Standing in the Shadows (43 page)

Erin was still buzzing with nervous energy hours later. It had been a long, trying evening. Her mother had insisted on taking Cindy to the emergency room, where the doctor had checked Cindy out, asked several probing questions, and sent them home with much the same advice as Sable had given to Erin: make Cindy drink a lot of water, sleep it off, and stay the hell away from whoever had gotten her into that condition. And drug counseling went without saying.

Mom and Cindy were finally asleep, in Mom's bedroom. Mom had pointedly not invited Connor to stay in the guest bedroom. He'd gotten the hint, and was outside in his car. She leaned against her bedroom window. The fog circle of her breath widened and shrank as she stared at the Cadillac parked outside. Banished from the house, and still he stuck by her, to guard her while she slept So stubborn and gallant and sweet. Just thinking about it touched off that melting feeling again. She fought it down for fear she would start crying. She'd bawled all evening with Mom and Cindy. She was tired of it. Her sob muscles hurt.

She missed Connor. She started to pull on her jeans, and then looked down at her thin gauze summer nightgown with the embroidered pink flowers. She thought of his reaction to . her baggy Victorian nightdress. "A calculated cocktease," he'd called it.

Hmm. Well, then. She would just have to see if he liked the skimpier version just as well. No one was awake to see but him.

She crept barefoot down the stairs, disarmed the alarm, and stepped out onto the porch. The night breeze was damp and chilly, whipping the thin fabric around her thighs. She felt Connor's eyes lock onto hers, through the car window, across the dark lawn. She was very conscious of her nipples, pressing against the thin fabric.

Connor pushed the passenger side door open and beckoned to her. She ran across the dew-soaked grass and slid into the Cadillac, scooting over on the slippery leather seat to press herself against his warmth. Her feet were covered with clinging blades of grass.

His arms went around her. "What the hell do you think you're doing out here? You're half naked!" His voice was sharp with outrage.

"I wanted to show you my nightgown," she said. "I wanted to see if you liked it."

"Oh, Christ." He flung his head back against the seat. "You're trying to kill me, aren't you?"

"I just missed you, that's all," she said. "I was watching you from my bedroom window. My brave, noble knight in the shining Cadillac."

He lifted her hand to his lips, kissed it tenderly front and back, and then pressed it against the hard, thick length of his erection. "I like your nightgown, babe," he said. "How noble is that?"

She stroked him from base to tip. Her fingers tightened appreciatively around his thick shaft. "Oh, very noble, Connor. Very."

He covered her hand, held it still. "Don't, Erin. That's enough."

"Why not? Everyone's asleep. Open your jeans for me and I'll practice some of my bad girl skills. I've never done anything in a car before. Except for when you kissed me at the airport. That counts."

"I think it does, too. But still, no."

Her fingers tightened, rubbed Mm, insisting. "Don't you want—"

"You know damn well how much I want it, but I'm not comfortable letting down my guard in a car parked out on the street. I'm wide open when you do your sex goddess routine on me."

"So come up to my room." She pressed her lips against his hot face, rubbed her cheek against the rasp of glinting beard stubble. "We'll lock the doors, set the alarms. We'll be as safe as it's possible to be."

He clapped his hand over his eyes. "Yeah, right. That'd go over great with your mom. You saw what she did to that Jag."

"Don't be silly," she said. "You're no Billy Vega, and besides, she already likes you." She rushed over his snort of derision. "My bedroom is in the attic, on the opposite side of the stairs from Mom's bedroom. They're asleep, Connor. They're exhausted. No one will ever know."

"You are lethal, sweetheart," he whispered. "Like Eve in the garden. Come on, baby, just one little nibble. See how shiny the apple is? Yum, yum."

She nibbed against him so that her neckline gaped low. "The apple is juicy and sweet, Connor," she said. "I promise, you'll love it."

His hand slid up over her hip, her waist, and cupped her breast. She arched against him. "Come upstairs, and you can take this nightgown off me and make love to me, Connor. I
never sneaked a boy into my childhood bedroom, ever. I
need to make up for lost time."

"I'm not a boy, Erin," he said. "I'm a man. That makes it different. That makes it kinky."

She cradled his face and kissed the frown line between his brows. "And I'm a woman," she said quietly. "Which makes it OK."

