Rekindled (13 page)

His lips moved on her neck, inching down into the dip of her dress. “I’ve been wanting to do this all night,” he whispered moments before his mouth found the bottommost point. He kissed her there, wet, openmouthed, then rose again. His mouth was ready when he cupped her breasts and lifted them there.

Chloe sighed softly. She squeezed her eyes shut, buried her fingers in his hair, and held him closer.

With excruciating slowness he drew back her bodice, freeing her breast bit by bit. Her insides quivered when her nipple was bared. His breath was hot, the air cool. Arching closer, she watched his tongue touch the pebbled tip, circle it, touch it again.

“Ross!” she gasped, straining beneath him, needing more.

“Love is torment, Chloe. It’s wanting and wanting and wanting until you would do anything to get. Be patient.”

She tried, but it was a torment, indeed, to watch him pull his shirt from his pants and release every single last button. She bit her lip to keep from reaching out to touch him. He could have been sculpted in clay by a master, he was that beautiful, more beautiful even because he was real. He was human, manly, alive.

Her patience was pushed even further when he drew her up, reached behind to slide her zipper to her waist, then pulled her dress down, easing her arms from their sleeves. Bare to the waist, she needed his touch, but his eyes caressed her first. Her breasts swelled, begging to be cupped and held.

“They’re not the same,” she whispered falteringly. “I was much younger then.”

A sound came from deep in his throat. It gave credence to his words. “Maybe younger then, but better now.” His eyes said it was true. With trembling hands, he palmed her breasts with such soft, gentle motion that she nearly cried out again.

Patience slipped slowly away. When she thought she’d seen the last of it, Ross drew her to him, crushing her breasts against his chest in a move that stole her breath.

He made another deep sound, this one very male, very satisfied. His hands moved over her back, covering every inch of its smooth surface, and Chloe followed his lead. Eyes closed, she savored the feel of him, letting her palms play on his back, then drawing away to glory in his chest. His nipples were as flat and hard as hers were raised and swollen. His neck was as strong as hers was slender. His skin was as tanned as hers was creamy. Their bodies were so different, but the light in his eyes matched that in hers. She saw desire there. It was hot and heavy.

Chloe could barely breathe, much less speak. She was as aroused as she had ever been, and more with each touch of his fingers or tongue. The beat of her heart skipped rapidly on, driving heated blood through her veins. She was free. She was alive. She wanted to belong to Ross then more than anything in the world.

Sensing her urgency, he pulled her up. As she stood, her dress slid past her hips to form a pale blue circle on the floor. Aware of the admiration in his eyes, she stepped out of it wearing nothing but a pair of small silk panties.

When he held out his arms, she went to him and wrapped hers tightly around his neck. Her breasts were crushed against his hairy chest. She burned from within.

“Chloe … Chloe … Chloe…” he chanted softly, reminiscent of that soft September breeze in New Hampshire. But she couldn’t think back, not with his fingers skimming her hips, then moving up her sides and around. He was exquisitely tender. She felt cherished, desired, and loved, if only for the night.

“Hurry.” She arched against him, her body aflame with need. “Hurry.”

Setting her back, he unbuckled his belt and undid his pants. His eyes devoured her hungrily as he pushed everything off, then knelt to remove her panties.

She was trembling with excitement when he dragged a cushion from the sofa to the floor. He lowered himself and held out a hand, and for a minute she couldn’t move, couldn’t take her eyes from his body. It was perfect in every way, thoroughly masculine and fully aroused. Eleven years ago she had been too shy to study him, but she wasn’t now. He seemed to stretch forever, one long limb connected to another by firm sinew. Had she been an artist she would have drawn him. But she was only a woman.

“Chloe?”

She took his hand and stretched out against him with a soft moan. He felt wonderful against her. When she began to touch him, he sucked in a breath.

“Oh, God,” he whispered gruffly, “oh, God, that’s it.” His chest rose and fell, lungs labored. “Feel it, princess?”

There were two kinds of feeling, the physical and the emotional. Chloe experienced both. High on the fullness, she moved freely over his body. Her fingers found delight with every touch, her heart satisfaction. She reached his most electric parts as he reached for her.

