Sleeping Beauty (21 page)

Anne estimated that the hotel lobby must have contained at least an acre of plush blue carpeting. The expanse was broken up by cozy seating areas and potted plants. Over the murmur of hotel guests—arriving, leaving or just people-watching—was the muted lash of a fountain, complete with palm trees and pond. It was like walking into a movie set, and she found herself gawking shamelessly, wanting to see everything at once.

Seeing her wide-eyed pleasure, Neill chuckled, but he was aware of a slow-burning anger at the thought that she'd lived her whole life just a few hours away, yet this was the first time she'd made the trip into the city. If she'd had no interest, that would have been one thing. But the open delight she took in everything she saw, her fascination with things that should have been commonplace, left him torn between anger that her life had been so restricted and a guilty pleasure that he was the one to show her what she'd been missing.

He'd brought her here because he'd been sure she would enjoy it, but also because he thought it might be a good idea to be on neutral ground when he told her that he knew about Brooke and explained that his career was not exactly what she thought it was.

He'd spent the last two days convincing himself that there was nothing to worry about. Anne might be annoyed, maybe a little hurt—and he would much rather face the former than deal with the latter—but it wasn't as if he'd lied to her.
Exactly.
And what had happened to her sister was public information, so he hadn't pried into any secrets.
Exactly.

So he'd brought her to the big city to dazzle her with the sights, take her to a fine restaurant, maybe ply her with a glass or two of wine, before making his confession. It was a little depressing to realize that he'd become such a manipulative bastard, he thought with a faint sigh for ethics churned to dust by need.

When she'd seen the quality of the hotel Neill had chosen, Anne had thought it was sweet that he was going to so much trouble to make the weekend special. She assumed he'd gotten one of the least expensive rooms and hoped he wasn't straining his finances too far. As they rode up in the elevator, she worried her lower lip with her teeth and wondered if she dared offer to split the expenses with him, but, even with her limited experience, something told her he wouldn't be open to that particular suggestion.

When the elevator doors opened and they stepped into a small lobby to be greeted by a smiling middle-aged man, she was mildly surprised, but she'd never stayed in a hotel and thought that perhaps, in a place like this, someone was assigned to greet guests on every floor. Even if she'd noticed the discreet brass plaque that said Concierge Level, it wouldn't have meant anything to her.

But it didn't take a seasoned traveler to recognize the luxury of the room Neill was ushering her into. Thick, pearl gray carpeting, royal blue drapes, two sofas, one upholstered in a rich floral, the other in a two-tone blue stripe. A wet bar, tasteful prints on the wall, an exquisite mixed bouquet on the table next to one of the sofas, and a second open door across the room, through which she could glimpse the comer of a bed. Not a room but a suite.

"I made reservations for an early dinner," Neill said, crossing the room to pull open the drapes and reveal a spectacular view of Lake Michigan.

Feeling as if she were caught in a dream, Anne walked to the window and looked out. Spread out below them, the city was painted in twilight shades of gray and gold. She'd never been so high before, and, for an instant, she felt a little dizzy. Or maybe it was the shock of finding herself here.

Turning slowly, she surveyed the room again. She couldn't even begin to guess what a suite like this must cost, but she knew it had to be a lot. When he'd asked her to come away with him for the weekend, she'd thought she knew what to expect. That they would become lovers was a given. If she'd given any thought to the setting, she would have guessed that Neill would choose it carefully. But this... She'd never pictured anything like this.

Watching her, Neill recognized her hesitation but mistook the cause.

"lf you don't like the room, we can get something else—or go to another hotel, for that matter."

"Of course I like it. It's gorgeous." She waved one hand to encompass the luxurious setting. "It's like something out of one of Dorothy's old movies. How could I not like it? It's just that—" She stared at him helplessly for a moment and then decided that there was simply no tactful way to say it "It must be costing a fortune and I don't...can you afford this?"

She was worried that he was spending more than he could afford. The realization brought a mixture of pleasure and guilt that was rapidly becoming familiar. Pleasure that she was concerned for his financial state and guilt that he'd left her with the impression that there was reason to be concerned.

Tell her
, his conscience whispered. But he wanted to have at least this one evening with her. There was always the chance that she would be so angered by his tacit deception that she would walk out without giving him a chance to explain, which might be just as well, he thought ruefully, since he wasn't sure he had a good explanation to offer.

