Dear Diary (23 page)

“Rory?” he asked, lifting her chin with one finger, feeling her skin quiver beneath his hands.

Rory’s pulse quickened. She saw the swift change that crossed his face, heard his intake of breath.

“Help me get this off,” he said thickly, holding out his wrists.

“Your… shirt?”

“Unbuttoned the cuffs.”

“No, Nick.” Rory retreated. But his fingers clasped her hand, dragging her toward him. Her palms connected with the warm skin of his chest, her fingernails curling into the crisp hairs.

She met his gaze and saw herself reflected in his eyes. Swallowing, she glanced down in bemusement at his cuffs. As if from a great distance, she saw herself undo the buttons. His hands and wrists were deeply tanned and masculine. She’d never noticed before.

He smelled good, too. That citrusy scent mixed with his own earthy smell. She filled her lungs, listening to his even breathing.

When the cuffs were free, Nick yanked the shirt completely off and tossed it heedlessly on the floor. Slowly he reached for her, his fingers spanning her waist.

“I can’t do this,” Rory said, pulse tripping.

“Just let it happen.” His fingers gathered the hem of her sheer over-shirt, ready to slide it up her torso and over her head.

“Nick…” she protested faintly.

She felt his hands warm against her rib cage, holding her just beneath her breasts, his thumbs stroking her skin. “Do you know I’ve wanted you for years?” he said in a possessive voice that sent a thrill down her spine.

“Nick… please…”

“But it was so clear what you thought of me when I kissed you that first time that I never had the courage to ask again.”

He gently, firmly, pulled the gray top over her head and dropped it on the floor next to his own shirt. Rory’s nipples stood taut and erect against her aqua tank top. “You didn’t want me then. You don’t want me now,” she said.

“If this isn’t wanting,” he countered soberly, “I don’t know what is.”

Rory’s heart lurched, then jumped again when his hands caressed her shoulders and neck before cupping her face, his thumbs gliding softly over her quivering lips.

“You want me, too.”

She couldn’t lie. She couldn’t speak. His head bent downward, his mouth finding hers with unerring accuracy. His breath was sweetly scented and warm and his mouth tasted of champagne. Rory’s lashes fluttered closed in spite of herself. What was one kiss? One simple kiss?

The image of her father in another woman’s arms flashed across her mind. She could see it as clearly as if it were a moment ago. She could feel the anguish as if it had just happened.

“Rory,” murmured Nick in a tortured voice.

The image vanished. This was now and this was
Nick.
All her good intentions dissolved beneath his passion. His arms tightened around her. His breath expelled in a rush.

His mouth was hot and wet and demanding. Desire surged through her veins. She clung to him, shaking. His hands slid convulsively down her spine, molding her to him, pressing her thighs against the hard pressure of his.

“Nick,” she protested again, against his lips.

“Shhh. Don’t say it.” She felt one hand move toward her breasts. Her skin tingled with expectation. She wanted to wriggle and move, aid him in touching her. She shifted instinctively, moaning with both fear and pleasure when his hard fingers finally possessed one straining, quivering breast. Nick caressed her through the thin cotton tank, his breath quickening. “I don’t want to wait anymore,” he urged tensely.

He kissed her again, his tongue making little stabbing forays into her mouth, a precursor to his intentions. Rory went limp with emotion. She didn’t want to fight. She wanted everything he had to give her.

Nick groaned at her submissiveness, clasping her so tightly her breath squeezed from her lungs. “Rory,” he murmured, his fingers tugging on the hem of her tank top, pulling it free.

The cool air against her skin was a dash of sanity. “Not here,” she murmured wildly. “Not like this.”

Nick’s eyes were dark with suppressed emotion. “What do you mean?”

The memory of her father was too vivid. “Not in the kitchen.”

“Oh, Rory. You little Puritan.” Nick laughed beneath his breath, gathered her into his arms and swept her off her feet. She clung to him as he headed for the hallway. Pressing her face into his neck, she blacked out her fears for the future. Grab your happiness now. Take it. Stop playing it safe.

