Seeing Stars (18 page)

Loving.

She reached for the robe and belted it around her. It must be his, because she had to roll the sleeves up twice, and the hem brushed her feet as she walked.

In the bathroom, she found he'd put a new toothbrush out for her. She had one in her car, but she spread toothpaste and used his gift because it felt somehow right. She looked in the mirror and thought she could see the signs of last night in her eyes, in the way her mouth looked somehow softer, fuller... kissed.

He was still in the shower, his body distorted through the glass of the shower door. She smiled and unbelted the robe, let it drop to the floor as she pulled open the shower door.

Inside she saw only steam, then as she stepped in, she saw his hand slick back his hair as he threw his head back and let the stream of water rinse away the soap. His eyes were closed, and he must not have heard her open the door, because he jerked when she touched him, but he knew her instantly because he drew her into the stream of water, into his kiss. She gloried in the sensation of water streaming warm down her back, his hands bracketing her waist, his eyes clinging to her mouth, her throat, her breasts.

Hungrily, she let her arms find a home in his hair as she pulled his head closer. "Morning," she murmured against his lips.

"Good morning, sweetheart. I brought your telescope inside."

"Thank you," she whispered. Then she hung on tightly as he took her mouth and pulled her close against his hardening sex.

"I want you," he growled against her throat.

She moaned as his words sent a shaft of need through her. "Then take me," she challenged, drawing his head down to her breast, groaning as his lips found one hard, sensitized peak and began to torment her.

He lifted his head then, imprisoning her with his arms as his eyes blazed down into hers, and he said in a low, driven voice, "I have never wanted any woman—never needed any woman the way I need you. You are the first, Claire."

She couldn't speak, couldn't breathe, could only realize that if it hadn't been for Jennifer urging her to have an affair with the man of her teenage fantasies, she wouldn't be here. She'd never have had the nerve to proposition Blake McKenzie without Jennifer egging her on. But she had, and now she was here, standing in his shower, on the edge of making passionate love with him for the fourth time, and later, when it was over, she would take his memory,
this memory,
back to the mountains. And she knew, right now, as he cupped her and lifted her, as her legs curled around him, gripping tightly, welcoming him deep inside her, that somehow, sharing passion now with Blake would make everything in her life from this day forward better, sharper, more real.

Afterward, when it was over, even the stars would shine more brightly above her mountain. And now, now...

She held on tightly, felt her world shatter as he drove into her, felt his need and his driving power, felt herself open so wide to him that it seemed she could never be whole without this... without him.

She twisted and gripped him more tightly, and he drove so deeply inside her that she felt every shudder, every groan, every sensation, and it was as if she were inside him as he thrust into her, as if she knew without knowing, exactly how her fingers digging into his back shafted like an arrow into his need, how her own deep, secret muscles clenching tight drove him farther, higher, wilder.

Then she could no longer feel because she
was
the motion, the need, her sounds harsh, her need primal and tied to his breath, her body clenching tighter with each harsh explosion of his breath, driving him higher, taking him beyond the stars, beyond reason, beyond touch or thought... to the end.

She felt his climax from a long way off. She felt his groan and tightened around him, drawing everything from him as he lost himself in her and emptied all he was into her and she felt his body shudder, his hands, so hard against her buttocks, now trembling.

She let her legs slide down, and cradled him, his face against her breast, breath harsh, so harsh, broken as she felt his throat flex against her. She felt their intimate coupling part and touched his hair, stroking the wet curls back from his forehead, wishing they could stay like this forever. Even while her own body still throbbed with desire, she needed to hold this moment forever, his face pressed to her, his breath open and vulnerable, not in passion but something far more shattering.

Fulfillment.

She closed her eyes and let her head rest against the wall of the shower enclosure, breathing, just breathing, clinging to the moment, feeling her own arousal slowly settle, as if his climax had somehow soothed her lust.

How many ways, she wondered. In the four days left to them, how many ways would they love?

She felt his sigh and forced herself not to cling when he moved. Then his mouth settled on hers, warm and soft now that his need was sated, and he murmured, "Good morning, sweetheart."

Her heart crashed against her ribs although she knew it was only a word.
Sweetheart.
She'd always known, hadn't she, that he would be a wonderful lover, and for now she would let herself pretend the love words were real, and only for her. Afterward, she'd take them with her, the words and the sensations, the memories, a treasure she'd have for all her life to come.

She forced her mouth to lie lax under his slow kiss. Later, he would need her again, and she would find her release. Somehow, if she could have these moments, these gentle, slow kisses, she could wait forever.

Then he was lathering her body with soap, stroking her from shoulder to ankle with slow circular motions, and she tried to stop him, tried to speak, because she couldn't bear this... couldn't...

"Hush," he said, his mouth against her cheek, and he stroked the water over her belly and her thighs, rinsing the soap away, sliding his hands between her legs in a light fountain of water, rinsing their loving away.

She shuddered, moaning, and he murmured and drew her out of the shower, wrapped her in the terry robe and lifted her into his arms.

"I can't..."

"Hush," he murmured as he laid her gently on the bed. "Let me love you."

She stared up at him mutely, saw the morning sun in his eyes, and tenderness, felt his hands at the belt of her borrowed robe, watched him—could do nothing but watch as he parted the robe, and with a towel in his hands he began to stroke her slowly, so slowly, caressing the soft dampness of her throat, the swollen fullness of her breasts.