"I didn't think you'd mind washing a few dishes to pay for our room and board," he said lightly. She smiled, but the worry remained in her eyes, and Neill reached out to catch her hand, tugging her closer. "A couple of nights in a fancy hotel isn't going to bankrupt me, honey. I don't exactly lead an extravagant lifestyle."

That was true enough
, he consoled himself as he saw her worried look ease.

''If you're sure." She looked up. "You don't have to do this for me," she said shyly.

Had he thought he was sliding into love?
Neill wondered. He was all the way there. Looking into Anne's big gray eyes, he thought maybe he'd fallen that first day when she'd stood there, next to that ridiculous little car of hers, and looked at him like she half expected him to pounce at any moment. He'd wanted to pounce. He'd wanted it then, and he wanted it now.

Taking a tight hold on his self-control, he lowered his head, taking her mouth in a long, drugging kiss that left her weak and clinging to his shoulders. For a moment he considered consigning their dinner reservations to hell and taking her to bed. But that wasn't the way he wanted to do things. Slow and easy, he reminded himself. This was more than a weekend fling. So much more that it scared him to think about it.

It was a magical evening. The restaurant, with its white tablecloths, heavy flatware and delicate glasses, was a masterpiece of elegant understatement. At Neill's insistence, she ordered lobster. It was wonderful. And the wine was wonderful, and looking out over the waters of Lake Michigan was wonderful. Even the waiter was wonderful. But she knew the evening would have been just as wonderful if he'd taken her out for a burger and fries. It wasn't the food or the setting that made everything special. It was Neill.

She'd been lying to herself when she said she was halfway in love with him, she admitted as she sipped the delicate white wine. She was head over heels, all the way gone, heart on her sleeve in love with him. There were even moments—when he smiled at her, or kissed her with such melting tenderness—when she could almost believe he might feel the same.

And if he didn't...well, she would worry about that when the time came. She'd spent her whole life being cautious. For once—for this single weekend—she was going to live without counting the possible cost.

***

After dinner he took her to the Hancock Observatory, informing her as they reached the viewing platform that she was now some ninety-four stories and over one thousand feet above the ground. His pedantic, bored-tour-guide tone made her laugh, but the spectacular view of the city stretching away on every side took her breath away.

"It's beautiful," she murmured, her eyes dazzled.

"Not half as beautiful as you are." And pulling her into his arms, he kissed her until the city's twinkling lights seemed to dip and sway around her.

It was late when they returned to their hotel. Riding up in the elevator with Neill, Anne had the same delicious, floaty sensation she remembered from the one time she'd had too much to drink. But it wasn't the single glass of wine she'd had with dinner that made her feel that way, it was the man standing next to her, the man who was about to become her lover. And wasn't that a wonderful, powerful word?

By the time Neill was pushing open the door, shepherding her inside, he was aching with the need to touch her. Taste her. The kisses they'd shared, the casual little touches throughout the evening, had left him edgy with a lust that couldn't quite block out the jitter of nerves. This mattered. What happened here, tonight, with this woman was important. Important enough that he could wait.

He watched her walk into the middle of the room, then turn to look at him questioningly, and thought he'd never seen anything more beautiful than the way she looked in that simple black dress, those long legs encased in sheer black stockings, her dark gold hair caught up on top of her head in a soft twist that made his fingers twitch with the urge to pull the pins loose and watch it tumble around her face. He drew a deep breath.

"There's no obligation here, Anne. If this isn't what you want, you only have to say so."

She tilted her head curiously, attentively. "And you won't mind sleeping on the sofa?"

"I won't mind," he lied steadily.

She brushed her fingers absently along the dress's neckline, and Neill's mouth went dry as he followed the movement. "You mean I can sleep in there alone and you'll sleep out here alone?"

Was she trying to kill him? Her fingers slid over the soft upper swell of her breast.

"Yes. Alone." God, she'd reduced him to speaking in one-syllable sentences. Another few minutes and he would be down to inarticulate whimpers.

She let her hand fall to her side and watched him silently for a moment, then slowly—deliberately, damn her—ran her tongue over her upper lip. ''Do you know what I have on under this dress?"

"W-what?" His voice stumbled, nearly cracked in a way it hadn't done in twenty years.

She pouted. "I bought some fancy lingerie out of a catalog last year. It promised to make me irresistible."

''Did...did it?"

"They guaranteed it." She slanted him a look that was pure invitation, then turned toward the bedroom. "Maybe I should return it and get my money back?"