He set her on her feet inside his bedroom. The room was dim, lit only by the shadowy light spilling down the hall from the kitchen. Nick didn’t give her a chance to change her mind. He pulled her hard against his chest, kissing her mouth, shaping it with his lips, thrusting his tongue inside in a way that made her head spin. She sensed his growing desire and responded instinctively. She opened her mouth to allow him greater access, sliding her hands around his waist, digging her fingers into his muscled skin.

“Oh, God,” he murmured, pulling the tank top over her head. When she stood in front of him, naked from the waist up, she nearly panicked from embarrassment. But then he said “Rory” in a voice so full of need that she slid into his arms and pressed herself to his chest, squeezing her eyes closed.

His belt buckle dug into her soft flesh. She glanced down and Nick slowly released her. And then she did the unthinkable. She unclasped his buckle, the soft jingle loud in the quiet room, then pulled down his zipper, the hissing sound sending a sharp thrill through her body. The intimacy of it shocked her. She wanted him so badly she ached.

She stopped, unable to go on. She wanted to explore all of him, but she wasn’t that brave. She was ridiculously inexperienced. At this crucial moment she couldn’t even remember what it had been like with Ryan. Certainly nothing like this.

Nick took the initiative. His hands skillfully undid her jeans and he pulled them and her panties to the floor in one swift movement. Rory’s first instinct was to cover herself. This hadn’t been the way it was with Ryan.

Nick pulled her to him, his mouth near her ear. He kissed her softly over and over again, the touch so soft, the sound unbearably erotic.

“Tell me you want me,” he whispered.

Rory shook her head.

“I can feel you want me. Why won’t you say it?”

“Because I’m afraid.”

“Of what? Me?”

“Yes.”

Nick made a sound of disbelief, pulling back to look into her face. “Why?”

Rory inhaled shakily. He had no clue to her history. She’d never been able to tell him a single word. If she were ever going to be honest, this was the time. “I had a bad experience with a relationship once. When I was in college.”

“That weekend you came to see me.”

His perception surprised her. “Just before that. And then… you told me you were going to marry Jenny.”

“That was a long time ago.”

“It doesn’t feel that long ago to me.”

“It does to me,” he assured her, sinking down on the edge of the bed, drawing her to him. Rory was anxious to climb underneath the covers, but Nick had other ideas. He drew her down on the bed beside him.

“Help me,” he said thickly.

Rory reacted instinctively, rolling him onto his back, burying her face in his stomach. Nick sucked in a breath and laughed. “I said help me, don’t kill me.”

“What do you mean?” she asked blankly.

“With my pants.” He pressed her hands against him and Rory touched his hard hips. Her breath came in gasps. What she wanted to do, she didn’t dare, but he seemed to be asking her to.

“I—”

“Go on.” His chest rose and fell.

Rory pulled off his clothes, examining his maleness with unabashed curiosity. She ran her hands over his skin and his intake of breath made her bold. She touched and caressed and suddenly found herself flat on her back, trapped hard against the mattress, Nick’s hands encircling her wrists.

“I can’t wait. I’m sorry,” he muttered, thrusting against her.

Rory’s whole body stiffened. Now she remembered what it had been like with Ryan. She closed her eyes, but instead of feeling him force the passage she wasn’t ready for, she felt the caress of Nick’s hand, kneading her skin, demanding a response, his hips hard against hers but waiting.

Waves of heat pulsated throughout Rory’s body. She opened her mouth in amazement and met his marauding tongue. When he entered her, she was wet with desire. He thrust deeply inside her, and Rory gasped.

“God, Rory,” he groaned, and within seconds she felt the sweet warmth of his climax.

He slumped against her, his mouth against her throat, tasting her skin. She lay quiet, more amazed than disappointed. Her body felt on fire, waiting. She was as tense as a bowstring. It hadn’t happened for her, the magic everyone talked about, but she didn’t care.

