles of his back and shoulders were rock-hard with tension. Her hands moved over them, trying to massage and release the tautness. "It's all right now. Go to sleep. I won't let you go. I'll hold you until morning."

  "Will you?" His laugh held a touch of desperation. "I don't think that would be a very good idea. Not now." She could hear the leaping cadence of his heart beneath her ear, and the hard flesh of his chest was burning her cheek. "I'm not in control at the moment."

  "None of us is in control all of the time. It's nothing to be ashamed of. Let me help you," she said softly. "You've done so much for me. I need to give to you too. Let me comfort you, Daniel."

  "The kind of comfort I need now isn't the kind you have in mind." His words were muffled in her hair. She could feel his warm breath feathering her ear. "And you don't owe me anything, dammit. How many times do I have to tell you?" His chest was moving unevenly with the heaviness of his breathing.

  "Let me go, Zilah."

  "No, I want to help you," she said calmly. "Tell me how I can best do that."

  "Zilah, for God's sake, shut up," he gritted out through his teeth. "Do I have to spell it out for you? If you don't get away from me in about two minutes I'm going to have your clothes off and be inside you." His hands suddenly cupped her buttocks and brought her forcefully against his hard arousal. "I went to sleep wanting you and woke up with all the barriers down." His words were coming in little gasps as he rubbed her against him with a slow, sensual tempo that caused a hot flowering deep within her. "All I can think of is how you'd feel around me, the way your nipples hardened when my tongue touched them." his hands were clenching and releasing her buttocks as he spoke. She could feel her naked breasts swelling and firming against the hard wall of his chest as if on command. It was a command, she realized hazily, the most basic known to male and female. The soft pelt of hair on his chest was moving against her bare skin with the ragged tempo of his breathing, teasing,

  inciting, readying her for the next intimacy. "I want to feel you naked against me, to open your thighs and touch you. I want to make you melt and flow." His teeth suddenly clamped down on the lobe of her ear with a force that was almost painful. "Stop me, dammit," he growled desperately. "Because, God knows, I can't stop myself."

  The darkness was swimming around her like ebony waters of forgetfulness where nothing existed but touch and sensation and Daniel's need crying out to her. And not only Daniel's need, she realized with a little shock. She needed him with a fierceness that was as primitive as that first instinctive maternal craving to give comfort. How could that be when . . . The doubts and questions flowed away into the dark­ness as she felt Daniel tremble against her. Not with fear but with desire. It was like being caught in the funnel of a tornado and being swept away from every­thing she had ever known. The only things that were real were the sensations Daniel was provoking with every word, every touch.

  "I don't think I can stop you either," she said faintly. "I don't think I even want to."

  He went still. "Oh, Lord, I wish you hadn't said that."

  She hadn't thought the muscles beneath her hands could become harder, but they did. His entire body was gathering charges of tension like lightning about to strike. "I didn't want it to be like this. I wanted to show you that I could be something besides a roughneck who knows only how to take." His hands were suddenly working swiftly, feverishly, at the zipper of her jeans. "I don't even know if I can be gentle with you."

  "You don't have to be gentle." It wouldn't matter. Not with Daniel. She wanted to give him whatever he wanted. Fill every need before he asked. He was

  stripping away her jeans and the panties beneath them with frantic urgency, and then she was naked in the darkness. His hands were running over her body as if he couldn't get enough of the textures of her. He squeezed the softness of her breasts in his two big hands, then moved down her rib cage in a long, lingering caress. His fingers were hard and cal-lused as they brushed against her softness. Sandpa­per and silk. She felt every nerve and pore come alive in a tingling rush as he touched her and then moved on, lingering on her navel to playfully insert a finger while he patted her stomach with the other hand. Then his hand was tangling in the curls that guarded her womanhood, tugging gently. "Open for me," he said thickly. "Please, Zilah. I can't wait anymore. Let me come in."

