by Lisa Kleypas
Why had Garrett asked him to bring this damned picture to her? She thought it would reveal something about him—which it didn’t, by God. He resolved she would never set eyes on the thing—he’d be bloody embarrassed to show it to her. Why had he left it on the wall? Why had he even mentioned it to her?
It would be better for both of them if he disappeared tonight for good. He could go to the other side of the world, change his name, become someone else. God knew it would increase his life expectancy. Garrett would achieve even greater renown, perhaps build a hospital, teach, inspire. She might marry and have children.
But for Ethan, she would live as a dream in the shadows of his memory. Certain words would always make him think of her. So would the sound of a police whistle. And the smell of violets, and the sight of green eyes, and a sky full of fireworks, and the taste of lemon ice.
He started to reach for the picture, swore quietly, and jerked his hand back.
If he went to her . . . God . . . the possibilities filled him with fearful wonder. And hope—a deadly emotion for a man of his profession.
What was one night worth? What would it cost each of them?
Garrett came to the drowsy awareness of tender warmth brushing her face, like sun-warmed petals falling onto her skin. A soft breath rushed hotly over her cheek. Ethan. She smiled and stirred, experiencing the delight of waking in another’s presence for the first time. He smelled like night air and mist. With a sleepy murmur, she nudged upward into the velvet caresses, catching at a firm, sweet mouth. Beneath the covers, her bare toes curled.
“I didn’t hear you,” she whispered. She was a light sleeper, and her floor creaked—how had he reached her so quietly?
Ethan was leaning over her, his hand smoothing her hair. She had gathered the long, curling locks into a single bunch at the back of her neck and tied them with a ribbon. His heavy lashes lowered as he glanced down her body, clad in a simple white nightgown with little pleats at the bodice. Gently he settled his hand over her chest, the tip of his middle finger touching the hollow above her clavicle, where her heartbeat thrummed visibly. His gaze returned to her face.
“Garrett . . . doing this will make everything worse.”
Pressing her mouth beneath his jaw, she drew in the delicious scent of him, and rubbed a kiss into the texture of shaven beard. “Take off your clothes,” she whispered.
She felt his swallow ripple beneath her lips. He took an unsettled breath and stood.
While Garrett sat up in the small bed to watch, Ethan undressed without haste. One by one, the garments were tossed into a careless heap.
He had the most beautiful form Garrett had ever seen, long-limbed and sleek, his shoulders and chest broad, his flesh toughened and polished to a hard sheen from years of brutal exertion. The light from a frosted glass lampshade caught multiple curves of muscle as he moved, silvered crescents gleaming over the powerful surface of his body. She had already known he was well-endowed, but that wasn’t the same as actually seeing him like this. Oh, he was something. Handsome all over. A potent male in his prime, completely comfortable in his nakedness.
Whereas she, who was hardly ever disconcerted by nudity, felt nervous, embarrassed, shaky with desire.
Before returning to the bed, Ethan’s gaze swept over the personal objects on Garrett’s dresser and vanity table: a mother-of-pearl brush-and-comb set, an embroidered lamp mat she’d made in school, the hairpin box with a crocheted cover—a long-ago gift from Miss Primrose—and a little porcelain jar of almond-oil salve. He paused to look more closely at the small framed object on the wall, a pair of tiny knitted baby’s mittens, each with a ribbon-work flower on the back.
“My mother made them for me,” Garrett said, a bit sheepishly. “Perhaps it’s silly to keep them on the wall, but I have very little to remember her by. She was clever with her hands.”
Ethan came to sit on the bed. He took her hands and lifted them to his lips, kissing her fingers and palms. “That’s where you came by it, then.”
Garrett leaned forward to press her cheek against the thick layers of his hair. “Did you bring the picture?” she asked.
“I set it by the door.”
Resting her chin briefly on his shoulder, she saw a wrapped rectangular parcel leaning against the wall. “May I see it?”
“Later,” Ethan said. “God knows what you’ll make of it. The monkey looks homicidal.”
