Parker And The Gypsy (17 page)

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Authors: Susan Carroll

BOOK: Parker And The Gypsy
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“I've already seen you naked. How much further can I go?”
“A lot further.” he said. “What if you end up with the whole works this time? All of me. Body and soul. My soul's not a fit thing to offer any woman, let alone an angel like you.”
“Why don't you let me be the judge of that, Michael?” Sara skimmed her fingertips along the side of his face, the gesture more tender and loving than any he'd ever known.
Easing away from him, she picked up a candle and held out her hand. “Please stay. Stay the night with me.”
No pleading, no blatant seduction. Just a simple request that cut straight to his heart. Sara stood before him, her winsome face and golden hair haloed by the candlelight, her lips soft and inviting. His gypsy lady. All the warmth that had always been missing from his black-and-white world. Would it be the worst thing that he'd ever done to steal a little of her sunshine for a while?
Possibly so, but he was too new at this being-noble business to hold out any longer. He hesitated one moment more before taking the biggest risk of his life.
Mike Parker reached out of the shadows and took Sara's hand.
Eight
C
andlelight shed a soft glow over the white eyelet and lace of Sara's bedroom, daunting Mike with the sheer femininity of it. She settled the candle holder on her dresser and turned back to face him, eyes shining, expectant.
This is the moment you're supposed to swoop her into your arms and carry her over to the bed stupid
, the more impatient part of his anatomy urged him.
Instead, he stood as if frozen to the carpet, awkward and uncertain. What the hell was the matter with him? He'd known what to do with a woman in a bedroom since he'd been seventeen. Pounce, peel off her clothes and get down to it.
But as usual, it was going to be different with Sara. Maybe, he was amazed to discover, because he wanted it to be. She drifted toward him, something endearingly innocent, almost childlike about the way her bare feet peeked out from beneath the hem of her nightgown. But the body draped by that sheer white cotton was definitely that of a woman, all soft enticing curves, the dusky aureolas of her breasts, intriguing shadows beneath her bodice.
Mike's mouth went dry. He'd only ever known the black lace teddy kind of female like his ex-wife. He'd had more pasties and fire red G-strings flaunted at him than a country hick lost in a strip joint.
How strange then, that it was Sara, in her angel white nightie, capable of arousing such hunger in him, such an indescribable longing, it was almost enough to make a grown man cry.
She came to a halt in front of him, running her fingers lightly up the lapel of his coat.
“Well, Mr. Parker,” she whispered, her smile gently teasing. “Aren't you ever going to take off your trench coat?”
“It's not a—” he started to deny, then gave it up with a wry grin. “All right, all right, you win. It's a damned trench coat. Mike Parker in his Sam Spade mode.” Feeling sheepish, he quickly undid the belt and buttons, stripped off the coat and flung it to the far corner of the room.
“Guess I read too much Mickey Spillane and Ray Chandler as a kid. Always pretending that I could grow up to be the same kind of tough-guy detective.”
“I'm glad that you had some make-believe in your life, Michael,” Sara said with one of those tender looks he almost found unbearable. “I used to play pretend about a lot of things when I was a little girl.”
“Oh, yeah?” He slipped his arms about her waist, drawing her close until she fit nicely beneath his chin. They made a strange contrast reflected in her dresser mirror. Sara in her white nightgown, a soft tumble of blond curls cascading down her back. Like someone straight from heaven. Him in his faded jeans and black T-shirt, unshaven jaw and windblown hair. Like something that had been tossed back from hell.
He grimaced, avoiding the sight by resting his cheek next to her temple and nuzzling a kiss against her brow.
“So, angel,” he murmured. “What kind of things did you pretend when you were a kid? The usual girl stuff, I bet. Knights on white chargers and the handsome prince bit?”
“No. I used to go hunting for fairies in the rose garden.”
Mike groaned. “I might have known.”
“And unicorns.”
“A horny what?”
“A unicorn.” She glanced up at him, her eyes half-laughing, half defying him to tease her. “You know. The mythical horse with the horn growing out of its forehead that can only be captured by a virgin.”
“There must be a real shortage of those these days.”
