Seeing Stars (17 page)

"Please, I want you to kiss me... my breasts."

He took her face in his hands and brushed his lips over hers, then his hands slid down and brushed the lapels of her blouse aside, cupping her breasts, lifting them for his lips as he bent and slowly, so slowly, took one hardened peak between his lips.

The breath drained out of her lungs in a low, keening sound as he took her nipple, and she melted. He took her in his arms and lowered her down onto the soft carpet of the grass, his mouth seeking, pleasuring, tugging gently on first one nipple, then the other.

When she was half mad with sensation, her head thrashing against the grass, he stopped, and there was only the deep pulse at the juncture of her thighs.

"More?" he asked, his voice filled with what would come soon.

She felt the hot emptiness inside herself and needed this man deep inside her. "Yes, more. I want you to drive me... beyond..."

His mouth covered her nipple and as he began to suckle, she peaked, spasms shaking her from deep inside, the long groan she couldn't control spilling from her lips.

"Yes," he said, moving to her lips, taking her climax in a deep kiss that left her weak and drained.

"Blake, I... didn't mean to... didn't know I could—"

"Hush," he murmured, closing her eyes with his kiss. "Here... just relax."

She let herself melt into his arms. It was so selfish, but she floated on the lazy sensation of his mouth tasting hers, his hands stroking her back and her buttocks. She heard herself make a sound like a purr, heard his response. Then his lips moved to her breast, a gentle tug, and she felt a response deep inside, and her breath seeped out in a long sigh.

"You're so beautifully sensitive here," he murmured, stroking her nipple softly with his tongue.

"It feels so good," she breathed. "Especially when you..."

He took the nipple between his lips and tugged, letting it slide out as he pulled gently, sending sensation searing through her.

"Yes," she gasped, "like that. I—"

"Like this?" he asked in a silken voice that sent shivers through her.

"Oh, yes... just like... can you—yes—oooh..."

She couldn't free his shirt, fought with the buttons, lost her place when his mouth discovered a new form of madness and she moaned his name. Then she found the hot flesh of his chest and twisted and found his nipple with her mouth, torturing him with lips and tongue, his groans vibrating deep inside her.

He thrust his leg between hers and pressed up, against her sex, and they were fighting with denim and belts. She undid his and he found the snap at her waist and slid the zipper down, then he slid his hand inside her panties, past the constriction of her half-unzipped jeans and she convulsed around him as he dipped into the creamy folds.

Then there were no words, only sounds and deep painful heartbeats as they pulled away barriers and she cried out when he touched the entrance to her passage, arching up, drawing him in, staring sightlessly at the stars as he penetrated to her center in one long, slow stroke.

Please, take me.

She might have spoken, or perhaps the words were only an echo in her mind as he thrust deep inside her. She moved against him in a rhythm as ancient as man, the way of a man and a woman, both surrender and victory.

She took his face in her hands and brought his kiss to her lips, seeking deeply, penetrating as he penetrated her. Sensation grew beyond reason, beyond knowing. There was only Blake deep inside her, their mouths tangled, his hands gripping her buttocks as he thrust deeper. She drew him in, grasped the pulsing heat and pulled it to her very core... arched and somehow drew him even deeper, harder, pulling a cry of release from his throat as he drove her to completion and she clenched tight around him in spasms and the heavens shattered, sending stars radiating outward, to infinity...

She wasn't sure if she slept. For a long time, it seemed she floated somewhere between here and sleep. When she opened her eyes, the first thing she saw was the stars, even as she felt the warmth of Blake's naked body curled around hers.

When she turned her head, he opened his eyes. Although there was no moon, she could see his face clearly in starlight. She touched his cheek and he turned to press a kiss into her palm.

"Are you cold?" he asked, his voice husky.

"I might never be cold again."

She heard pleasure in his chuckle and wondered that she wasn't embarrassed.

"Do you do this often? Out here, under the oak tree... under the stars?"

"Only with you." He rolled over and stared down at her, studying her mouth, her eyes. "This isn't how I planned it, but it seemed right that the first time we made love, it should be under the stars."

"How did you plan it?"

"Plan A," he said softly. "Music. Candlelight. I had some wine chilling and I thought we'd dance a little, kiss a little, and I'd do my damnedest to make you want to stay, more than you wanted to run."

"I enjoyed plan B," she said, then added quickly before he could speak, "What happens now?"

"You mean tonight, or the rest of our lives?"

Something painful lurched inside Claire, but she fought it down and said lightly, "There is no rest of our lives. I mean tonight. I suppose I should leave before—"

"No, you shouldn't leave. You should let me carry you inside to my bed, where I intend to show you exactly what madness is."

"But we already—"

"Yes," he agreed, bending to stroke the tip of her breast slowly with his tongue. Then he murmured with satisfaction as her breast peaked under his tongue and her breath stilled in her throat. "You see, we've only just begun, sweetheart."

Much later, when their cries of fulfillment had echoed through the bedroom under the eaves and faded to sleepy cuddling, Mac cradled Claire in his arms again and closed his eyes to let the sensation of holding her wash over him.

She was spooned against him, her back nestled against his chest, buttocks pressing his sex, his arms encircling her while her hand covered his, holding it to her breast. He felt each of her heartbeats against his hand, felt the soft sleepiness of her breathing through his whole body, the warm silk of her hair against his throat. And through the tumble of her hair, he saw the stars.

To him, from this night on, they would always be
her
stars.

"You can see the stars," he said, "through the window."

She must have opened her eyes to look, or perhaps she'd been studying the sky before he spoke. "That's Orion's right foot," she murmured. "The star's name is Rigel, and it's about fifty-seven thousand times hotter than the sun."

