Beloved (13 page)

234

Beloved

Diana Palmer

235

He turned and walked to his own car with her glaring
after him.
Well, they'd just see about that! she
told herself.

It was barely a week until Christmas.
Tira
had the party for the
children to look
forward to on Christmas Eve, to help her feel
some Christmas spirit. She had an artificial tree that she set up in
her living room every year. She'd have loved a real one,
with its
own dirt ball so that it could be set
out in the yard after the
holidays, but she
was violently allergic to fir trees of any kind.
The expensive artificial tree was very authentic-looking and once
she decorated it, it could have fooled an expert at a
distance.

She
had a collection of faux gold-plated cherubs and elegant
gold foil ribbons to use for decorations, along
with gold and silver
bead strands and
fairy lights. For whimsy, there were a few me
chanical ornaments scattered deep within the limbs, which could
be activated by the touch of a finger. She had a
red-and-white
latch-hook rug that
went around the base of the tree, and around that was a Lionel "O"
scale train set—the one she'd seen in the
window of the department store that day she'd come across Simon
on
the sidewalk. She'd gone back and bought the train, and now
she enjoyed watching it run. It only lacked one
or two little lighted
buildings to go
beside it. Those, she reasoned, she could add later.

She stood back and admired her handiwork. She was wearing
a gold-and-white caftan that echoed the color
scheme of the tree,
especially with her hair loose. It was
Saturday, but she wasn't going to the Hart party. In fact, when Simon rang the
doorbell, he wasn't going to get into the house. She felt very smug about
the ease with which she'd avoided him.

"Very nice," came a deep,
amused voice from behind her.

She
whirled and found Simon, in evening clothing, watching her from the doorway.

"How...how did you get in?"
she gasped.

"Mrs. Lester kindly left the back door unlocked for
me," he
mused. "I told her that we were
going out and that you'd probably
forget. She's
very obliging. A real romantic, Mrs. Lester."

"I'll
fire her Monday the minute she gets back from her sis
ter's!" she snarled.

"No, you won't. She's a
treasure."
She swept back her hair. "I'm not
going to Jacobsville!"

"You are," he said.
"Either you get dressed, or I dress you."
"Ha!" She folded her arms across her chest and dared him to
do his worst.

The prospect seemed to amuse him. He took her by the arm
with
his good hand and led her down the hall to her bedroom, opened the door, put
her in and closed it behind them. He'd al
ready
been here, she could tell, because a white strapless evening gown was laid out
on the bed, along with filmy
underthings
that matched
it.

"You...you invaded my bedroom!" she raged.
"Yes, I did. It was very educational. You don't
dress like a
siren at all. Most of your wardrobe
seems to consist of cotton
underthings
and
jeans and tank tops." He glanced at her. "I like that caftan you're
wearing, but it's not quite appropriate for to
night's festivities."

"I'm not putting on that
dress."

  
He chuckled softly. "You are. Sooner or
later."

  
She started toward the door and found herself swept up against
him, held firmly by that damned prosthesis that
seemed to work
every bit as well as
the arm it had replaced.

"I'm not going to hurt you," he promised
softly. "But you're
going."

"I will...what are you...doing?"

She'd
forgotten the front zip that kept the caftan on her. He
released it with a minimum of fuss and the whole thing dropped
to the floor, leaving her in her bare feet and
nude except for her serviceable white briefs.

She gaped at him. He looked at her body with the
appreciation
of an artist, noting the creamy soft rise of her breasts
with their
tight rosy nipples and the supple
curve of her waist that flared to
rounded hips and long, elegant legs.

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Beloved

Diana Palmer

237

"Don't you...look at me!" she
gasped, trying to cover herself.

His eyes met hers quizzically. "Don't you want me
to?" he
asked softly.

The question surprised her. She only stared at him,
watching
his gaze fall again to her nudity and
sweep over it with pure
delight. She
shivered at the feel of his gaze.

"It's all right," he said gently, surprised by
the way she was
reacting. "I'm not even going to
touch you. I promise."

She
drew in a shaky breath, held close by one arm while his
other hand traced along her flushed cheek and down to the corner
of
her tremulous mouth.