He stared into her eyes for a long moment "Tell me what your bedroom looks like."

The odd question disoriented her. "Why don't you just come up and see for yourself?"

"Just tell me, so I can see if it's anything like my fantasies."

The longing in his voice silenced her, leaving her breathless. But only for a moment.

"Um… the wallpaper has a pattern of pink rosebuds," she began. "The bed is a maple four-poster, from my great-grandmother. There's a double wedding ring quilt in a million different shades of pink. Beneath it there's a dusty rose duvet. Dusty rose pillows with lace ruffles. There's a braided rag rug on the parquet floor, like the one in my apartment, but this one is in shades of peach and cream and pink. There's a washstand with a basin and pitcher. A maple dresser set and vanity, a matching armoire with beveled mirrors. Eyelet lace curtains. It's a very pretty room. I've always loved it."

His eyes glittered like a wolf's in the moonlight. "God, Erin. That just makes me want to explode."

She stifled a giggle. "Eyelet lace curtains turn you on?"

"No. You turn me on. You, in the middle of all that fluffy chick stuff. Lace and rosebuds. I could come in my pants just thinking about it."

"I have flower-scented candles," she offered. "And there's ajar of rose petal potpourri on the vanity. The whole room smells like roses."

"Any stuffed animals lying around?" he demanded. "Dolls? I'll feel like a sleaze if you've got dolls in there."

His suspicious tone made her giggle. "There are some antique dolls, but they don't bite. They just sit on the shelves and watch you."

"Yikes," he muttered. "That's creepy."

"I'll keep you too busy to notice them," she said. "I can even put on ankle socks, and do my hair in two braids, and suck on a striped lollipop, if you like. Just say the word."

"No thanks, Lolita," he said. "I like women, not little girls."

She put her arms around his neck and trailed soft, seductive kisses from his high, sharp cheekbone down to his rigid jaw. He was still resisting her, as hot and hard and eager as his body was.

Time to bring out the big guns.

"I'm naked underneath this nightgown," she whispered.

"Yeah, like I hadn't noticed," he said roughly. "I can see your nipples and your crotch right through that damn thing."

She tugged up the flounced skirt until it cleared her knees, then her thighs. She bunched it up under her breasts so that he could see her belly, her sex, the whorls of silky dark hair between her thighs. She opened her legs and lay her hand between them, brushing her fingertips against her labia. "Don't you want to touch me?"

"Goddamn it, Erin," he said hoarsely. "This isn't fair."

"I know," she whispered. "I can't help myself. I would never have dreamed of making a spectacle of myself to turn a man on before, but I'll do it for you. I want to drive you crazy." She slid her fingers into her cleft, tightened her thighs around the trembling ache of arousal.

He jerked her onto his lap. She almost sobbed in relief, and gave herself up to his strong hands, his ravenous mouth. His fingers slid inside her, and she whimpered and lifted her hips, desperate for the relief that only he could give. She had wanted to make him helpless with desire, but now she was the helpless one.

Connor's slow, seductive kisses made her lose all sense of gravity. His thrusting hand, his demanding mouth were her only points of reference. His fingers teased and caressed her until she splayed herself wide, shaking. Pushing herself against his hand in a silent demand for release. He withdrew his hand and set her down on the seat.

"OK. You win," he said. "You've got me right where you want me, but I've got you, too. Take me up to your room and fuck me, Erin."

She drew in a sobbing breath and got out of the car. Her legs shook so hard she could barely stand. "On the first flight of stairs, the fourth step creaks," she said breathlessly. "Be sure to skip it."

His eyes narrowed. "You realize, of course, that if your mother walks in on us, I will have a heart attack on the spot."

"There's a hook latch on the door," she told him. "Mom's not the type to kick in doors. Dad would have, but not Mom. She's the type to wait until later and then look at you with big, hurt eyes."

"Yeah, and then bash in my skull with a cast-iron skillet."

"Oh, don't be such a scaredy-cat," she chided.

They crept in the front door. Erin reset the house alarm, and beckoned him up the stairs. She listened for his footsteps, but she heard nothing, not even the brush of fabric against fabric. She turned, expecting to see him still at the foot of the stairs.

He was right behind her.

