Rexanne Becnel (36 page)

She heard his softly muttered words of appreciation and felt his hurried removal of her pantalets. But not until he pulled her into his arms, pressing their naked bodies together, did her eyes come open.

“Oh, Dillon,” she murmured as fire leaped between them. It was a fever they both had, one that only burned hotter as they came together. Was ever a man born who could bring a woman to such heights as this? she wondered obliquely. But she knew the answer. Only his chest was meant to press against the soft fullness of her breasts. Only his iron-hewn thigh was meant to force her legs apart. And only his virile desire could ever inspire an answering desire in her.

His lips slanted across hers in a kiss that demanded everything of her, and she opened to meet it. He wanted to devour her. She sensed that in the hard possessiveness of his kiss. His tongue was a plunderer, taking without asking, forcing her to submit to his command. Yet even as she submitted, taking the deep thrust of his tongue within her mouth, then meeting it with her tongue until she was kissing him back, her very eagerness brought a new wonder to them both. To submit to him was to become victorious. To surrender to his demand was to win everything.

When he lowered his kisses to her throat and collarbone, she arched back in willing acceptance. When he found her out-thrust breasts, she cried out in wordless ecstasy. Each nipple was his to caress, to lick and suck and tug between his teeth until passion rose perilously close to pain. Like the most shameless hussy, she pressed herself hard against his thigh between her legs. Recklessly, she rubbed herself against the hairy roughness there, responding to a primitive need that had her in its grip.

Then without warning Dillon cupped her bottom in his hands and hoisted her off the floor. There was no need for them to speak, for they seemed to communicate in a manner far beyond words. She wrapped her legs instinctively around his waist. When she felt the urgent pressure of his arousal against her damp entrance, she sank down without hesitation, accepting the whole of him inside of her.

Lacie was at once overcome with intense and poignant love for Dillon—for this man who had captured her heart and all her senses—and consumed with the most incredibly wanton desire for him. He filled her completely, her body and her heart, and she knew she would never have enough of him. There would never be a time when she would not need more and more of him.

For a sweet suspended moment they stood thus, with her intimately entwined about him. He was like a Greek god, a marble statue capturing the essence of all that was perfect in the male creature, and she was the willing foil, soft and yielding yet empowered by his strength and his very real need for her.

She was afraid to move, afraid that this moment was too perfect to last. But Dillon felt no such hesitation. With a groan, he buried his head in her wildly tossed hair and tightened his hands against her bottom.

“Do you know how much I want you? How much I need you?” he muttered hoarsely. “Do you know all the things I want to do to you?”

Lacie gloried at his words and gripped him tighter. “I’m here,” she answered in a voice choked with emotion. “I’m here.”

She did not know how they made it to the bed. One moment she was in his arms, clinging to him in the most wicked fashion, all propriety thrown to the winds. Then she was beneath him on the cream-colored comforter. The silk fabric was cool against her skin while Dillon, above her, was an inferno, scorching her with the intensity of his passion.

He reared above her, taking in the full length of her pale trembling form. Her hair was a dark tangle against the mound of pillows, a sensuous fan of silken strands. Her eyes were luminous with desire; neither fear nor hesitation clouded their gray centers. He smiled then, the most beautiful possessive smile Lacie hoped ever to see, and she could have cried for joy.

“You’re mine now. You belong to me, Lacie,” he whispered. Then as if he did not want to hear her reply, he began to move within her.

At her gasp of breathless pleasure, he fitted her more snugly against his thighs and took her breasts into his hands. He cupped them and caressed them, circling the nipples with a maddening precision, even as he increased the ferocity of his heated thrusts. In and out he slid with long torturous strokes. In and out, sending her nerves skittering out of control.

Lacie thought she must die from the sheer pleasure of it. His hands excited her breasts beyond belief, while his thick presence within her raised her to heights beyond all imaginable passion.