What an unexpected creature she was, he thought with
some
confusion. She was embarrassed, shy, even a
little ashamed to
stand here this way. She blushed like a girl. He knew that
she
couldn't be totally innocent, but her
reaction was nothing like that
of an
experienced woman.

His fingers traced over her mouth and down the curve of
her
pulsating throat to her collarbone. They
hesitated there and his gaze fell to her mouth.

The silence in the bedroom was like the silence in the
eye of a
hurricane. If she breathed the wrong
way, it would break the spell, and he'd draw away. His fingers, even now, were
hesitating at her
collarbone and his mouth hovered above
hers as if he couldn't
quite decide what
to do next.

She
shivered, her own eyes lingering helplessly on the long, wide curve of his
mouth.

He moved, just slightly, so that her body was completely
against
his, and he let her feel the slow
burgeoning of his arousal. It
shocked her. He saw
the flush spread all over her high cheekbones.

"
Tira
,"
he said roughly, "tell me what you want."

"I don't...know," she whispered brokenly,
searching his pale,
glittering eyes. "I don't
know!"

He felt her hips move, just a fraction, felt her body
shift so that
she was faintly arched toward him.
"Don't you?" he whispered

back. "Your body does. Shall I show you what it's asking me to

do?"

She
couldn't manage words, but he didn't seem to need them.
With a faint smile, he lifted his hand and spread it against her rib
cage, slowly, torturously sliding it up until it
was resting just at
the underside of
her taut breast. She shivered and caught her
breath, her eyes wide and hungry and still frightened.

"It won't hurt," he whispered, and his hand
moved up and
over her nipple, softly caressing.

She clutched his shoulders and hid her face against him
in a
torment of shattered sensations, moaning
sharply at the intimate
touch.

He hesitated. "What's wrong?" he asked gently.
His face nuz
zled against her cheek, forcing her
head back so that he could see
her shocked,
helpless submission. He touched her again, easing
his fingers together over the hard nipple as he tugged at it gently.
The look on her face made his whole body go rigid.

Her head went back. Her eyes closed. She shivered,
biting her
lip to keep from weeping, the pleasure was so overwhelming.

If she was shaken, so was he. It was relatively chaste
love play, but she was already reacting as if his body was intimately moving
on hers. Her response was as unexpected as it was
flattering.

"Come
here," he said with rough urgency, tugging her to the
bed. He pulled her down with him on the coverlet
beside her gown
and shifted so that
she was beneath him. His rapid heartbeat was
causing him to shake even before he found her mouth with his
and
began to caress her intimately.

"Simon," she sobbed. But she was pulling, not
pushing. Her
mouth opened for him, her body rose as he caressed it with
his
hand and then with his open mouth. He
suckled her, groaning
when she
shivered and cried out from the pleasure. He was in so
deep that he couldn't have pulled back to save
his own life. He'd
never known an
exchange so heated, so erotic. He wanted to do
things to and with her that he'd never dreamed of doing to a
woman
in his life.

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Beloved

His
mouth eased back onto hers and gentled her as his hand
moved under the elastic at her hips and descended slowly. Her
legs parted for him. She gasped as he began to
touch her, sobbed, wept, clutched him. She was ready for him, and he'd barely
begun.

Even while his head spun with delight, he knew that it
was
wrong. It was all wrong. He'd been too long
without a woman
and this was too fiery, too consuming,
for a first time with her.
He was going in
headfirst and she wouldn't enjoy it. But he
couldn't stop
himself.

"
Tira
," he groaned at her ear. "Sweetheart, not
now. Not like
this. For God's sake, help
me...!"

His hand stilled, his mouth lay hot and hard against her
throat while he lay against her, his big body faintly tremulous as he tried
to
overcome his urgent, aching need for her.

Chapter 7

Tira
barely
heard him. Her body was shivering with new sensations,

with exquisite glimpses of the pleasure he could offer her.
She
felt

him go heavy in
her arms and slowly, breath by breath, she began to

realize
where they were and what they were doing.

She caught her breath sharply, aware
that her hands were still
tangled in the
thick, cool darkness of his wavy hair. She was
almost completely nude and he'd touched her....

