Just a Little Misgiving (Shades of Deception, Book 3) (9 page)

"And male?" He stroked her leg with his fingertips, then massaged her inner thigh. "I've had seven women offer themselves to help 'ease my loneliness', in the past month. I wasn't even tempted. I didn't want them."

"But you want me?"

"I think that's apparent. Just as I think we both know this is inevitable." His hand moved to the buttons of her blouse, then hesitated. "But I have to tell you, it's been a long time since I was single. I'm not sure if I'm going about this the right way. I feel like an awkward kid who's afraid of making a fool of himself by making the wrong move and offending the woman he's about to go out of his mind to touch."

"I'm not offended," she murmured, melting inside with the honesty of his confession, with the miracle of his wanting. Taking the leap, knowing this was the only way they could possibly break free of the past and embrace the future, she leaned forward until his hands were pressed against her chest. "I want you to touch me."

His breath left him in a ragged sigh. "I'd love to see your breasts."

In answer she reached for the first button, but her hands were damp and trembling so hard, she couldn't slip it free.

"It's reassuring to know I'm not the only one with a case of the shakes," he said with a low, seductive chuckle. He brushed her hands aside and began to work the buttons with a slow sureness that made his claim of awkwardness seem without merit.

One. Two. Three. And then there were none. He parted her blouse and she watched amazed as he closed his eyes with an expression of ecstasy and nuzzled her cleavage while he unlatched the front clasp of her bra.

She could feel the warm dampness of his breath, the cool wisp of air against her skin as he peeled off her bra and dropped it to the floor. He pulled away and their gazes locked with charged passion straining at the leash. And then slowly, deliberately his gaze moved downward.

He made a sound of delight, of hunger. "Oh, Lord," he whispered, "you're too beautiful. Too beautiful to look at and not taste."

His mouth skimmed over her flushed breasts, which felt fuller, more sensitive and aching than she could bear. Still she endured. She endured the sweetest agony she'd ever dreamed possible when his tongue glided over her, then swirled and probed the buds that were distended and feverish.

"Ahh," she cried softly as he closed his lips around her.

"Do you know how you taste?" He nipped her gently before lightly grazing each nipple with a day's growth of beard. "Like a forbidden fruit in a garden that just had the gates thrown open. I've been looking and wanting, and now that I've got you, I can't get enough." He lifted his head, and she saw the deepness, the openness of his greed.

"Then take more," she whispered. "More..." She clutched blindly, gathering his hair into her fist. There was a small hesitation before his lips brushed over hers, and their open mouths met.

She could hear their labored breathing, could smell the scents of their bodies mingling with heady desire. Urgently she slid her hands between them and tried to strip him of the shirt that robbed them of the feel of flesh against flesh.

Without breaking the kiss he jerked his shirt off. The buttons scattered over the bed and onto the floor, but she was only vaguely aware of the popping sounds, the whisper of a garment falling next to hers. He brushed his chest against her, and she reveled in the roughness of his hair.

He shifted until she lay on the mattress and he was beside her. Tasting faintly of the Scotch he'd had earlier, his mouth continued to work against her own in a voracious taking and giving.

How long they mated with tongues and tiny bites of slick, hard teeth, she had no way of knowing.

With a final plundering of each other's mouths, he broke the kiss. She was afraid to open her eyes, afraid to let a measure of reality spoil the dream. But then he kissed each eyelid, and said, "Open your eyes. Look at me. There's something I need to see."

She couldn't deny him that, she couldn't deny him anything, so she did look at him. What she saw was almost staggering and all but singed her with its heated intensity.

"What do you see, Myles?"

"Something better than a fantasy. A woman who wants me as much as I want her." He wedged his hand between her knees. "A woman who needs to be touched as much as I need to touch her."

He moved his hand slowly upward and she could feel herself giving way to the insistent pressure of his palm. Close to the juncture that was crying for him, he stopped and kneaded her inner thigh.

"Do you want me to touch you?"

She nodded her head in a short, jerky affirmation.

"Then say, 'Touch me, Myles. Touch me there.' Let me hear your voice so that I know I'm not dreaming."

"Touch me... there. Please, touch me everywhere."

She was surprised she could speak through the pounding in her ears, in her heart. Inside her...

"Oh, oh..." Who was saying the single word over and over? Was it her, or was it him, or were they both uttering the moan of ecstasy?

"I feel you," he said In a low, rough voice. "Even through your panties I can feel you. You're moving against me. Do you ache, Faith? Am I making you ache?"

"Yes," she sobbed quietly. She could feel her hips lifting, her legs parting, seeking release while praying this spiraling peak would go on forever.

"I can't bear to see you hurting," he murmured next to her ear before tracing the shell with his tongue, then suckling her lobe. He nursed it even as he worked her hose and panties downward. She felt the shift of the bed as he kicked them aside. Then his fingers found her as his mouth took hers. Tremors. Her body sighing, weeping for more.

"Tell me how to make the hurt go away," he commanded gently at the same time that he stroked his fingertips over and around her, playing her body with a merciless accuracy. He stopped at the threshold and pressed without breaching. She arched up in silent entreaty, but still he withheld filling the emptiness.

"Please, Myles. Don't... don't make me beg."

"I want you to beg. I want you so far gone you're begging me not to stop. Not now, not ever." He pressed himself against her, moving in a rhythm that matched the sleek entry of his fingers.

She jerked upward, welcoming the unfamiliar sensation that plunged her deeper and farther into a world of intimate knowledge that was theirs and theirs alone.