"And pretty," he added, amused by the blend of fascination and scientist in her voice.

"Hmm."

She snuggled closer against him, and from the sleepiness in her voice he thought her eyes must have closed. Against all reason, holding her while her breathing deepened and blended with his heartbeat, he wanted to give her the world, the moon, the stars... to cherish her closely, and forever.

He knew from the softening of her body that she slept now, knew also that she was his until morning. Sunday night, and if she consented to lie in his arms every night until she left, there would be four more nights.

Not nearly enough. Forever might not be enough. It seemed a lifetime ago he'd stood in the parking lot of Manresa Castle and told her an affair between them would be low-risk because he didn't want more, and neither did she. Because in a week she'd be gone.

There's no danger of us falling in love with each other.
He must have been insane when his lips formed those words. It seemed to him now, looking back, that his heart had been Claire's the moment his eyes found her across the crowded banquet room at Manresa Castle. The moment he saw her, some deeply buried part of him must have recognized her as the woman he'd been waiting for, without knowing he was waiting.

He would have sworn there was no forever woman for him, that he was a man who enjoyed women, liked women, but didn't need one particular female in his life to complete him, to give him meaning. The whole idea was insane, because his life was full, complete, certainly not lonely. He had his shipyard, his family, his boys, a collection of high-speed toys to satisfy his need for adventure, and the occasional woman, when he could manage it without threatening either his freedom or the heart of the woman in question.

He'd told himself he didn't need a woman, any more than Claire needed a man. But he must have known it was a lie—why else had he panicked when she opened the door to him on Saturday night, dressed in temptation and seduction? He'd taken one look at her and he'd known the winds were too strong for safety, had determined to step back from the adventure.

When had Mac McKenzie ever backed away from a storm?

When it could kill him, he thought wryly, but it was obvious in hindsight that by the time he picked her up for the dance, he was in far too deep to swim for shore. His plan to back off had been doomed before he formed it, and if he'd had any sense he'd have known Claire Welland wasn't a mere hurricane. She was a complete and cataclysmic change of climate.

What happens now, she'd asked, her damp flesh still clinging to his in the aftermath of loving. And his mouth had parted on the answer he didn't speak.

You do,
he thought, stroking her naked arm as it lay lax on the sheet he'd pulled over them earlier.
You, here in my bed, in the next room, in my life, for the rest of our lives.
If he'd said the words, she'd be gone now; he'd be alone, holding only memories.

There is no rest of our lives.

Accepting that was unthinkable.

OK, so he'd have his work cut out for him.

He figured he could have competed with another man easily enough, because how the hell could anything between two people be better than what happened when they stared into each other's eyes, when they touched, loved as they had tonight? He'd seen it in her eyes too, heard it in her voice. And he'd known from her responses tonight that nothing she'd experienced with Kevin, her only other lover, had came anywhere near the explosion of tonight's lovemaking.

And a damned good thing, he thought grimly, because he had enough trouble with the competition as it was. If he didn't find a way to stop her, Claire would be leaving him for the stars on Friday. He'd shown her a sky full of stars here, in his own backyard, and more through his bedroom window, but he wasn't crazy enough to think it would be enough. She wouldn't be so easily won.

There is no rest of our lives.
But there had to be, because the woman in his arms, the woman who'd sat cross-legged on his veranda entrancing three tough teenage boys into building a telescope—that Claire didn't belong alone on a mountain. When he'd first seen her on Friday, he'd thought she did, because she'd looked at him with the eyes of the girl he remembered from high school. The mysterious, untouchable Claire, hidden behind thick glasses.

But now he realized that he'd never seen beyond the glasses, that in his adolescent self-centeredness, he'd looked at her and judged her because she was unavailable. He hadn't seen the warmth, the laughter, the way fire flared in her eyes when she was challenged. He certainly hadn't dreamed that one day he would love her, that she was the one woman meant for him, to have and to hold, forever.

He had four days, ninety-six hours, to convince Claire Welland that leaving him was the last thing she wanted to do, to make her see, make her believe they belonged together.

On the surface they seemed an impossible couple, an astronomer who treasured her mountaintop and a shipwright tied to the ocean. He couldn't leave Port Townsend. If he did, there would be no one to make sure Jake and Tim made it to adulthood in one piece, no one to take emergency calls from Don or Ellie, when a boy needed an extra hand.

He couldn't leave, so it would have to be her.

Chapter Nine

Claire woke to the sound of water running. The shower, she realized. Perhaps she should have woken disoriented, confused, thinking herself on her mountain, or in the condo alone.

But she hadn't. She heard the water and knew it was Blake, that he'd gone into the next room, that if she followed she'd see him through the glass doors of his shower, water pounding down on his naked body.

She stretched, felt stiffness in unaccustomed places, and a full, feminine awareness deep inside. She saw a green terry robe at the foot of the bed, knew he'd placed it there for her and slid out of the bed, stretching naked in front of the window, as naturally as if she were home on her mountain with the windows facing out over the cliff.

No one could see her here, either. The window looked out over the harbor at an angle that created complete privacy. Difficult to believe this house was actually in the middle of Port Townsend, because its acreage and trees created a feeling of seclusion so complete they'd been able to make love, last night, outside under the trees.

She wondered if she would feel embarrassed when he stepped out of the shower and returned to the bedroom, wondered if he would be naked or clothed. She felt a strange lack of self-consciousness right now, though that might disappear the moment she saw him. But just for the moment, it seemed perfectly natural to be standing beside his bed, staring out his window at the whitecaps on the ocean, wearing not a stitch of clothing, with her body experiencing sensations that made her distinctly aware of how she'd spent the night.