“Unicorns?”
“No, virgins.” But as he gazed down into her upturned face, the teasing light in his eyes darkened to something more intent.
When he bent to kiss her, Sara couldn't help reflecting that there was going to be even one less virgin in the world after tonight. But that was the last thing Mike needed to know right now. Despite all his efforts at banter, Mike seemed skittish about being with her.
Which was odd. Considering it was her first time, she was the one who should have been nervous. But she had never felt so calm, so sure of herself. It was as though she'd been waiting for this night all of her life. Maybe even several lifetimes.
Her lips trembled beneath the warm pressure of his and she closed her eyes, threading her fingers through his hair, savoring the hard, unyielding strength of his body pressed to hers.
Mike broke off the kiss, resting his forehead against her with a deep sigh. “Sara, are you really sure this is what you want? Because we're getting close to the point where I'm not going to be able to stop.”
“I don't want you to stop,” she said.
Passion warred with a gentleness rarely seen in Mike's rough-hewn features. “This is going to sound really dumb, angel, but I keep worrying I'm going to hurt you somehow. Destroy all that magic you believe in so fiercely.”
“You can't.” She laughed. “I have too much of it. So stop worrying, Mike Parker.”
What a time for Mike to turn so solemn and serious on her. How could she convince this impossibly skeptical man that she knew what she was doing? That she was more sure about this than she'd ever been about anything in her whole life, even when she had flung everything aside to come here and take over her aunt's shop?
Sara could think of only one way. Stepping back from him, with fingers that trembled slightly, she raised the hem of her nightgown and tugged it off slowly over her head.
As the candlelight skimmed over the outline of her bare breasts, she saw Mike swallow deeply. She knew more about the arts of the rune stones and crystals than she did about seduction, but she had a feeling she was on the right track.
With a gesture that was simple and direct, she reached down to her lace-trimmed satin underpants and dropped the last of her modesty to the bedroom floor.
Mike's eyes dilated. He shuddered as though a sudden shock wave passed through his body. Sara trailed her hand down the breadth of his chest and she could feel the irregular thumping of his heart.
“Tonight,” she whispered, “let me make some magic for you.”
Her mouth curving into a soft, inviting smile, she pushed aside the tangle of sheets and coverlet and stretched out on the mattress, her hair fanning across the pillow. She gazed up at him with a look of such longing, such trust, Mike felt something constrict in his chest.
If he wasn't such a selfish bastard, he'd leave now, before he did end up tainting her somehow with his dark cynicism, his bleak outlook on the world. But he was already too fargone, held spellbound by the delicate perfection of Sara's naked form, the sweet promise in her eyes.
Eagerly, he started to lower himself to the bed when the thought occurred to him that he was somewhat overdressed for the occasion. Quickly, clumsily, he yanked at shirt, jeans, shoes, boxer shorts, sending the garments flying to the carpet.
He straightened to find Sara studying him through half-lowered eyes, a dream-ridden expression suffusing her flushed features.
“You're a beautiful man, Mike Parker,” she murmured.
“Why, thank you, ma'am,” he said. “I try to keep fit.” But behind his teasing drawl, he felt a strange sensation sting his cheeks. He was blushing! He couldn't remember when the last time was that he'd been embarrassed about stripping to the buff in front of a woman. Well, hell, he never had been.
But none of them had ever told him he was beautiful before. Clod! his inner voice railed. That was the kind of thing he should have been saying to her.
He eased himself down on the bed beside her, the mattress giving beneath his weight. Sara turned and curled into his arms like she belonged there, like she always had. The feel of her smooth, bare skin nestled close to him sent a charge through him like an electric current.
But he forced himself to simply hold her for a moment, wishing for once that he wasn't such a wise guy. That he knew how to say some of the tender things a woman liked to hear at such a moment, some of the things he was thinking. Like how lovely she was. So lovely she made him feel like some humble mortal who'd strayed into the realm of a golden-haired enchantress. That he didn't have much to offer by way of dreams or magic, but if she could find anything left in his jaded heart, she was welcome to it.
