Blue-Eyed Devil (28 page)

But even as I responded to his kiss, I felt the intimate pressure of him beneath me, and I stiffened.

Hardy drew his head back, his eyes molten blue. “Is it this?” He nudged upward, the hard ridge pushing against me. “Feeling that makes you nervous?”

I squirmed and nodded, turning scarlet. But I didn’t try to move off him, just sat there quivering.

His hands traced down my shoulders and arms, caressing me through the shirt. “Should I visit the therapist with you? Would that help?”

I couldn’t believe he’d be willing to do that for me. I tried to imagine it, me and Hardy and Susan discussing my sex problems, and I shook my head. “I want to fix it now,” I said desperately. “Let’s just . . . let’s go into the bedroom and do it. No matter what I say or even if I freak out, just hold me down and keep going till it’s finished and — ”

“Hell no, we’re not going to do that.” Hardy looked almost comically appalled. “You’re not a horse to be broken to saddle. You don’t need to be forced, you need — ” He drew in a quick breath as I shifted my weight on his lap. “Honey,” he said in a strained voice, “I don’t do my best thinking when all the blood leaves my brain. So you should probably sit next to me.”

A warm pulse throbbed where we pressed, our flesh fitting exactly. I realized I wasn’t quite as nervous, now that I’d had a few moments to get used to him. I settled a little deeper on him.

Hardy closed his eyes and made a guttural sound. I saw the color

heighten in his face. And I felt a rearing response in the thick pressure beneath me.

Hardy’s lashes lifted, his eyes bluer than usual against his rich rosewood tan. He glanced at the front of my shirt — his shirt — where it gaped open to reveal the space between my breasts. “Haven . . . ” His voice was hoarse. “We’re not going to do anything you’re not ready for. Let’s get you dressed, and I’ll take you out to dinner. We’ll have some wine, and you can relax. We’ll figure this out later.”

But later was too late. I wanted to figure it out right then. I felt the heat coming off him, and I saw the mist of sweat on his throat, and I longed to kiss him. I wanted to give him pleasure. And please, God, I wanted at least one good memory to replace one of the bad ones.

“Hardy,” I said tentatively, “would you . . . indulge me a little?”

A smile touched his mouth. He reached out and pulled the sides of the shirt closed, and used the backs of his fingers to stroke my cheek. “A little,” he said, “or a lot. Just tell me what you want.”

“I feel like . . . if we went to the bedroom right now, and just tried some things, I . . . I could handle it as long as you took it slow.”

His hand stilled. “What if you have a flashback?”

“I don’t think it would bother me as much as it did before, because now I’ve told you everything and I know you understand what my problem is. So I would just tell you if I got afraid.”

He stared at me for a long moment. “You trust me, Haven?”

I ignored a twinge of nerves in my stomach. “Yes.”

Without another word Hardy plucked me from his lap, set me on my feet, and followed me to the bedroom.

My bed was an old-fashioned brass one, the sturdy, stately kind that weighed a ton and didn’t move an inch. It was covered in cream linen, and the pillows were made of lace taken from antique wedding dresses. In the feminine surroundings of my bedroom, Hardy looked even bigger and more masculine than usual.

Such a normal act, two people going to bed together. But for me it was invested with far too much significance, too much emotion, too much everything.

The air-conditioning imparted a soft chill to the room, the lace on the pillows fluttering like moth wings as the ceiling fan turned overhead. An antique Victorian lamp shed amber light across the bed.

I tried to seem casual, sitting on the bed and working at the tiny straps of my high-heeled sandals. I wished I weren’t stone-cold sober. A glass of wine might have loosened me up a little. Maybe it wasn’t too late. Maybe I should suggest —

Hardy sat beside me, reached for my foot, and unfastened the miniature buckle. He squeezed my bare foot and ran his thumb along the arch before taking off the other shoe. Sliding an arm around me, he eased us both back onto the bed.

I waited tensely for him to start. But Hardy only held me, warming me with his body, fitting an arm beneath my neck. One hand traveled over my back and waist and hips, up to the nape of my neck, as if I were a skittish animal. And it went on until the petting and soothing had lasted longer than any sex act I had ever engaged in with Nick.