"What are you doing to me?" she suddenly cried as he pushed deeper with a tempo that was slow and then furious. "What are you... I can't take much more of this. Please, Myles. Please—"

"I'm hurting too." He quickly led her hand to his groin. "Feel me hurt too."

She did feel him. And she also felt the hurt of their bodies, the agony of their souls. They were healing together, fusing their strength and mending themselves with this terrible passion that was tearing them to pieces, then putting them back together as no longer two, but one.

Through the cloth of his pants she could feel him pulsing and straining against her. She fumbled with his zipper, and with an impatient growl he opened it for her.

She was unprepared for what greeted her, for the hungry urgency of his immediate, rapid thrust. Her fingers wrapped tightly around him, and she cherished his flesh, the incredible warmth of his skin.

"Make love to me," she moaned. "Make love to me now."

"No," he groaned against the tangle of her hair. "Not yet. Not until... let it go, Faith. Let me feel you melt in my hand."

She had no answer as his fingers pushed inside her, driving her on and on until she was plunged into utter darkness.

"Myles," she cried frantically, blindly searching for his mouth, clutching him to her while she pleaded for him to take her now.

She opened her eyes and met his, slitted with a wild, dark fury. He was suddenly on top of her, his arousal sliding sweetly over her folds.

His fingers laced with hers, and he held her arms spread in helpless surrender on the bed.

"Why?" she whispered.

He brought her hand to his mouth and tenderly kissed each finger, closing his eyes as he struggled with his own unsatisfied yearning.

"It's too soon for us, Faith." He skimmed his lips over hers, then lapped at her tears. "I had to... to have you, at least this much. We took our first step. But we need more time before we run."

"It wasn't enough, Myles. I only took."

"You took what I wanted you to have. And I'll take the rest. When we're both ready."

"When we're ready?" she repeated, uncomprehending. She was struggling with the confusing mix of ecstasy and distress. Surely he hadn't guessed... but he'd touched her there. Could he have somehow realized—no. It had to be something else.

"I don't understand, Myles."

"Don't you? The urge is so strong, it makes me want to forget to be gentle, to forget your body's not just yours anymore."

"You're afraid of hurting the baby?" She'd forgotten, and as if she needed a reminder, she felt a slight fluttering inside. The baby bound them, yet kept them apart.

"A little. But that's not all. It's so intense with us, Faith... like nothing I've ever experienced before. I know once we finish what we've started, I won't be able to sleep without you, and I for one will want a lot more than what you might be prepared to give."

"And what is that, Myles? Whatever you want, it's yours for the taking."

He studied her closely, then shook his head. "Not yet. I'm not one for asking until I'm certain I'll get what I ask."

Before she could pursue whatever it was he held back, he stroked her once more and winced. "Promise you'll still respect me in the morning?"

"I've always respected you, Myles. Always—"

She stopped. His brows drew together and he repeated, "Always... what?"

She swallowed hard. "Always cared for you."

"I want you to do more than care." He rolled off her and stood beside the bed. The evidence of his unsated desire gleamed with a sheen of moisture as he struggled with his pants.

His immodesty was a little shocking, and she found herself wanting to study at close range what she'd only felt, though not closely enough.

"Don't look away," he said. "I want you to see me. To see what you do to me."

He stopped until her gaze was fixed where they both wanted it.

"Tell me, Faith, do you like what you see?"

"I—" She gulped in the air that suddenly seemed in short supply. "Yes, I like looking at you." Her lips felt suddenly dry; she wet them with the tip of her tongue. Then she did what she wanted more than anything in the world to do and leaned forward to press her lips to him. She was rewarded with a hoarse, masculine growl.

"Only in my fantasies," he groaned. Myles took a sudden, short step back and zipped his pants. She felt a terrible sense of loss."You're killing me, Faith. With any luck I'll dream about that kiss and maybe wake up feeling better than I do at the moment. Though, chances are, I'll only feel worse and question my sanity for leaving it at this."

He stared downward, and Faith followed his gaze. Her skirt was hiked up to her hips and her breasts pouted. Her skin was still bathed in a rosy glow of passion and tinted with the peach glow of the nursery lamp.

She reached for the coverlet at the end of the bed, but Myles took it from her and shook it out. He tucked it beneath her breasts before parting with a lingering caress to each one, then a slow, deep kiss.

At the door, with rent shirt thrown over his shoulder, he turned. "That man, Faith, the one you sculpted but didn't want me to see?"

"Yes?" she said anxiously. "What about him?"

"I hate him. I keep wishing I could find that bastard and treat him to a knuckle sandwich for hurting you. Not only that, but for taking a piece of your heart."

For a long time she stared incredulously at the door. Myles was gone, but she held fast to his expression as he'd said those words—one revealing jealousy and fierce possessiveness.

Shaking herself out of a state of stunned jubilation, she reached for a pillow and buried her face in it.

She inhaled his scent and pressed her mouth against the feathered down to muffle her whoop of joy.

* * *

She was leaning against the counter making the morning coffee when he entered the kitchen on bare feet. Bracing a hand on either side of her, Myles leaned into the small of her back and nuzzled the hair against her neck.

"Mmm, smells good."

She went still, one hand on the faucet and the other gripping the stainless steel pot.

Her laugh was a little nervous. "The coffee does smell good," she agreed.

"Who's talking about the coffee?" he murmured next to her ear before biting it playfully. He was pleased that she shivered in spite of the heavy terrycloth robe.

"Umm... did you sleep well?" she asked.

"No. Lousy is more like it. What about you?"

"Not too good either."

"I'm glad. As they say, misery likes company."

He felt her throaty chuckle against his lips, a chuckle that echoed suspiciously of relief.

"No regrets?" he asked, just to be sure.