The Senator’s Daughter (31 page)

Lyle's lips grazed hers.

She went in, shut the door, and leaned against it.

It was all she could do not to shout for joy. It was happening, the way she'd dreamed of since she turned thirteen and her stomach started doing flip-flops when people kissed in the movies. After several false starts, she had finally found a man who made her toes curl.

Sylvia pushed off the door and went to sit on the edge of her bed. She pulled Lyle's shirt over her head and tossed it on the carpet. First one strap and then the other, she lowered the top of her bathing suit.

Looking down at her breasts, imagining his mouth on them, she could swear they were swollen. Wetting her finger on her tongue, she ran it around the tip of one nipple.

A moan escaped her; she felt the tug of sensation in her womb.

When had she ever been so charged? And when Lyle applied a million volts it would electrify her.

Sylvia stood and shoved the swimsuit down over her thighs. Leaving it on the floor, she went into the bath and caught her reflection in the mirror.

Had she ever seen herself so flushed with becoming color, her eyes ablaze? Was this how Lyle saw her?

No need for makeup or perfume; no artifice. She put on a pair of little black shorts and her red tank top with nothing underneath and prepared to go to him.

On the way into his room Lyle decided against turning on any lights.

In the glow that spilled over the transom from the hall, he crossed to the bedside table and set down the champagne bottle and glasses. Going to both of the tall windows, he pulled down the shades, and then lit the bedside candle.

Though the golden glow spelled sensuality, it also reminded him of last night's fearsome interruption to their lovemaking. How he hoped there would be no more seismic activity.

Come to think, maybe his being uneasy about the quake explained why he'd gone off the deep end thinking Valetti was up to no good. He was just jumpy.

With care, Lyle removed the foil from the champagne bottle and twisted off the metal cage. He covered the cork with his hand and gently removed it; a little pop told him he'd done it right, keeping the bubbles in solution. He poured a measure into each of the two flutes.

Next, he turned back the bedcovers and plumped the pillows. In the bathroom, he removed his shirt and swimming trunks and cleaned up a little.

One look at his reflection, his color high, his pupils wide with anticipation, brought home that this was no simple hookup. Where Sylvia Chatsworth was concerned, he was a goner.

Back in the bedroom he slipped between the sheets. All was in readiness, especially him.

Nope. He jumped out of bed and ran to check that he'd left the door unlocked.

Back under the covers, he surveyed the tent his erection was making of the sheet. Fantasies teased him, of kissing Sylvia's ample breasts, of parting her thighs.

What was taking her so long?

Lyle's state of arousal reminded him of the condoms. He ought to bring them from his toilet kit to a drawer at bedside.

He tossed back the sheet.

At Lyle's door, Sylvia raised her hand to knock.

A slow smile stretched her mouth. Why not check and see if it was unlatched?

Reaching for the knob, her lips curved into a wider smile. All night with Lyle, not just for sex—she wanted to drift into sleep with him and wake in his arms.

The faceted glass doorknob turned in her hand. “Lyle?” She shoved open the door.

He lay in naked splendor on the sheets. His long torso, with whorls of golden hair pointing the way from his navel to a dense blond thicket, ended at his aroused sex.

Lyle's shocked blue gaze met hers and darted away. He tugged up the sheet to cover himself. “I was just going to … uh … pour the champagne.”

Sylvia glanced at the two glasses at the bedside, bubbles rising within the pale wine.

His cheeks reddened. At his confusion, and the clear message he had not intended to pose in all that nude glory, a wave of laughter bubbled. He went redder still, and she knew what to do to stem his embarrassment.

Smiling, she approached the bed and climbed up to straddle his thighs. Placing her index finger to the hollow at the base of his throat, she drew it down the center of his chest, dragging the sheet with it. His eyes followed her motion.

She stopped below his navel, just above the jutting evidence he couldn't hide.

“Maybe you didn't intend to greet me in
flagrante delicto,
but I've got to tell you …” She bent until her breasts beneath her cotton tank top grazed his bare chest. “When I opened the door, you were the most magnificent thing I've ever seen.”

Lyle seemed to recover his sense of humor. “Better than the Matterhorn?”

“Better than any mountain peak… I think.” Giving the tented sheet an appraising look, “But I'd need to see it again to be certain.”

At the involuntarily husky note in her voice, Lyle's eyes went a deeper blue. “Would you now?”

“Now.” She nodded gravely, suppressing a giggle.