He smiled at her gasp of surprise and put his finger to his lips. He followed like a ghost, floating over the squeaky parquet floor to her attic bedroom. He closed and latched the door as she searched through a drawer for the matches.

She began to light her candles, and without conscious intent, the action took on a ceremonial reverence. She was gathering power, lighting an altar to love. Rose, lavender, hibiscus, and jasmine on the vanity. Heliotrope, lilac, lily of the valley, and vanilla on the dresser. Natural scents, not overpowering, but delicately effective. Candle flames reflected into the mirrors, dancing in the currents of subtly perfumed air that moved through the room.

She turned around to face him. She felt ridiculously shy, after all her seductive posturing. The room seemed to turn back time. It made her feel younger, more unsure. More vulnerable, if that were possible.

His eyes were soft with wonder. "You're straight out of a fairy tale, Erin. That perfect body, in silhouette, and the candles behind you that turn your nightgown into pure light. My enchanted princess."

"Princess?" She blushed rosy red. "Oh, please."

"That's how I've always thought of you," he said quietly. "A beautiful princess in a tower too high to climb. Wall of thorns, magical spells, dragons, the whole deal."

If he kept up with this sweet talk she was going to start crying again, she just knew it. She sniffled, and tried to laugh. "My tower was only so high because you were the only one I ever wanted to climb it."

The power games and seductive wiles and playful banter had evaporated. They had no place in the reverent hush. Time collapsed, and she was seventeen again, the first night she met him. She had lit her candles and lain awake for hours, tossing and turning. Troubled by sensual dreams and fantasies, by a restless ache in her body that sharpened, grew delicious and agonizing when she thought of his smile, his laugh. The shape of his hands. The breadth of his shoulders.

A crazy, fanciful thought began to form in her mind.

"Would you play out a fantasy for me?" she asked.

"I would do anything for you," he said.

The stark hunger in his eyes emboldened her. "I want to go back in time," she faltered. "I made a mistake once. I want to try and fix it."

He nodded in silent encouragement.

She gathered all her courage. "I picked the wrong man to lose my virginity to. I didn't have the guts to go after the man I really wanted."

"Oh, Erin—"

"It should've been you, the first time." She rushed on, desperate to get the thought out before it fragmented. "But it wasn't. And it was awful. It closed me down for years. I didn't even want to try to have sex again. Until I made love to you."

His fists clenched. "What did he do to you?"

The steely anger in his voice frightened her, and she shook her head quickly. "Oh, no, nothing like that," she assured him. "It wasn't his fault he was the wrong man. It wasn't his fault that I didn't love him, and I didn't really want him. It was more my mistake than his."

"I don't buy it, Erin," he said. "You have a real bad habit of taking responsibility for things that aren't your fault."

She threw up her hands. "Maybe, but so what? I don't want to think about that, or about him. Tonight, there's magic. Tonight, I think I could go back in time. Be nineteen again. And have the first time be with you. Beautiful and perfect. Even… holy."

He moved toward her, and took both her hands in his. "I love you, Erin." His voice was a fierce whisper.

She struggled to respond. Language had utterly deserted her.

"I didn't want to scare you off," he said. "I didn't want to say that too soon. But if you want me to make love to you like that, then it has to be said." He lifted her hands, kissed them reverently. "I love you."

"I love you, too," she burst out. "I always have, Connor. Always."

The truth was out, naked and stark and beautiful. Revelations unfolded inside the secret places in their hearts, like flowers blooming wide, releasing their sweetness to the wind.

"You know what this means, Erin," Connor said. "This is like our wedding night. You're mine, I'm yours. Forever."

Flickering shadows danced and swirled in her vision as tears welled up and flashed down her face. "Yes," she whispered.

Their lips met, in a solemn, reverent kiss. Not a kiss to coax or to conquer, but a kiss to seal a pact. A kiss to break an enchantment.

Or to unleash one.

Connor gave himself up to her fantasy, with all his longing and passion and generous tenderness. He pushed the nightgown off her shoulders, and followed its sliding path with his mouth and hands.

He made love to her with lips and tongue, with the soft warmth of his breath. He sank to his knees and tugged the nightgown over her hips until it pooled around her feet, and hid his face against her mound, worshiping her very essence. They were poised in perfect balance on a knife's edge of awe and bliss, suspended by grace. With no fear of falling.