She arched to meet every thrust, her eyes closed, her head tossing in mindless ecstasy. When his hands moved down to grip her waist, she felt as if she were being absorbed into him. Faster and deeper he thrust into her, filling her to overflowing, then pulling all the way out, only to plunge once more into her. She rose to his frantic rhythm, his deep, demanding possession of her. Then in a tidal wave of passion, she reached the crescendo.

Over and over she shuddered in endless all-consuming waves of release. He was in her; he was around her. He was everything to her.

Then her completion became his as he too tensed in a climax of passion. She clung to him as his warmth spilled into her, as he filled her with every powerful lunge.

Tears sprang to her eyes as the reality of their intimacy struck her. He gave her his finest gift when he made love to her this way, and she gave him hers. It needed only love to be the most perfect offering in the world, love from both of them. Although she knew the love was one-sided, she refused to torture herself with that knowledge. Tonight he was hers, and the rest she would leave for morning.

When he lowered himself over her, she felt as if she were melting into him, that she was becoming a part of him just as he was becoming part of her. The connection between them was too strong, too perfect to be otherwise. He completed her in every way and made her whole. Yet when he slowly rolled to his side, she knew she must cling to him, for their time would be short.

She was gratified when he pulled her close, nestling her next to his chest and wrapping his arms around her.

“Come here, sweetheart,” he murmured in a low, sleepy voice.

With a satisfied sigh, she complied. It was her intention to stay like that, close and intertwined with him, listening to the steady beat of his heart beneath her ear. She would lie thus through the night, awake while he slept, memorizing everything about him so that she would never forget any of it. It was all she would ever have, and she didn’t want to lose a single one of his caresses or even the least of his kisses.

But she had not counted on such warmth, such contentment. Lying within Dillon’s comforting embrace, she slowly relaxed. Then, lulled by his easy breathing beside her, her eyes closed, and she succumbed to the intimacy of their shared slumber.

L
ACIE AWOKE TO SLIVERS
of morning sunlight streaming through the heavily draped windows. All was quiet save for the steady breathing of the man beside her. For a moment she lay there, not ready to let the day begin, unwilling to give up the warmth and comfort of her bed, or of Dillon.

As much as she knew that this comfort was only illusion—he did not feel love for her, only physical desire—still, as long as she remained quiet in his arms she could pretend it was otherwise. Nevertheless she could not help but think that, as exquisite as it was to have Dillon hold her and make love to her, how much more wonderful would it be if he actually loved her?

A wayward tear slid down her cheek, and anguish flooded her heart. It was no use to pretend—that only brought her more pain. She needed to make a clean break from him, then never again let herself be alone with him. If it were possible, she would try to never even see him again. After all, she would be in Louisiana, and he would be in Denver. Still, she feared that avoiding him completely might prove impossible.

She rolled to her side and trembled at the warm slide of his arm against her skin as he shifted in his sleep. As she started to rise, his hand tightened at her waist. Then he pressed a kiss against her naked lower back, and her heart leaped in despair.

“Stay here,” he murmured sleepily, moving the kiss up her spine as he tugged her back toward him. “Stay in bed with me, Lacie.”

Her throat constricted with pain, so desperately did she wish to do as he said. If only it were possible, she would stay with him forever.

But that was not what he meant.

“I have to get up,” she whispered in a voice close to cracking.

“You don’t,” he countered. As if to prove his point, his hand slipped down her side to caress her hip, then around to her belly to pull her more intimately against him. His chest now rested against her back. His thighs pressed against her own, tucking her derriere provocatively against his loins. She felt the heat of his arousal, and to her dismay, an answering fire flared deep within her belly.

This was madness, she told herself, pure madness! Yet a sudden flood of desire overwhelmed her, and its frightening power washed away all reason, all caution, until only her purest emotions were left. She loved him, and she wanted him. It was that simple, that incredible. She needed him as she would never need anyone again. To deny him—or herself—was beyond her ability.

When Dillon turned her to face him, she met him without a hint of hesitation. In a long sensuous embrace they clung, his body hard and unyielding against her softer, more pliable form. It was only in his kiss—sweet, beguiling, yet demanding—that she sensed the tender side of his passion. He wanted things from her, reckless wicked things. And he was willing to woo her to get them. He would see her writhing in ecstasy before he would seek his own pleasure.