Hardy spoke against my hair. “I want you to understand . . . you’re safe. I’m not going to hurt you in any way. And if I do something you don’t want, or you start to feel scared, I’ll stop. I’m not going to lose control.” I flinched as I felt a tug at the front of my jeans and heard the snap being unfastened. “I’m just going to find out what you like.”

My fingers curled into his T-shirt as his hands ventured inside the loosened waist of my jeans. ” I want to find out what you like too.”

“I like it all, darlin’,” he whispered, peeling my clothes off as if he were unwrapping a bandage. “I told you, I’m easy to please.”

His breath fell on me with a sweet burn as he drew his mouth over my throat and breasts. He knew what he was doing, taking his time. “Relax,” he murmured, his fingers gliding over my straining limbs.

I clutched at his T-shirt, trying to pull it off. He helped me, stripping away the layer of thin cotton and tossing it to the floor. His skin was as brown as cinnamon against the antique-white bed linens. There was a light mat of hair on his chest, so unlike Nick’s smoothness. I put my arms around his neck and kissed him, gasping as my breasts pressed into the warm, tickling hair.

Hardy caressed and explored as if he were intent on discovering every detail of my body. I realized he was playing with me, lifting and turning me, pressing kisses in unexpected places. He was so strong, his body sleek and beautiful in the muted light. I crawled over him and rubbed my nose and chin into the springy-soft fur of his chest. I trailed my fingers to his midriff, where the skin was satin-smooth and taut over bands of muscle. And lower, to the edge of his jeans . . . and lower still, to the part of him I was nervous of.

Watching my face, Hardy eased slowly onto his back, allowing me to explore him. I touched him over his jeans, hesitantly tracing the jut of his erection. His breath roughened, and I sensed how difficult it was for him to hold himself in check. My fingers wandered to the base of the shaft, where the flesh was weighted and tight-mounded, and I heard him give a soft grunt. A dart of excitement went through me as I realized how much he liked that, and I did it again, circling my palm over the taut denim.

A laughing groan escaped him. “You’re trying to torture me, aren’t you?”

I shook my head. “Just trying to learn you.”

He pulled me farther over his chest, guided my head to his, and gave me another of those insatiable kisses, until I was rising and falling with the rhythm of his breathing as if I were floating on ocean waves. He reached down to his jeans and unfastened them.

I hesitated and slid my hand down to grip him gingerly. At this point there was no doubt that Hardy was built to scale all over. It was, as Todd would say, quite a package. But instead of greeting the discovery with a hallelujah, I grimaced. “You’re a lot for me to manage,” I said doubtfully. “I wish I could start with something smaller and gradually trade up.”

“Can’t help you there, honey.” Hardy sounded breathless. “That one’s not available in a mid-sized edition.” He urged me over to my front, and I felt his mouth on my back, kissing and nibbling along my spine. But I stiffened as I remembered how Nick used to take me from behind. His favorite position. All the thumping excitement died away, and I broke out in an anxious sweat.

Hardy’s mouth lifted from my skin, and he turned me to face him.

“Scared?” he murmured, his hand skimming over my arm.

I nodded with a mixture of defeat and frustration. “I guess I don’t like it that way, with you behind me. It reminds me of — ” I stopped, wondering bleakly if I was ever going to get Nick out of my head, if I would ever be able to forget what he had done. The bad memories had been woven into the fabric of my body, threaded through every nerve. Nick had ruined me for life.

Hardy continued to stroke my arm. There was a distance in his gaze, as if he were turning a thought over in his mind. I realized he was considering how to handle me, how to slip past my defenses, and that made me feel apologetic and wary.

His hand wandered from my arm to my chest, his fingertips circling the breasts that Nick had complained were too small.

Damn it. There was no way the good feeling was going to come back. I couldn’t stop thinking about my ex-husband, or my own inadequacies. “It’s not working for me,” I choked out. “Maybe we should — ”

“Close your eyes,” he murmured. “Lie still.”

I obeyed, my fingers knotting into fists by my sides. The lamplight shone dull orange through my lids. His mouth descended, trailing kisses from my chest to my stomach. His tongue slipped inside the tight hollow of my navel, and I squirmed in response. His hand settled on one of my knees. “Easy,” he whispered again, sliding lower until my eyes flew open. I jerked and pushed at his head.

“Wait,” I gasped. “That’s enough, I can’t . . . ” I was blushing furiously, trembling all over.

Hardy’s head lifted, the soft light running over his hair like liquid. “Am I hurting you?”