He would not pant. Not yet. He wasn't going to drag her to the floor and ravish her, either. Not this first time. He had enough control to follow her into the bedroom without howling with pure lust. He was nearly sure of it.

Anne stopped next to the bed and linked her hands together. The courage that had been so easy to find a moment ago was suddenly shaky. She couldn't believe she'd offered such a bold invitation, didn't know where the words had come from.

She'd never played the part of a seductress. But something in the way Neill had stood there, his eyes all but burning with hunger even as he offered to let her sleep alone, had made something fierce and feminine well up inside her.

But now, here she stood, next to the bed, and she was suddenly acutely aware of the fact that he was very large and very male, and, while she wasn't afraid of him—could never be afraid of him—she was just a little nervous about what was going to happen next. Not afraid, because she knew how it worked. You didn't have to have actual experience to know what went where, but there was, she admitted reluctantly, a bit of a gap between knowing and knowing. She wanted Neill to help her close that gap but still...now that the moment had arrived, she was just a little uneasy.

And then she looked over her shoulder at him, saw not just hunger but a need that burned right through to her soul, and an answering need surged up inside her, swallowing the fear and nerves and giving her a slightly shaky courage.

"If you could help me with the zipper," she murmured, turning her back.

The zipper slid slowly down her spine, and she felt the brush of Neill's fingers every inch of the way. When it stopped, she could only stand there, breathing a little too quickly, wondering what she should do now. He had to know she wanted this. Wanted him. She couldn't have made it any plainer. Maybe she should lower the hand she had pressed to her chest, let the dress fall, but her courage was slipping away again.

And then she felt his breath on her skin, warm and moist. She closed her eyes on a shiver as he pressed slow, lingering kisses across her shoulders, then began working his way down her spine. Shuddering, she barely noticed when he eased the dress over her shoulders, tugging at the slim skirt until it fell away from her body, dropping to the floor. She turned blindly, obediently, in response to his hands, holding her arms stiff at her sides as she faced him.

"Jesus." The word was half prayer, half plea for mercy. "Are you trying to kill me?" he asked on a pained laugh.

"What?" Surprised by his laughter, her eyes flicked open.

"This is the kind of stuff that should be a registered weapon," he muttered as all the blood left his head and went straight to his loins. The black lace bra barely covered her nipples, and he'd seen postage stamps that covered more than the matching panties. But with them... God, with them, she was wearing a lacy garter belt to hold up cobweb-fine black stockings. And then she stood there looking at him, her pretty gray eyes full of nerves and need, and he was fairly sure that his heart was going to slam its way right out of his chest.

He flicked open the front clasp on the bra and watched the cups slide over her pale skin, stopping at the last minute, caught on the taut peaks of her nipples.

"Neill...Neill?" Her voice cracked when he traced the tip of one finger over the fine tracery of blue veins on the inside curve of her breast. "I've never done this before," she blurted.

His hand stilled, and he lifted his eyes to her face. She looked half-guilty, as if she were confessing to a crime. And half-scared, as if she wasn't quite sure how she'd come to be where she was.

"I know you haven't." He thought he'd known from the first time he kissed her, or maybe it was the innocence shining in her eyes. Whatever it was, he'd known all along, and, God help him, it only made him want her more. "We can stop if you want"

"I don't." She drew a shaky breath, and his mouth went dry when the movement shifted the bra another half inch to the side, baring the delicate rosy circle of her aureole.

"I wont hurt you."

"I know." Her eyes still on his face, she reached up to slide the bra straps from her shoulders, letting it fall to the floor behind her. Her cheeks were flushed, but her eyes remained steady. "I want this."

She reached for the buttons on his shirt, but he caught her hands and pulled them away. If she touched him, he thought he just might explode,

"I want to see you," she said.

"There's tune. All the time in the world."

"But I..." Anne's protest died on a whimper as he filled his hands with her breasts, stroking his thumbs over her nipples. She shuddered at this first touch of a man's hands on her body, felt her knees weaken as he bent to catch one taut peak in his mouth, laving, stroking, then suckling strongly. The pull of his mouth on her breast set off shock waves deep inside, making her press her thighs together in a vain attempt to ease the sudden ache there.

Neill told himself to go slow. He was the first. If he had his way, he would be the only. There was time, he'd told her. But he'd never wanted like this, never had to have. Had to have. She was so warm. So responsive. And his. Only his.

