Housebound (15 page)

He moved his mouth away, giving her a moment to catch her breath. “Which bedroom has a double bed?” The question was short, abrupt, and common sense began to rear its ugly head once more.

“Noah, I can't—”

“For God's sake, Annie,” he cried, his voice hoarse and ragged, “don't play games with me. If you don't tell me which bedroom I'm going to make love to you right here on the bathroom floor.” And to prove his point he pressed her more fully against his hips.

The feel of him through the denim sent a shaft of white-hot emotion through her. The last tiny thread of control was gone—indeed, had been gone for weeks. She had made her token protest, defended her honor. Thank heavens he wasn't going to listen.

“There isn't a double bed in the entire house,” she said
unevenly, her voice a mere thread. “We're very sedate, I'm afraid.”

“Sure you are.” His mouth began trailing soft, leisurely kisses across the tops of her shoulders as his hands began weaving patterns of desire over her back. Somewhere she found the nerve to respond, and her fingers lightly threaded through the fine mesh of hair that pressed against her soft breasts. Feeling ever braver, she ran her hands down his sides, down to the frustrating barrier of his jeans, and then slid them around his waist and up his leanly muscled back. He shivered in response, his mouth traveling up her neck with ever-increasing determination, until once more he captured her mouth, his tongue diving past the meager barrier of her small white teeth to taste the nectar of her complete submission.

And yet it wasn't submission, Anne realized dreamily. It was, quite simply, acceptance of the desire that lay between them, desire too strong to succumb to common sense and self-preservation. For a long, delicious moment she was content to receive the gift of his kiss, that thrusting, powerful tongue promising a still more powerful thrust. And then she began to kiss him back, her tongue darting into his mouth with far less practiced skill, tentatively sampling the delights that awaited her.

For the second time that day she felt herself swung up into his arms and held high against his chest. His mouth never left hers as he kicked open the bathroom door and headed into the candlelit hallway. She had no idea where he was taking her, and she didn't care. She was content—no, eager—to follow wherever he led.

And he led her down the winding stairs into the library, stretching her out on the thick carpet with only the light of
the fire illuminating her pale body. “This is where we started,” he murmured, following her down. “I want to be able to watch your face in the firelight, Annie, love.”

She didn't say a word, just stared up at him, her black hair fanned out beneath her. In the fitful glow of the firelight Noah looked almost demonic, leaning over her, his body taut and golden, the muscles etched in shadow.

“Shall I give you one more chance?” he murmured, staring down at her with intent eyes. “A five-minute head start? Do you want to leave me, Annie, love? Do you want to sleep alone tonight? In that narrow bed with its clean white sheets?”

“If I said I did, would you let me?” she countered in a husky voice.

“Games again?” he mocked gently. “If you meant it I would.” And then he added, “But you'd be lying. Wouldn't you?” His voice was barely audible as his head dipped toward hers. “Wouldn't you?”

“Yes,” she said, the sibilant sound long and drawn out. “Yes, yes, yes.”

And with her final, complete acquiescence all hurry seemed to leave him. He savored her body, first with his eyes, that blue, Celtic Gypsy gaze of his traveling hungrily over her body with a slow, hot longing that left her shivering with reaction. And then his hands, those clever, practiced hands that had already proven they knew how to pleasure her. They cupped her breasts, the thumbs gently teasing the already aroused nipples, they stroked her stomach, rippling across her pale flesh in the flickering firelight, they trailed up and down her smooth thighs until they opened to his gentle insistence, and they sought and found the heat of her, taking what they already knew so well.

And finally, as she arched helplessly up against those hands, his mouth followed, capturing one rosy-tipped breast and then the other. A low, helpless whimper of longing came from the back of her throat, a whimper of longing and impatience, and he laughed softly against her breast. It was a warm, happy sound, that laugh of his, filled with a pure, sensual joy.

“You're ready, aren't you, Annie love?” he whispered on a note of triumph that she willingly granted him. “You're more than ready, aren't you? Tell me, Annie.”

“Please,” she gasped, her breathing ragged, his clever, clever hands driving her to the steep cliff of ecstasy.

“Please what?” he mocked gently, and his deep rich voice only inflamed her more. “Please leave you alone? Please don't do this?” he echoed her earlier words, and wordlessly she shook her head back and forth as she reached vainly for the fulfillment his hands promised yet still withheld.

“Please, Noah,” she whispered, opening her eyes to look into his, her need deep and pleading. “Make love to me. Now.”

The words were no sooner out of her mouth than she regretted them, terrified that she'd see a look of smug victory cover his face. She should have known better. The moment she confessed the need her body had been telegraphing, a change came over him. The final restrains had been lifted, but instead of smug self-assurance there was a blazing tenderness in his eyes.

It took him only a moment to strip off his jeans. Anne listened to the sound of the zipper in the darkened room, the rustling of the clothing as she kept her eyes on his. She wanted to let her gaze wander over his body, let her hands follow and discover the glory of him, but she felt suddenly, unaccountably shy.

“Don't be afraid of me, Annie,” he begged, kneeling
between her legs. “I won't hurt you. I promise. I'll be very, very gentle.” He levered himself forward, and she could feel him hesitate, feel the clenched muscles in his arms on either side of her that supported his weight. And then slowly, miraculously, he filled her, reaching deep inside to her very soul. And after the first moments of surprise and discomfort she welcomed him, reaching up with her arms and legs and her body to greet that magnificent invasion.

His control was absolute. Ignoring the cost, he began to move, rocking back and forth with a slow, steady rhythm. And each time he filled her it seemed a little deeper and a little fuller. A light film of sweat covered her skin, and shudders began to shake her body beneath his. And still he moved, seemingly intent only on pleasuring her, as he varied the force and the tempo of his thrusts.