“No.”

His hand came to my stomach, rubbing in a warm circle. “Did I scare you, honey?”

“No, it’s just . . . I’ve never done that before.” Needless to say, Nick had never been interested in any activity that would enhance my pleasure rather than his.

Hardy contemplated my red face for a moment. A new glint entered his eyes.

Softly, “Don’t you want to try it?”

“Well, someday, I guess. But I like to take these things in steps, I think I should get used to the regular stuff before going to the advanced — ” I broke off with a little yelp as he bent over me again. “What are you doing?”

His voice was muffled. “You work on a plan for taking it in steps. Let me know when you got it figured out. In the meantime . . . ”

I squeaked as he pinned my legs, holding them wide.

Hardy gave a low laugh, enjoying my discomfort. There was no doubt about it — I was in bed with the devil. “Give me five minutes,” he coaxed.

“This is not up for negotiation.”

“Why not?”

“Because — ” I twisted and panted. “Because I’m about to die of embarrassment. I — No. I mean it, Hardy, this is — ” My mind went blank as I felt him lick deep into that vulnerable, secret place. I managed a feeble push against his head. There was no dislodging him. “Hardy — ” I tried again, but the delicate moist strokes opened the seam of closed flesh, and the pleasure was so acute I couldn’t think or move. He followed the sensation to its center, using the tip of his tongue, and then he breathed on the throb and ache, steam fanning across wet skin. My heartbeat slammed so fast that I could barely hear his mocking whisper over the blood-rhythm in my ears.

“Still want me to stop, Haven?”

My eyes were wet. I was strung tight with pleasure, shaking with it, but it wasn’t enough. “No. Don’t stop.” I was shocked by the sound of my own voice, so hoarse and low. And even more shocked by the way I cried out as he slid in one finger, and then another, stretching the glazed softness, while his mouth searched the furled flesh. The sensation was excruciating, my hips hitching upward and falling back. But release kept skittering out of reach, maddening in its elusiveness.

“I can’t,” I groaned, “I can’t do it.”

“Yes you can. Just stop trying.”

“I can’t stop trying.”

His wicked fingers began a slow in-and-out slide. I sobbed as a surge began, my flesh rippling, closing. His knuckles wriggled deeper. His tongue flicked steadily, and his mouth . . . his mouth . . . I was gripped by an overpowering swell, every heartbeat, breath, impulse, guided into violent tumbling spasms. I arched into the intense pleasure, my trembling hands secured around his head.

Hardy pushed his fingers as deep as possible and his tongue circled to catch the last few twitches of release. When his touch was withdrawn, I whimpered and reached for him, tugging him upward. He rolled me to my side and put his arms around me, and kissed the tear smudges at the corners of my eyes.

We were quiet for a minute, my bare feet tucked between his, his palm warm on my bottom. I felt the urgency beneath his stillness, like the false lull of the bull pen before the animal exploded out of the chute.

My hand stole to the open waist of his jeans. “Take these off,” I whispered.

Still breathing heavily, Hardy shook his head. “That’s enough for tonight. Let’s quit while we’re ahead.”

“Quit?” I repeated in groggy surprise. “No, there’s no quitting now.” I kissed his chest, relishing the masculine texture of him, the warm fur against my lips. “If you don’t make love to me, Hardy Cates, I’ll never forgive you.”

“I did make love to you.”

“All the way,” I insisted.

“You’re not ready for all the way.”

I gripped him and ran my fingers up and down the silky, hard-sprung length. “You can’t tell me no,” I told him. “It would be bad for my self-esteem.”

I rubbed my thumb over the broad tip, slow circles that drew out a slick of moisture. A quiet groan escaped him, and he buried his mouth in my hair. Reaching down, he pried my fingers away. I thought he was going to tell me to stop. Instead he said in a muffled voice, “My wallet is in the kitchen. I’ll go get it.”

I understood instantly. “We don’t need a condom. I’m on the pill.”

His head lifted, and he looked at me.

I gave an awkward shrug. “Since Nick never wanted me to have them, they became sort of an issue with me. I feel more in control . . . safer . . . when I take them. And the doctor said it wouldn’t hurt me. So I never miss a day. Believe me, we’re covered. Even without any other protection.”

Hardy rose and braced his weight on one elbow, looking down at me. “I’ve never done it without a condom.”