Or was it that his pleasure was made sweeter by her enthusiastic response? She did not know, and she could not think further, for Dillon’s kisses drove all logical thoughts from her mind.

He did not rush her. If anything, he was maddeningly slow in his thorough exploration of her mouth. In curious nibbles he tasted her, tormenting her lips apart as he slid his tongue along the full curve of her lower lip. It was sweet and tantalizing, and it provoked the most incredible reaction from her.

Shamelessly she pressed her willing body against him. Like a wanton she ran her hands down his back, reveling in the slick hardness of his well-formed muscles. He was like steel beneath her fingers, yet he was also warm, living silk.

With a sob Lacie clutched his head between her hands, deepening their kiss with a ferocity she could not contain. At once, Dillon rolled her beneath him. For a breathtaking moment he stared down at her, his eyes a vivid green, as clear as emeralds. It seemed to Lacie that he was seeing all the way into her, everything she was, everything she wanted, everything she needed. If she could have, she would have closed her eyes and turned away. But his intense gaze would not allow it.

For a moment she thought she saw confusion in his eyes, or sudden doubt. But it disappeared as quickly as it came, and she was not sure she had seen anything at all. Then he moved over her, and with a sureness that took her breath away, he came into her.

There was a rightness to their lovemaking, a perfection she recognized innately. With every long, purposeful stroke he proved that to her over and over again until they were moving together in a steadily increasing rhythm. She rose to meet his every thrust, wanting to take everything he had to give.

“Lacie…” She heard his gasping cry. “Lacie…” Then she felt a sudden quickening in her belly, and with a soft cry of her own she succumbed. Like a hot wet wave it came over her, drowning her in its perfect warmth until she was gasping for air and clinging to him for her very survival. A tempest tossed them, a storm of emotions that could never be controlled by mere rational thought. When they at last collapsed in final surrender, they were both fighting for breath, struggling to slow the frantic pace of their pounding hearts.

He was crushing her. His full weight pressed her down into the soft mattress, yet Lacie wanted him always to be just as he was. She wanted this moment never to change, never to end.

When he raised his head, he was still breathing hard. Their gasping breaths pressed his chest against her breasts in a manner that seemed almost as intimate as everything else they’d done. Face to face, he looked down at her, and not even the dimness of the curtained room could hide the warmth in his gaze. In abject pain, she closed her eyes.

“Ah, my sweet Lacie,” he murmured as he kissed each of her eyelids. “What a wonder you are!”

What a wonder she was? What a fool she was! she thought miserably. What a completely willing fool she was where he was concerned. Tears stung her eyes, but she struggled to contain them. If only he would not be so tender afterward. If only he wouldn’t hold her so near. Maybe then she would have the strength to leave him.

In frustration she pushed at his chest. When he obligingly moved to his side, she sat up at once and swung her legs over the side of the bed. If he would not leave the room, then she must.

“Where do you think you’re going?” he murmured playfully as she rose from the bed. His hand slid out to catch her waist, but he came up only with a corner of the sheet she held protectively around her.

“I—I need to wash…to bathe,” she faltered, desperate to find an excuse to escape.

“I’ll join you.” He tugged at the sheet, trying to free it from her grasp and thereby bare her to his laughing eyes. “The tub here, unlike Sparrow Hill’s, is big enough to accommodate us both.”

“No!” Lacie jumped in alarm, then backed away to the extent the length of the sheet would allow. “No…I want to bathe alone.”

“I think we should bathe together, my little prude.” His pull on the sheet became stronger.

For a split second Lacie hesitated. For a moment she considered giving in to him once more, just once more. But her emotions were too torn, too shattered for her to take such a terrible chance. Being rational was beyond her, and she wasn’t certain she could even muster any anger. She was past being angry with Dillon, for she knew now that everything that had happened was her own fault. Devastated by that knowledge, she tried to fight down the anguished emotions that rose in her chest.