“I’m sure he has good reason,” she said, pulling back to look at him. “Bicycle seats can cause chafing and perineal numbness.”
For some reason, Ethan seemed to find the comment more amusing than it warranted. Laughter glimmered in his eyes, and the dimple appeared in his cheek. Garrett was unable to resist touching the tempting little hollow with her fingertip. She leaned forward to press her lips against it.
“Every time I see this, I want to kiss it,” she told him.
“Kiss what?”
“Your dimple.”
Ethan looked genuinely perplexed. “I don’t have a dimple.”
“Yes, you do. It shows when you smile. Has no one ever mentioned it?”
“No.”
“Haven’t you seen it in the mirror?”
The outside corners of his eyes crinkled. “I don’t usually smile at the mirror.” His hand curled around the back of her neck, and he possessed her mouth with warm, hungering pressure. She opened to the silky intrusion of his tongue, the exquisite taste of him making her head swim. He eased her back onto the bed, kissing her lazily, filling her senses with slow fire. Gentle hands moved over the nightgown, learning the shape of her body through the thin muslin.
Tentatively she touched the light mat of hair on his chest, the curls soft and crisp against her fingertips. She reached around him, and her eyes flew open as she felt how deeply developed and distinct the muscles of his back were. “Good heavens.”
Ethan lifted his head and gave her a questioning look.
“Your trapezius and deltoids are remarkable,” she said dreamily, her hands wandering over him. “And your latissimus dorsi are so perfectly defined.”
A low laugh broke from him as he unfastened her nightgown. “You’ll embarrass me with all these flowery compliments.”
His weight settled partially over her, his thigh nudging hers apart, and she felt his lips on her chest, skimming softly over newly revealed skin. Her breathing deepened, her pulse rushing, while his hands wandered everywhere, tugging at her nightgown, slipping under it. Soon she was naked, with all the textures of him, roughness, smoothness, hardness, silk, covering her gently. He was utterly in control, guiding her into a realm where he was the master and she was the novice.
His strong hands moved over her slim body with gossamer-light strokes. “I’ve dreamed of this for so long,” he whispered. “The first time we met, part of my brain said, ‘I want that one.’”
Garrett smiled against the furry surface of his chest. She nuzzled against the neat, dark circle of a male nipple and touched her tongue to it. “Why didn’t you pursue me, then?”
“I knew you were too fine for me.”
“No,” she protested softly. “I’m not a highborn lady, I’m a commoner.”
“There’s nothing common about you.” Ethan began to play with her long hair, sifting his fingers through it, lifting a lock to brush the ends against his lips and cheeks. “Do you want to know why I gave you violets? They’re beautiful and small, but tough enough to grow in the cracks of city pavement. More than once, I’ve been in some dark place and seen them clustered near a broken stoop, or at the base of a brick wall, bright as jewels. Even without sunlight or good soil, they show up to do a flower’s job.”
He bent to press his lips against the gilded curve of her breast, as if he could taste the light on her skin. “There was no need to leave a lamp burning in your room,” he whispered. “I could find you anywhere, in daylight or darkness.” Slowly he kissed and licked a trail of heat between her breasts, leaving faint traces of wetness that coo
led in the wake of his breath. He delved into her navel and blew gently into the small hollow . . . and paused as an unexpected scent caught his attention. “Lemon,” he murmured, hunting for the source of the fragrance.
“It’s . . . a sponge,” Garrett said cautiously, a wash of color spreading over her throat and face. One of the ways to guard against pregnancy was to insert a piece of soft sponge dampened with lemon juice. “It . . . it goes inside . . .”
“Yes, I know,” Ethan murmured, nuzzling lower on her stomach.
“You do?”
A smile curved against her skin. “I’m no fledgling lad.”
Gently his hand parted her thighs, his fingertips sliding down the insides to her knees, and back up again. Down . . . up . . . the stroking was hypnotic, undulating, as if she were being teased by delicate tentacles. His mouth ventured along the crease of her leg and groin, an electrifying hint of bristle rasping across the tenderness as he nudged deeper, lower. Slowly his fingers slid into the protective curls that covered her sex, kneading and stroking, his thumbs parting the soft furrow. He pushed his tongue in and upward, separating the folds with a long, sinuous lick.