Then he kissed her lips, so softly her breath stopped to find the sensations. Her lips, her throat, the soft flesh above her breasts, the swollen lower curve of her breast, the sensitive flesh of her midriff. She reached up to touch him and he captured her hand and pressed a kiss into her palm.

"This time is for you," he breathed against her palm, "just for you." And her hand lay where he placed it on the bed, and her eyes drifted closed and the world became sensation... his lips softly caressing, fingers stroking.

A sound, a breath, escaped her throat, a long sigh, and he encouraged her with murmurs of encouragement as he kissed just below her ribs, then the hollow inside her elbow. And finally, she understood, and she surrendered and let herself float on the timeless tide of sensation, knowing... knowing...

When his mouth finally covered her breast, she was a pool of molten sensation, and she could only moan aloud. He laved her nipples, then sought the tender trembling of her belly, the soft whisper of lips against her inner thigh.

She would die if he didn't... if she couldn't...

"Please," she whispered when his lips brushed over the soft curls between her thighs, and she knew she would die when he moved away to linger over the hot softness of her thighs, the swelling of her belly.

Then he touched her with his hand, sliding inside the slick folds of her sex, and she came apart to his touch and the flames engulfed sensation, pleasure, life. She would have begged him to fill her if she could have found words, but she was all heat and need, broken harsh breaths and pulsing emptiness. He stroked her inside, somewhere deep and shattering, where sensation multiplied into a surrender, a need deeper than the ocean, and she opened, opened fully, her throat a high, keening plea, and his mouth settled on her and kissed her so deeply the world stopped spinning on its axis and she lost everything, sensation, meaning, life.

Then the pulse began to build, and she was desperate, twisting against his touch, moaning his name, driven by feelings too deep, too shattering, needing, taking, spinning into nothingness as his name emptied from her throat and she came apart somewhere deep inside, her woman's body emptying, releasing everything to his kiss in the deep explosion of her climax.

She lay paralyzed as the tremors left her, couldn't even lift her eyelids. She made a sound without knowing what the sound meant, and he kissed her lightly, intimately, and slowly slid up her body to take her into his arms.

Time went somewhere, hidden perhaps, as the stars hide when the sun rises. Some countless number of heartbeats later, she moved her lips without sound, opened her eyes and found Blake watching her, tenderness in his eyes.

"OK?" he asked.

She moistened her lips with her tongue. "I may never recover," she whispered, her voice husky and lazy from sex, from loving.

"Good," he said, brushing her hair from her eyes. "I wanted to give you something... something special."

"Very special," she murmured, her eyes drifting closed again, promising herself that later, when she recovered, there was something very special she wanted to give him. And she wondered if it was possible to drive him over that same cliff, with only her hands and her mouth.

"I'll pick you up at four," he said, leaning in through the open window of her Honda to take her lips in a slow, possessive kiss. "Pack some jeans, a toothbrush, and be ready for an adventure."

He wouldn't tell her what he meant, and she drove back to the condo humming the tune that had been playing on his kitchen radio this morning. He liked country and western music, which made sense, she figured, and maybe she liked it too. Certainly the songs of love and loving were fitting to the last couple of days in her life.

She wished she had longer than one week, but probably it was better this way. She smiled and admitted to herself that after the last twelve hours with Blake, she wasn't sure she could survive even four more days.

After last night, it shouldn't have been possible to need him again, certainly she'd never have dreamed he could draw from her a climax so shattering she was still shaken. By all the laws of nature, she should have had enough sex in the last twelve hours to last her a hundred years, maybe a thousand.

But she could feel her own pulse beating deep inside, and although she still hadn't gotten her balance back from that shattering interlude after their shower, she had no doubt that if he touched her, her body would, impossibly, respond.

Jeans and a toothbrush. Where was he planning to take her? She didn't think he meant to take her back to his house. An adventure, he'd said, and last night and this morning certainly qualified in her life, but maybe he considered that sort of mind-numbing sex to be ordinary.

No, she thought, pulling up sharply in front of the condo. She'd seen his face, felt his ragged breathing after his shattering climax in the shower, and in his eyes she'd seen that there was nothing ordinary about it for him either.

Everything was heightened because they knew they had only a week, because they both knew it would never be anything but temporary, so they could allow themselves to be completely carried away, with no risk that either one would be devastated or hurt because of the other's loving not enough, or too much.

She pulled up in front of the condo and decided she would have a swim, a long, slow swim in the pool. Blake hadn't asked her to come back to the shipyard, and she wasn't certain he would welcome her there.
I'll pick you up,
he had said, which probably meant he'd rather she didn't spend the day at the shipyard sanding or painting green stuff onto wood. She supposed he probably had typically male ideas about the sorts of tasks women should do, which was why he'd seemed cool the day she worked at the shipyard. He'd taken her there to observe, not to take part.

She was the woman he was romancing, the woman he'd asked to work with Jake, but she didn't belong in his shipyard working with the boys.

Inside the condo, she found the red message light on her telephone flashing. She dialed the resort office and discovered Jennifer had called.

She called her friend and caught her having a cup of tea.

"Perfect timing," said Jenn. "I just put Tammy down and poured myself a cup of tea. I called you at nine. Where were you? Having an early swim?"

"I was at Blake's," Claire said, then felt her cheeks flush in the pause that ensued.

"You did it, then."

"I... yes." Claire wasn't sure she wanted to talk about it.

"And of course you used protection," said Jenn, sounding every bit like somebody's mother. Tammy's mother, Claire thought, but it would be years before Jenn would need to have this sort of conversation with her daughter.