   
"Simon!" she exclaimed, aghast.

"
Shhh
." His mouth
turned against her throat. His hand with
drew
to her waist and his head lifted. He was breathing as raggedly
as she was. The turbulence of his eyes surprised
her, because his usual impeccable control was completely gone. He saw her ex
pression and managed a smile. "Are you
shocked that we could
be like this,
together?" he asked gently.

"Yes."

"So am I. But I don't want you
like this, not in a fever so high
that I can't
think past relief," he said quietly. He moved away
from her with obvious reluctance and took one last,
sweeping
glance at her yielded body before he sat up with his back
to her and leaned forward to breathe.

She tugged
the coverlet over her heated flesh and bit her
swol
-

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Beloved

Diana Palmer

241

len
lips in an agony
of shame and embarrassment. How in the
world had
that
happened? If he
hadn't stopped...!

He got to his feet, stretched hugely and then turned
toward her.
She lay with her glorious hair in a
tangle around her white face,
looking up at him almost fearfully.

"There's no need to look like that,
Tira
," he said softly, with
eyes so tender that they confused her. He reached down and
tugged the coverlet away, pulling her slowly to her feet.
"The
world won't end."

He reached for the strapless bra he'd taken from her
bureau and
using the prosthesis to anchor it, he
looped it around her and held
it in place.

"You'll have to fasten it," he said with a
complete lack of self-
consciousness.
"I can't do operations that complex."

She
obeyed him as if she were a puppet and he was pulling
strings.

He held the half-slip and coaxed her to lean against him
while
she stepped into it. He pulled it up. He
reached for the exquisite
gown and deftly slid it over her head,
watching while she tugged
it into place. He
turned her around and while she held up her hair,
he zipped it into place.

He led her to the vanity and handed her a brush. She sat
down
obediently and put her unruly hair back into
some sort of order, belatedly using a faint pink lipstick and a little powder.
He stood
behind her the whole while, watching.

When
she finished, he drew her up again and held her in front
of him.

"How long have we known each
other?" he asked solemnly.

"A long time. Years." She couldn't meet his
probing gaze. She felt as if she had absolutely no will of her own. The sheer
vulnerability was new and frightening. She took a deep breath. "We
should go."

He tilted her remorseful eyes up to his. "Don't be
ashamed of
what we did together," he said
quietly.

She winced. "You don't even like
me...!"

He drew her close and rocked her against his tall body,
his
cheek pressed to her hair as he stroked the silken length of it.
"
Shhh
." He kissed her hair and then her
cheek, working his way
up to her wet eyes.
He kissed the tears away gently and then lifted
his head and looked down
into the drowned green depths. He
couldn't
remember ever feeling so tender with a woman. He re
membered how her soft skin felt against his mouth
and his
breathing became labored. He
stepped back a little, so that she
wouldn't
notice how easily she aroused him now.

She sniffed inelegantly and reached on the vanity for a
tissue.
"My nose will be as red as my
eyes," she commented, trying to break the tension.

"As red as the highlights in your glorious
hair," he murmured,
touching it. He
sighed. "I want you with me tonight," he said
softly. "But if you really don't want to go, I won't
force you."

She looked up, puzzled by his phrasing. "You said
you
would."

He frowned slightly. "I don't like making you
cry," he said
bluntly. "Until now, I didn't know that I could. It's
uncomfort
able."

"I've had a long week," she
said evasively.

"We both have. Come with me. No
strings. You'll have fun."
She hesitated, but
only for a minute. "All right."

He reached down and curled her small
hand into his big one.
The contact was
thrilling, exciting. She looked up into eyes that
confused her.

"Don't think," he said. "Come along."
He pulled her along with him, out of the bedroom, out the
door. It was new to have Simon act possessively about her, to be tender with
her. It hurt terribly, in a way, because now she knew exactly what she'd missed
in her life. Simon would be all she'd ever need, but she cared too much to
settle for a casual affair. Regardless of
what he thought of her marriage to John, and she had no reason
to
believe that he'd changed his mind about it, she did believe in