The white-hot flames were building now, licking her body, and she clung to him like a boat adrift in a storm-tossed sea. And then suddenly, unexpectedly, it happened, and she was flung out into the sky in a shower of stars, and in that explosion of glory she felt his body stiffen in her arms, heard his strangled cry, and she wept, for the joy of being alone no longer.

It was a long time before they returned to earth. She lay there beneath him, content beyond words, listening to the crackle of the fire, the distant soughing of the wind, the ever-decreasing pounding of his heart against hers. She lay there, drifting through the sensations, and mused that she felt happy for the first time in her life. She'd never noticed the lack of happiness before, but suddenly, with this overwhelming fulfillment, she realized how bleak and lonely her life had been. And would be again, she thought, testing the pain as one would prod a sore tooth. But she was still too anesthetized
with pleasure to let the agony overwhelm her. It would soon enough, she reasoned, nuzzling her head against his shoulder. Only this time she'd recognize just how empty her life could be. Damn him.

Noah finally raised his head, looking down at her from eyes that were dark and unfathomable in the flickering firelight. “You look unhappy,” he whispered, kissing her lingeringly and with delicious thoroughness.

She smiled up at him, the tears still wet in her eyes. Tomorrow would be time enough for the pain. “Looks can be deceiving,” she murmured, and kissed him back, running her fingers up the lean sinews of his back. She never wanted him to move, she wanted to lie there forever, enveloped in his warm strength.

And indeed, he seemed in no hurry to quit the haven of her pliant body. With lips and teeth and tongue he explored the contours of her face, the tip of her nose, her eyelashes, the small, stubborn chin, the sensitive earlobes, until he once more claimed her mouth, setting his seal on it and leisurely investigating the succulent, honeyed depths.

When he finally broke away they were both breathless, and as he rolled onto his back he took her with him, tucking her under his arm so that her head rested on his shoulder. She could look up and see his face against the flickering firelight, and a sudden chill swept over her body. His face was dark, shadowed, with a hint of trouble in the slant of his eyes and the curve of his mouth. Tentatively she put a hand on his broad, slightly damp chest, letting her fingers trail softly through the thin dusting of hair. His hand reached up and caught hers, stopping the lazy caress. As if by its own volition his thumb began a lazy caress of its own against her slender hand, even as the sensuous lines of his mouth tightened still further.

“I'm not in love with you,” he said abruptly, suddenly, the fingers around her hand tightening. “You know that, don't you?”

Anne looked at him, lazily unperturbed. “Whoever said you were?” she countered softly. She was more pleased than threatened by his words. The very fact that the idea of love could be floating through his mind was definitely a good sign.

“I just wanted to make sure you didn't misunderstand,” he continued stubbornly.

“You must seduce a lot of women with that line,” she murmured, nestling closer against his taut length.

“Damn it, Annie, I'm serious.” He let go of her hand, and she immediately began to trail it along his torso again, her fingertips soft and questing and having, she noticed, a decidedly marked effect on him.

“I'm sure you are.” Her voice was infinitely patient, gentle. “I don't understand why you might think otherwise. You haven't led me on, led me to expect anything from you. Quite the opposite, in fact.”

“But do you really believe it? Did you make love with me on an impulse, a sexual whim? You're not that kind of woman, Annie.”

“Isn't that my line?” she replied sleepily, undisturbed. The more troubled and guilty he was, the more it pleased her.

“No games, Annie.”

“All right, what do you expect from me?” She opened her eyes wide, staring up at his intent face as he leaned over her, and her wandering hand was momentarily stilled. “Do you want me to say that I fell madly in love with you, that I expect you to feel the same and to make an honest woman of me? I didn't realize I appeared that naive.”

“Not naive. Vulnerable.” The blue eyes that stared down at
her were dark with guilt and anger, and she wanted to lift her hand and gently soothe that expression from his face.

“Just tell me what you want from me, Noah,” she said gently. “And then it will be up to me whether I want to accept it or not.”

“I want to make love to you.”

“You just did,” she said with a trace of a smile. “At least, I thought that's what we were doing.”

“That was only a taste of what I want to do with you. I want to spend the next six months in bed with you, making love to you morning, noon and night.”

She snuggled closer. “I think that sounds delightful.”

His hand reached out and caught her chin, forcing her to look up at him. “That's what I want to do. But that's not what we're going to do.”

“All right, tell me. What are we going to do?”

His answer was the last thing she expected. “Nothing,” he said shortly. “I'm going back to New York tomorrow, and you're going on with your life. Marry Wilson if that's what you really want, and if we happen to see each other again we'll be polite and friendly. And that's all.”

Slowly Anne withdrew from the circle of his arms, pulling herself into a sitting position, withdrawing into herself. There was nothing she could wrap around her nude body, nothing to shield herself from those cold, merciless eyes. Except that they didn't look cold and merciless in the firelight; they looked warm with desire and a torment to match hers. “That bad, was I?” she said flatly, willing the misery to go away, the tears to keep back.

He sat up swiftly, and the hands that caught her hunched shoulders were determined. “No, my love,” he said, and the
endearment had the breath-destroying ring of truth. “You were that good.”

She stared at him, disbelief and pain warring with the last tiny spark of hope that struggled for dominance. And then she was pulled into his arms, cradled against his chest, as his gentle, gentle hands stroked her face, her hair, her body, holding her tightly against him, and his voice was low and anguished as it rumbled beneath her ear. “I can't give you what you deserve, and I'm damned if I'm going to give you less. You need someone to love you with all their heart and soul, someone to marry you and give you babies, a partner and a lover and a friend. And the most I can offer you is a short, sweet fling, and you deserve far better than that.”