Garrett stiffened and gasped, pushing at his head.
Ethan propped himself on his elbows, a gleam of tenderly mocking amusement in his eyes. “Have I shocked you, love?”
Garrett found it hard to think. Her entire body was throbbing. “A little,” she said unsteadily. “It is my first time.”
“But you sounded so adventurous earlier, with all your talk of positions.” His fingers began to toy with her indecently, sifting among the feathery curls.
Desire seemed to radiate from her—she was surprised not to see wisps of steam rising from her skin. “I . . . I expected we’d start in a more civilized way, and work up to more adventurous things later.”
One corner of his mouth quirked lazily. “You didn’t invite me to your bed expecting a civilized lover.” His thumb stroked into the tender slit of her sex and circled through a slick of wetness. A shiver of pleasure centered in the depths of her body.
He shot her a glance of concentrated blue heat across the blushing surface of her skin, seeming to read her thoughts as if they’d been emblazoned in the air. “You wanted to find out how much I could make you feel. You wanted to know what it was like to lose yourself in passion, and find yourself safe in my arms afterward. Now I’m here, and I’m going to love you with everything I have in me.”
His fingers gently parted her, teasing their way among silky pleats and petals. Mesmerized, she watched his head lowering, the powerful shoulders flexing. He began to feast on her slowly, and it felt so good she thought she might faint. His tongue coaxed and tormented, darting and swirling. Her flesh became wetter, silkier, the inner lips turning full and hot, intimate muscles clamping helplessly on emptiness. He searched the intricate secrets of her sex, growling softly in satisfaction at the private taste of her. Please please please she wanted to beg, but the only sound she could make was a quiet whimper. The desire he aroused left no room for dignity.
Nothing could have drawn her attention away from him and what he was doing to her. An entire marching band could have come blaring through the room, and she wouldn’t have noticed. She had become a purely physical being, writhing mindlessly until Ethan’s arms slid beneath her thighs and curled around them, holding her snug and still. His attention centered on the peak of her clitoris, drawing it out, flicking delicately. Desperately she reached down to grip his upper arms, the bulges of muscle so hard that her fingertips couldn’t make the slightest dent.
His tongue began a new rhythm, crossing over the sensitive bud in fluid, steady stroking, like fingers turning the pages of a book. Intense feeling coursed through every part of her, making her hips jerk helplessly in his cradling grip. The agile tongue never faltered, urging her into a dizzying rise of sensation. She arched at the summit, her breath stopping, her heart laboring too hard to distinguish the spaces between the beats. Pleasure came in a series of hard shudders . . . again . . . again . . . until what tension remained broke into finespun shivers. His mouth soothed her for a measureless interval, easing her into peacefulness, until she was as limp as an empty glove. Eventually he moved up beside her and gathered her in his arms. She made a frazzled little sound against his shoulder, drawing a chuckle from him.
“You liked that,” he said with masculine satisfaction.
Garrett nodded dreamily.
Gently Ethan reached down to bring her hips against his as they lay sideways. “You’ll need to stay relaxed,” he whispered, “to take me inside.”
She felt his shaft against her belly, heavy and stiff, searing hot. The evidence of his desire excited her, reawakening the need to be possessed . . . filled . . . taken. She slid her arm around his shoulder and tried to roll to her back with him, but he kept them on their sides, and drew her top leg over his hip. Leaning over her, he kissed the side of her neck and closed his teeth lightly against a sensitive place. His hand slid over her body, fondling and stroking. She was pressed against the solid strength of him, her breasts teased by the silky-coarse hairs on his chest.
He reached between them, adjusting the angle of his erect length, rubbing the broad, hard head of it against the vulnerable cove between her thighs. She tensed in readiness. But he didn’t push, only maintained a gentle, constant pressure, a heated presence there at the entrance of her body. His mouth teased and sucked at hers, invading playfully. Cupping her breast with his hand, he rotated his palm gently over the stiff tip before taking it between his fingers.