“Now,” she begged, desperate and demanding.

“Kiss me first,” he murmured thickly. When she turned up her face, he moved over her, slipping between her open thighs.

She cried into his mouth when he thrust forward. Anything she might have remembered of the past was gone then, paling in the light of the present. Her body exploded and flamed, burning hotter with each thrust of his hips, with each progressively deeper penetration. She rose and rose, straining higher, higher, until her body burst into spasms of something akin to heaven.

She cried out again when she heard Ross’s cry. She felt the tightness of his muscles, the pumping of his hips, then, joy, a grand pulsing inside her. He held her as tightly as she held him, and there was joy in that, too.

For what seemed a glorious forever, they lay that way. Finally, his body damp, he slid out to lie beside her. The night air was broken by ragged breathing, both his and hers.

Chloe lay stunned. Then, suddenly and inexplicably, she was overcome. Pressing her cheek against Ross’s drumming heart, she began to cry. In a frightened voice, he asked, “What, princess?”

“Just hold me. Hold me tight.”

He gathered her to him as though she were the most precious thing in the world, and held her while she cried. She couldn’t explain why she did it, and he didn’t ask. He simply held her, stroked her back, whispered sweet nothings of comfort and support against the top of her head.

Gradually her eyes dried and her pulse grew steadier. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what came over me.”

“How do you feel now?”

“Better.” She took a last jagged breath and rubbed her cheek against his chest. “Satisfied.” She thought about that and finally tipped up her head. “I actually feel great. That was the most beautifull-” Her words died when her throat constricted again.

Ross turned them so that they lay on their sides, facing one another. He traced the slim lines of her cheek and jaw, then ran the tips of his fingers down her neck to her collarbone.

Chloe felt a stirring inside. She must have looked startled, because he laughed.

“Didn’t think you could feel it again so soon?” When he slid a leg between hers, she moved against it, but he didn’t tease her. He was suddenly serious. “It was beautiful, princess. Even more so than before. I’ve lived all these years wondering whether I had imagined it. I tried for it over and over. And here, in one shot, you’ve done it again, and more.”

“Not me. Us.” She touched him lower.

He gasped. “You’re gonna do it again,” he said and kissed her.

This time was slower, more leisurely. Ross was the connoisseur, showing Chloe how to tease and withhold, playing the martyr when she did. She took delight in learning the nuances of holding, caressing, leading him to the brink, staying there, and, incredibly, the force of the passion was even greater. This time, when it was done, there were no tears. Eyes closed, she nestled against him, replete and happy. She didn’t have a care in the world.

Oblivious to the steady rain that beat down on the roof of the house, they slept. Their twined bodies offered warmth, the soft rug offered comfort. It was nearly four in the morning when Ross gently woke her.

“Let’s go upstairs,” he whispered, kissing her ear.

Groggy and disoriented, she reached for him. “What is it?”

He was on his knees, gathering her into his arms. “Nothing. I just want to take you to bed.”

“You’re not leaving?” Her arms tightened around his neck, but he chuckled.

“I want to take you in bed-“

“Are you … again?”

“Shhh. I want to be able to remember what your bed feels like, for all those long lonely nights ahead,” he drawled. He crossed the living room and took the stairs with her in his arms and a minimum of effort. “I want you to be haunted the same way,” he added, less humorous now. “You’ll lie in your bed and remember the feel of me until you’re ready to burst.”

Fully awakened, Chloe was warm all over. Her breast was snug to his chest, her hip nestled against his naked belly. It was still night. Under cover of darkness, she could do anything. Her lips turned recklessly to his shoulder, her tongue moistening a spot, her teeth leaving a mark.

“Heeeey! Watch that!” He put her down, letting her slide slowly over the length of him. His hand stayed at the small of her back, pressing her against a full erection. To Chloe’s amazement, she was just as aroused.

Their lips met, open now and sure. There was no limit to this pleasure, only the need for more and more.

“The bed,” she croaked in haste, tearing herself away to pull back the quilt. She fell onto the sheets with him, and there was a fury to this union, a blend of yearning, fear, and unbridled greed. Morning was coming. They couldn’t get enough of each other. When they finally climaxed and collapsed, their bodies were slick and exhausted. Again they slept.