He eased her back on the bed, pausing long enough to jerk his shirt off, still in control enough to leave his jeans on, not sure how long he would be able to hold off without that barrier. And then he was stroking her. Touching. And every place he brushed seemed to catch fire.

He slid his hands over the quivering muscles of her belly, sliding his finger through the nest of soft curls at the top of her thighs, feeling her jolt as he cupped his palm over her, found her all sleek heat and moisture. Soon, he thought, his heart hammering against his breastbone. Soon. But not quite yet. Not. Quite. Ah, there. He moved his hand on her with wicked knowledge, watching her face as her eyes went blind, the breath shuddering in and out of her.

"Please. I don't— I can't—" Her hands came up, her fingernails biting into his shoulders as her body arched, trembling, caught on the sharp pinnacle.

"Let go, sweetheart. I want to watch you go over." He slid one long finger into her, at the same time brushing his thumb over the swollen nub of flesh at the top of her sex.

Her breath exploded from her on a sob as she shattered. He could feel the delicate contractions grip his finger, and he thought he'd never felt anything more exquisite. And if he didn't have her now, he was going to die.

Limp and trembling, Anne watched through dazed eyes as he rose and stripped off his jeans, his movements quick and almost clumsy. He was beautiful, she thought. His chest was broad, the muscles rippling as he shoved his jeans over his thighs. Her eyes followed that tantalizing line of dark hair as it arrowed across the washboard flatness of his stomach to join the swirling mat of hair at his loins.

Her eyes widened a little as she stared at his erection. She'd seen naked men in magazines, but nothing could have prepared her for this first sight of a fully aroused man. Neill had one knee braced on the bed, but he stopped when he saw her looking at him. He waited, wondering if she was going to change her mind, wondering if he would lose his if she did.

Then she lifted her hand and touched him, her fingertips featherlight as they trailed from base to tip and back again. Neill's teeth ground together in a desperate bid for control. He didn't want to do anything to startle her, but he was starting to think she really might be the death of him. His head fell back, his breath leaving him on a groan when her hand closed around him, testing, stroking in a way that had need clawing like daggers in his chest

"Later," he growled, catching her hand and drawing it away from his straining flesh.

He came down onto the bed next to her, and she could feel him all along her side, his skin fever warm, his body so much harder than hers. She hadn't thought she could respond again so soon, but he was touching her, stroking, teasing, and she could feel the hunger rising again, drawing her upward, pressing her against him. She heard herself whimpering, pleading, and then he was over her, his legs sliding heavy between hers, and she was arching to meet him. Wanting. Needing,

His pulse drumming in his ears, his muscles tight with control, Neill fought the urge to drive himself into her. Her first time, he reminded himself, and felt his blood sizzle at the thought. He pressed forward, finding the slick heat of her, easing inward, testing.

''Hold on," he murmured, and bent to take her mouth even as he took her body.

There was heat, an instant of resistance, and then he was sheathed in the damp velvet warmth of her and it was better than his darkest fantasy. He pressed his forehead to hers, his muscles screaming as he struggled to give her the time she needed to accept his invasion.

Anne held herself very still beneath him. She'd thought she knew what to expect, but knowing the mechanics of it didn't tell her what it felt like to share her body with a man. There had been pain, but that had been gone in an instant. What she was left with was an aching sense of being filled, stretched almost beyond bearing, and yet there was a sense of satisfaction in the filling, a need at least partially fulfilled.

Experimentally, she contracted the muscles that held him and felt a surge of purely feminine triumph when Neill groaned. There was power in being wanted this much, a dark, primal thrill in knowing she could make him tremble. She rocked her hips, taking him deeper, urging him, wanting.. .more. And then he was moving on her, his hips easing back, sliding forward, back and forward, the rhythm increasing as the pressure built within her, within him.

Anne whimpered, her head tossing back and forth on the pillow as the tension grew, more powerful than it had been before. She arched to meet each powerful thrust, wanting more, her body stretched as if on a rack, needs and hunger swirling within her, driving her.

Neill wrapped his fist around her hair, stopping the restless movement of her head, pinning her with the feverish blue of his eyes.

"Look at me." He shifted the angle of his thrusts so that each stroke rubbed across the tiny knot of nerves he'd touched before. There was an instant when the tension was nearly unbearable, and then it shattered, taking her with it She heard him groan, a harsh, guttural sound tom from his throat, and then he was shuddering in her arms.

A very long time later, his face still buried in her hair, his breathing ragged, Neill said her name.