But when Nick suddenly shifted the rest of his weight on his palms, she sucked in a shaking breath, dying for something she couldn’t quite name.

“You see that?” he said, smiling. “You see what you do me? I don’t have any control.”

“I bet you say that all the girls.”

“Don’t be flip, Rory. Not now.”

Rory pulled away from him, turning on her side, aching. She hadn’t meant to be flip, but she needed to protect herself. His fingers grasped her chin, forcing her to meet his eyes, but Rory struggled away, embarrassed.

With supreme ease his hands grabbed one shoulder, pulling her onto her back. “Where do you think you’re going?” he demanded, thwarting her continued efforts to escape.

“Home.”

“Home.” He snorted. “Not yet.”

“Nick, let me up,” Rory demanded.

His mouth trailed alongside her neck, one palm gently rubbing across her breast.

Rory froze. “What are you doing?”

“Making love to you.”

Softly, slowly, his fingers set her on fire. She moved restlessly, moaning. When he joined with her a second time she was hot and anxious. Shifting his weight, his hips pushed hard against hers. Rory sucked in a breath. Desire ran like a molten river through her veins. “I blew it,” he murmured near her ear. “I’m sorry. This one’s for you.”

Rory stiffened beneath him.

“This time I promise to act like an adult,” he added.

“Nick…”

But he was already moving within her, slowly, rhythmically, torturously sweet. This was outside Rory’s experience. She refused to relax, but he kept coaxing her, moving in a way that had her responding in spite of herself. He bent his head to her breast and sucked one nipple. Her head fell back and she moaned; a tightness was coiling within her. Her fingers dug into his shoulders. Sweat dampened her skin.

Pressure built. Her hands slid to his buttocks. His mouth moved to hers, his tongue teasing her lips. She pulled him to her.

“Good?” he whispered.

She nodded vigorously, crying out as the unbelievable happened and a wave of pure pleasure swept over her. She clasped him hard, shuddering, and was rewarded with his own groan of desire.

“God, Rory! What you do to me…” he said through his teeth just before the pulsating heat of his own response followed hers.

DEAR DIARY — NANCY BUSH

Chapter Ten

Nick Shard and Rory Camnen, 9 yrs., after the big fight scene.
Kissing Rory at my wedding.

Rory read the back of the photographs and smiled at Nick’s third-grade penmanship in comparison to his college script. “Where did you find these?” she asked, tucking the sheet firmly around her breasts.

“Don’t you dare tell me you’ve lost yours.”

“No. I’m just not sure where they are. You spelled my name wrong.”

“That’s what I thought it was at first. Camnen. Give me a break, I was only nine.”

As if to make sure she realized he was nine no longer, he nuzzled his lips against her ear. Rory twisted her head away. “Stop!” she said with a laugh, slapping at him ineffectively. She’d grown more self-conscious with each passing minute. Not so Nick. He flipped back the covers, turned on the bedside lamp, then walked buck naked down the hall, returning with his wallet and the two pictures. Now he lay stretched out beside her beneath the covers, one hand tenaciously curved around her stomach even though she held the covers around her like a straitjacket.

“I’ve been meaning to show them to you for days,” Nick admitted, “but you haven’t exactly been approachable. You’ve avoided me.”

“I have not.”

“Have too.”

He grinned unabashedly. Rory dragged her gaze away from him, upset that her heart still beat hot and heavy. She glanced back at the photo, smiling at the sight of herself and Nick at nine, bloodied and beaten and proud of it. But the second picture was of Nick kissing her at his wedding reception. Thinking of it made her skin feel cold. Champagne and passionate kisses.

“Where did you find them?” she asked.

“In an old box of memorabilia from high school and grade school. I also found the email you wrote me after I left for San Francisco right after my divorce.”

“Really? You kept it? Why?”

He smoothed back a strand of sweat dampened hair from her forehead, following up with a light kiss. “Because you’ve been on my mind.”