Incredible thoughts for a jerk like him. Small wonder he couldn't seem to get any of them off the tip of his tongue. Lacking the words, he expressed himself the only way he could, with his touch, his kiss. the language of his body. Caressing back her hair, he cupped the nape of her neck, easing her forward to cover her mouth with his own. Her lips were soft and welcoming beneath his, parting like velvet petals, inviting him to taste of her honeyed warmth. His tongue joined with hers in a rhythm that was a tantalizing prelude to the mating yet to come.
Sara arched blissfully against him, each movement, each shift of her body pure sweet torment, bumping up his rising temperature another notch. Her small slender fingers fluttered over him, timidly at first, then growing bolder by the minute, exploring the contours of his chest, his muscles going taut beneath her caress, matching the hardness he felt stirring elsewhere. The woman always had been able to set him off with the merest touch, but he didn't want this to happen between him and Sara too hot and fast. He wanted... The most corny thought he'd had yet filtered through his astonished brain. He wanted this night to last forever.
He sucked in his breath hard when Sara's questing fingers strayed lower, over the flat plane of his belly, grazing against his rigid shaft. His pleasure was sharp, exquisite when she touched him there, and it took all his will to capture her hand, stop her.
“You—you don't want to do that just yet, angel,” he breathed. “Unless you want the fireworks going off early.” He winced as soon as the words were out of his mouth. Oh, right, Parker. Now there was a nice tender thought to whisper in a woman's ear.
But Sara only smiled, a hint of unexpected wickedness creeping into her blue eyes. “That's exactly what I want to do. Set off so many fireworks even you have to see them, Mike Parker.”
She pressed him on to his back, levering herself above him. Nipping playfully at the line of his jaw, Sara trailed a line of soft kisses down to his chest. He lay back, letting Sara weave her woman-magic over him, savoring all the sweet, warm, wonderful textures of her, her fresh, clean scent, the silky brush of her hair tumbling about him, the soft weight of her breasts grazing his chest, the gentle stroke of her hands, the hot moisture of her mouth.
It was a new thing for Mike, surrendering control of the situation. It was new for Sara, being the one in charge. She was more amazed by her own boldness than she'd ever been by the discovery of her peculiar psychic powers.
Magic. Fireworks. Rash promises for a woman to make to a man, especially a woman as inexperienced at this sort of thing as she was. Yet she felt guided by an instinct as strong and mysterious as the sensations awakening in her own body. Somehow she knew exactly what Mike needed—where to be touched, caressed, loved—for his needs were her own.
She was fascinated by the play of his muscles beneath his skin, his body so different from hers—coarser, rougher, harder. His very maleness excited her, making her more keenly aware of her own femininity, making her want to melt into him.
Mike tensed beneath her touch, his breath quickening, and Sara gloried in her power. He often teasingly called her his gypsy lady and she felt like one tonight, as wild as any sultry spirit who had danced, swaying barefoot around the flickering heat of a campfire. Witch. Siren. Temptress.
It was only when her fingers strayed too near the scar on his shoulder that she faltered. She'd never seen the jagged, raised streak of flesh outside of her visions, and the sight of it flooded her with tenderness, making her heart ache for him. No matter how tough he pretended to be, that one small mark on his skin would always be a reminder of his vulnerability.
She bent to kiss the scar, but Mike stopped her.
“Don't do that, angel,” he said.
“Why not?”
“Because it's ugly.”
“Not to me it isn't.” She pressed her lips against his scar in a kiss that was more gentle than he'd ever imagined a kiss could be.
He felt something stir, tighten deep inside him in the region where he supposed his heart should have been. A warm, glowing feeling, deeper, different from the heat of desire. When Sara raised her head, it wouldn't have surprised him to find that she'd exercised some of her strange gypsy power on him and the scar was gone, healed.
It was still there, but somehow it didn't seem quite as ugly as before, as though some of the pain connected with it, the remembrance, had been conjured away.
Maybe because at the moment he was unable to remember the existence of anything in the world but Sara. He brushed back the golden sheen of hair from her face, capturing her mouth in a searing kiss. Although his body was more than ready, aching with the need to bury himself deep inside her, it wasn't enough. He wanted her just as hungry, just as eager.

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