  She didn't think she could wait either. How could darkness so intense hold fingers of flames and curling blossoms of fire that took her breath and made her mindless with pleasure? Her thighs opened with languid invitation that was purely instinctive. Com­mand, response, reward.

  Reward. She inhaled sharply as she received a blindingly sensual reward for obedience when his hands touched her with a probing intimacy that sent a shock of desire twisting through her.

  "You're so warm and sweet down here," Daniel muttered. "I wish I could see you. I'd light the lantern but I don't think I can wait a minute longer." His finger suddenly found the soft sensual trigger he'd been seeking, and he began a rotating massage that brought a soft cry from her.

  Her hips lifted in an offering that was as old as time. His husky laugh held an element of satisfaction. "You want me? Now, Zilah?"

  "Now." She could barely get the words past the tightness in her throat. She was on fire. Every breath was difficult to the point of pain. Her head was thrashing back and forth on the slickness of the silver sheet in mindless aching need. Darkness, touch, flame.

  "Good." The word held a guttural urgency that was totally male. She was vaguely aware that the touch was gone. Only the darkness, and the throb­bing, flaming need remained as Daniel moved with frantic swiftness to strip off the remainder of his clothes.

  She was shivering with hunger. Aching with emptiness. She could feel the muscles of her stomach clench and knot, pleading for the touch she had known so briefly.

  Then the touch was back, parting her thighs, stroking her gently, opening her with an eagerness that held a hint of restrained savagery. He was between her thighs. The powerful muscles that corded his own thighs were taut against her softness. She couldn't see his bulk looming above her and somehow that only added to the erotic excitement. She could see only in her mind's eye the pelt of auburn hair that covered his chest, the sensual heav­iness of his face, the sheer massive size of him that made her feel small and helpless in comparison. She couldn't see him but she could feel him nudging against the heart of her. For an instant there was a flicker of memory that caused her to tense. Then it was gone. Because there wasn't anything in the past that bore the slightest resemblance to what she was experiencing now. New. Everything
was new and clean and as basic as if it were happening at the dawn of time. Daniel's magic again.

  He was entering her carefully, trying not to hurt her with his sheer size. She could sense the care, the agonizing tension in him. His breath was coming in little rasps. He was trying to give her the gentleness he thought she wanted, she realized with a rush of tenderness. Even though the restraint was hurting him, he was trying to give to her. Well, she wanted to give to him also. Give and give until there was noth­ing left to offer. Hard and fast. He had said he liked it hard and fast.

  Her hands suddenly closed on his hips, her nails digging into the hard flesh. "Daniel." Her voice was a soft yearning murmur in the darkness. "Come." Her hips surged upward, taking him with a boldness that brought a low cry from his lips. She felt like uttering the same cry, but she was afraid he would mistake it for pain. So full. Stretched, complete and yet still throbbing with emptiness. "Come ... to me." She could barely get the words out.

  "Sweet heaven, Zilah." He shuddered. She could feel it within her, and it brought a quivering flutter to every nerve and limb. Together. How close they were. One flesh. "I'm going wild. I've never felt like this in my life. I'm afraid to let go. I'll hurt you, dammit."

  "You won't hurt me." Her fingers tightened on his hips. "It's all right, Daniel."

  "I hope so." She could feel the forces swirling about him in the darkness. Electricity gathering for the strike. "Because I can't stop myself now."

  He plunged forward, wildness overcoming restraint as he took her with a force and beauty as hot and violent as the lightning to which she had men­tally compared him. He was lifting her up to meet each strong thrust, grinding against her as if he wanted to reach beyond closeness to a unity that couldn't be broken as passion passed.

  She was vaguely conscious that he was talking to her as he moved, telling her how sweet she was, how good she felt around him, of the other ways he was going to love her. His words were as hoarse and wild as the rhythm of his movements. Sometimes shockingly graphic, sometimes tender as a mother's kiss. She tried to help him, meet fire with fire, but once loosed, he overwhelmed her. It was like a tempest picking her up, tossing her from crest to crest, yet never letting her leave the center of power.