When Chloe opened her eyes next, it was to the gray light of a soggy morning and, more brightly, to Ross. His dark hair was disheveled. He was staring down at her.

Breaking into a smile, he said, “I wanted to see if it would work.”

“See if what would work?”

“If I could wake you up by willing it. I’ve been sending brain waves.”

“Brain waves didn’t wake me.” She yawned. “I’d have woken anyway.”

He stretched and grimaced. “I feel well used.”

“That’s one way to put it,” she said, but she was thinking ahead. How not to? Morning was here.

She rolled away, but he rolled her right back and held her in place with an arm on either side. “Don’t. After last night you can’t turn away.”

“Can’t?”

“Won’t. Let’s talk,” he said gently and sat up. His eyes wandered to her hair, which was spread on the pillow, then the sheets, which bunched at her navel. He looked at everything in between as though it were priceless. At last, in a deep voice, he said, “I love you, Chloe.”

She reached to cover his mouth, not ready for that, but he caught her hand and pinned it to the pillow. Leaning down, he gave her a long, silencing kiss. When his mouth left hers again, he said, “I love you and want to marry you.”

She shook her head.

“I do,” he insisted.

Her heart ached. She wasn’t ready, wasn’t ready at all. “Last night we made love. Saying ‘i love you’ is something else entirely.”

Ross didn’t budge. “Argue as much as you want, but you won’t change this. I love you. I wish I could say that I loved you eleven years ago-it would all sound romantic. I wanted you then. I knew that there was something in you-deep in you-that intrigued me. But I didn’t get to know you. A few hours is too short a time.”

“It’s hardly been much more than that now,” she protested.

“It’s been more than two weeks.”

“It’s been less than two days.”

“Tell me you didn’t think of me.”

She recalled those long hours after New Hampshire. “I can’t. I thought of you. But in order to love a person you have to spend time with that person.”

“You’re clutching at straws. I love you. If you were honest with yourself, you’d tell me that you love me, too.”

That was what she feared most. There was no place in her life for that kind of love. “You don’t know what I feel.”

“I know what I felt last night. You couldn’t have faked your reactions. Sorry, Chloe, but you responded out of love. That’s all there is to it.”

“No. Not all.” She needed time. She knew what she had to say. “‘responded to you out of need. Call it lust or physical desire, but don’t call it love.”

“You’re afraid,” he announced.

There was a deathly silence. The air pulsed between them.

“You’re afraid to let go of the past,” he went on. “It’s so much a part of you that you’re terrified to live without it.”

“That’s not true,” she cried.

“Then why don’t you try? You did it for a night-why not for a week?

A month? A year?” He softened. “I’m not asking you to renounce your past, just to accept it and move on.” He paused, suddenly a shade unsure. “You did enjoy last night, didn’t you?”

“Oh, yes,” she breathed so quickly that her words stopped dead for lack of a follow-up.

His smile filled the gap. It was a full, warm curve of the firm lips that had given her such pleasure through the night. His gaze dropped to her breasts, then her bare middle. When he bent to kiss her navel, she clutched his hair. But to push him away? Or to hold him there? Lord, she didn’t know.

After a night of beauty, the morning was dreary and dark. After a night of clear-cut emotions, the new day’s emotions were muddy and dense. She needed time, needed space. Turning her face into the pillow, she let her hands slowly slide from his hair.

“I want you to work for me, Chloe.”

Her eyes shot back to his. “Work for you? How can I do that? I have my own business.”

He brushed a tendril of hair from her cheek. “I mean, I want to retain your firm.”

She was startled. She hadn’t considered this twist. “For what?”

“They cater our board meetings,” he drawled facetiously. “Come on, you know what you do. I’d like to hire ESE as a geological consultant, starting with a set of revised plans for the Rye Beach Complex.”

Business, then? Suddenly self-conscious, Chloe drew the sheet to her armpits and sat up. She forced a feeble smile. “So it’s bribery now? You’d try to hook my business, then slowly reel me in?”

“If necessary.” His grin came and went. “I’ve toyed with the idea all week. It was what I wanted to discuss when I arrived Friday. What do you think? Will you do it?”