She couldn’t help squirming at the wickedly experienced caresses, the undulation of her hips working against the head of his shaft. The opening of her body smarted and stretched. The intrusion felt impossibly wide. Daunted, she tried to hold still, but his beguiling hand slid down, fingers dancing over the folds of her sex, spreading and teasing her. Hunger knotted deep in her belly, and she was overcome by the impulse to press herself into those erotic, tickling caresses. He was mercifully slow, letting her accept him at her own pace—oh, those fingers felt so good—
“Breathe,” he whispered.
She gasped, stretched, ached, quivered on his shaft. He helped her with gentle pushes, inching gradually in a slow, patient possession. Leisurely minutes passed while his wet fingertips stroked, kneaded, and circled until, unbelievably, the pleasure crested again. This time, she was filled so tightly that her muscles could barely clench around him.
When the last ripples of release had faded, he changed their position, lifting her easily, sitting up and letting her slide down until she was in his lap with her legs wrapped around his waist. His hands cupped beneath her bottom, carefully controlling the depth of his penetration to keep from hurting her.
Bewildered, she sat with her arms around his neck.
His eyes were dark and slightly glazed as they stared into hers. “Being inside you like this . . . I wouldn’t have thought I could feel so much without dying of it.”
She leaned her forehead against his, their breaths mingling in unsteady surges. “Tell me what to do.”
“Don’t move. Stay like this. Feel how much I want you.” He panted and trembled, his deeply muscled thighs flexing beneath her. The small motion sent a rain of sparks across her vision. He adjusted the angle of her hips until she felt him pressing against something deep and sensitive inside her, nudging in a steady rhythm.
She brought her lips to his, and he rewarded her with a rough, ardent kiss. Devouring her soft moans, he kept up the ceaseless rocking of his hips while her insides quivered over the stiff length of him. His body was so powerful, beneath her, all around her—he could crush her so easily—but his hold was careful and cradling, as if she were something exquisite he was afraid of breaking.
Lowering her mouth to his shoulder, she savored the taste of salt and maleness. He was very deep now—her body had relaxed enough to take more—she rode the upward nudging of his hips, and everything was soreness and delight and w
onder. The heavy muscles of his back twitched with pleasure as her fingers scored lightly over the surface, leaving invisible markings of ownership.
His breath stopped as release caught up to him at last, the rhythm breaking. Blindly he nuzzled at her throat and made a quiet sound like a lost, wild creature. She curled her arms around his head, rubbing her mouth into the satiny locks of his hair, while her body contained the shocks of his release, the liquid heat, the slow, unfolding relief.
They lay in a tangle, drowsing and caressing, as the night gradually thinned into a sharp white dawn. At the first hint of approaching daybreak, Ethan stretched and sat up, lowering his feet to the floor.
Garrett rose to her knees and hugged him from behind, her breasts flattening against his back. Don’t leave, she longed to beg, but instead said quietly, “Come to me as soon as you’re able.”
Ethan was silent for a long moment. “I’ll try, acushla.”
“If things don’t go as they should . . . if you should have to go away somewhere . . . promise you’ll take me with you.”
Ethan turned to face her then. “Love . . .” He shook his head slightly. “I wouldn’t do that to you. Your family and friends, your patients, your practice . . . everything is here. It would ruin your life to leave all that.”
“It would ruin my life not to have you.” As soon as the words left her lips, Garrett realized it was the truth. “I could be a doctor anywhere. I have a little nest egg set aside. Once we settle somewhere, I’ll be able to earn enough to provide for us until you find a suitable occupation. We’ll manage. I’m afraid we would have to take my father with us, but—”
“Garrett.” A rapid succession of emotions crossed Ethan’s face, an odd smile twisting his lips. Taking her head in his hands, he imprinted a brief, hard kiss on her mouth. “You wouldn’t have to support me. I have enough to . . . well, it doesn’t matter. It won’t come to that.” He pulled her head against his chest and rocked her slightly, crushing a kiss against her hair. “I’ll come to you if I’m able. I swear it.”