“Well,
now,”
Lyle pondered. “I think your twin peaks are better than the ones in San Francisco, but again, I'd probably need to see to be sure.” He fingered the hem of her top.

She pretended to consider. “So what you're saying is we can play show me yours and I'll show you mine—like kids?”

“Not at all like kids.” Lyle spoke in a low growl. “But that's about the size of it.”

“The size of it?” Sylvia mimed, measuring the height of the hidden peak.

He performed a little push-up to a higher profile, and she did a double take.

Lyle smiled. “Baby, whether we knew it or not, we've been having foreplay ever since you kissed me at Ice …”

“I merely started it. You kissed me back.”

“That's what I'm saying. And as tantalizing as dragging things out is … I'm ready to stop looking and start touching.”

He lifted her shirt, his knuckles barely brushing her breasts on the way.

Sylvia was ready, so ready; his teasing sent a rush of moisture between her thighs.

Lyle reached and wet his finger in a champagne flute. He touched her nipple and bent to lick it off. Another stretch and he raised the glass for a mouthful.

Moving to her other taut tip, he closed his lips over it and let the liquid effervescence tickle her skin. Yet, there was nothing funny about the sensation. The cold champagne and his hot lips encircling her made a devastating combination.

Lyle swallowed the wine and tugged at a strap of her top. “Let's get this off.”

She lifted her shoulders, and he pulled the garment over her head. After sending it flying, he addressed the snap at the waist of her shorts. The little pop made another milestone on the way to getting deliciously naked.

Growing impatient, Sylvia got off the bed. Without taking her eyes from Lyle's, she lowered the zipper.

At its rasp, Lyle raised his brows and tracked the waistband down over her hips. All the way to the revelation of her unwaxed nest of crisp black curls.

Sylvia let the shorts drop and stepped out of them.

“You are so beautiful.” Lyle's voice sounded thick.

For a moment, Sylvia remained where she was … to tantalize … and to savor the sight of him naked and aroused. But there was more.

His gaze was so intense, tears formed in her eyes.

Perhaps he saw their candlelit sheen. “Oh, woman, I have fallen for you so completely.”

All Sylvia could manage was to nod.

He opened his arms, and she went to him.

Lyle couldn't believe it. After fantasizing about Sylvia for months, ever since she'd caught his eye at Wilson McMillan's house party, he'd been seeing some version of this in his mind's eye. And, though he believed in the vulnerable girl inside her, hurt by public humiliation and capable of great emotion … he'd also been dumb enough to rationalize it was mostly about sex.

Gathering Sylvia against him, he wished she'd confessed to falling for him, too. Perhaps she was so overcome by feeling, the way he was now, that speaking was out of the question. Where her body touched his, it felt incredibly warm. His sex, trapped between their stomachs, was even hotter.

Though Lyle wanted to lift Sylvia and slip inside her, he wanted more for this to be perfect. “Why don't you lie on your back?” he suggested.

She obeyed, stretching out beside him on the king bed, eyes anticipating.

Lyle reached again for the champagne. This time he lifted the flute and dribbled sparkling liquid into the hollow at Sylvia's navel.

She sucked in her breath, and the hollow between her hipbones held more wine. While he replaced the glass on the nightstand, she didn't move, her eyes on the bubbling pool.

As soon as Lyle bent to lap wine from her skin, he felt a shudder pass through her. With his tongue, he circled her belly button, noting she hadn't given in to the piercing fad. Then he lost all thought of anything beyond the edges of the big bed.

He poised over her, intent on bringing seduction to its inevitable conclusion.

“Aren't you …?” She glanced around the room.

“I've got some.” Though he'd almost gotten carried away and forgotten. He reached to open the drawer where he'd stashed the condoms.

Her cheeks pinkening, Sylvia cast her eyes down. “I'm on the pill, and I've seen the doctor since I last …”

“I've seen the doc, too. If you want to trust me.”

Her eyes went even darker, they seemed to be all pupil. “I trust you.”

And Lyle knew, once and for all, that the Senator could take his money and shove it.

Every muscle and nerve in Sylvia's body was strung taut with wanting. Had she ever seen anything so beautiful as the candle glow turning the hair on Lyle's head, chest, and around his sex to spun gold? Spreading her legs, she welcomed him.

But, rather than enter her, Lyle knelt between her thighs. It seemed there was one last appetizer before their feast…

The first lap of his tongue made her stiffen and throw her head back.