The Colors of Love (20 page)

"Alone? Were you here alone?"

She turned and leaned back against the balcony rail. "I'm—I didn't know I'd be so nervous. I—you look so serious, all frowns and shadows."

He stepped closer and his face came alive in moonlight, eyes intense, lips unsmiling. He took her hand and closed both his around it, his thumb pressed to her inner wrist. "What is it that you expect to happen? What frightens you?"

"It's—I'm not frightened, just—" She tried a laugh, but it didn't come off. "I've never done this before."

"You've never been to a hotel with a man?"

"Not that—never had sex before."

His hands jerked. "You're a virgin?"

"I've been busy, and—well, I haven't wanted to. A little, maybe, once or twice, but not so much that—I don't know. I just haven't! I wasn't going to tell you."

She saw his throat flex as he swallowed. "It's all right. You—I didn't expect it, that's all." He brushed his lips to her forehead. "We'll take it easy, Jamie, as slow as you want."

She turned her face and found his lips only inches from hers. "That's the first time you've called me Jamie."

"Why don't I get us a drink, see about some music."

She wanted to follow him when he stepped inside, told herself to snap out of it, to relax. It was easier when he touched her—not easier to relax, but easier to forget the awkwardness, to feel that she was
with
him. Without his touch, the gulf between them seemed endless. When the soft moody music begin to play, she wondered if there'd been a stereo in her room last year. She didn't know, couldn't remember. There had been television, of course, but radio?

On the water, moonlight streaked jaggedly toward them. She heard Alex behind her, but didn't turn to face him. "Do you remember the other night we went out to dinner, when you kissed me before you went home?"

"I remember." His low voice came from close behind her.

"I wish we'd made love that night."

His hand brushed her shoulder. "Let's dance, Jamie... Jamila."

She turned and he took her loosely in his arms.

"Just dance," he murmured as they began to move. "Don't worry about the rest." His hand touched lightly on her back, guiding her.

She moved in his arms, staring at the water, at the way moonbeams shifted with the music, with each step they took. She ached for Alex to touch her, to
really
touch her, to smooth her restless clothes away and satisfy the ache that wouldn't let her be still.

When he turned, her eyes found the dark shadow of the waiting bed. She wanted to tell him to kiss her
now
, and then carry her to that deep blue quilt and strip every barrier away. She wanted to stare deeply into his eyes, touch his face, draw his head down, and lose herself in his hard sensual mouth.

She wanted... yet only her legs could move, matching his dance steps. How could she want so much, yet feel so paralyzed?

"I love your hair," he murmured, his fingers threading through the curls.

"I..."

"Hush," he said softly. "Close your eyes."

She felt his lips press gently on her eyelids, his hands moving in her hair, and she stood, immobile, waiting. Her hair brushed over her shoulders, her back. On her scalp, it felt as if each hair responded to his touch as he softly massaged her temples. Then lightly, so lightly, he brushed a kiss on her lips, left her mouth parted and empty when he stopped. He drew her closer then, moving them with the music, their feet moving slowly, so slowly, to soft lover's notes.

His shoulder was here, right
here,
the hard curve welcoming her head as she turned her face into it. Then she was tangled somehow... arms... body parts... until she realized that her arms needed to reach up, to allow her hands to rest against his shoulders, to explore the short curling hair at the back of his neck.

He shifted and they danced more intimately, her leg slipping between his as they moved. She turned her head, lips brushing his throat, breathing his scent.

"I'm dizzy," she whispered.

"I won't let you fall," he breathed back. His hand slid over the sensitive flesh of her upper back and into her hair. She felt her head arch back into the cradle of his palm. Staring up, up into his face, his brows drawn together, eyes dark mysteries as they gazed down at her.

I love you.
The words welled up inside her, filled her, and left her breathless.

"I want to kiss you," he said soberly.

She stared at his lips; warm, tingling fantasies of his mouth playing on the edges of her consciousness... dizzy, falling-into-Alex sensations of her mouth opening, her blood pulsing, the world spinning away.

Now, please.

Her eyelids grew heavy and she let vision go, allowing herself to feel only the strong cradle of his fingers under her hair, the involuntary arching of her own body as her head pressed back against his hand, her mouth reaching, opening.

She felt, heard the low sound in her throat as his lips settled so slowly onto hers. Her mouth opened, inviting him deeper, but he concentrated on her lips, brushing his mouth over the sensitive skin, nipping her bottom lip gently with his teeth. She was aching, pulsing, hungry, couldn't stop the sound of frustration in her throat.

"Let go, Jamila."

She didn't know what he meant, yet somewhere inside, a tight spring suddenly released and she felt her lips grow passive under his, felt sensation multiply in the slow caress of her mouth.

She'd never known a kiss could be so slow and so hot all at once, hadn't realized sensation could flow outward from her mouth, filling every part of her body with sweet, heavy lethargy. How could she feel his kiss there, in her fingers, and
there
, deep in the pit of her stomach?

Her lips began to move, sliding out of lethargy with their own energy, possessing now the full tautness of his lower lip, now the inside of his upper lip with wondrous small touches from her tongue. Strength drained even as sensation built, her head falling back, his lips tasting her jaw, his hot mouth on her throat; her deep, slow pulse waking against his lips.

Slow, so slow she would die... stretching her body under his lips, twisting to taste, to feel his flesh with her mouth. Madness, sweet slow madness. His mouth sought deeper against her throat; then they met, open and seeking, his tongue tangled with hers deep inside.

Something snapped and the drugging lethargy ignited into desperation, and then she was twisting in his arms, his hands hauling her hard against him, her hands clenched in his hair.

"Slow," he said raggedly, holding her immobile for his kiss. "I meant it to be slow." He groaned, burying his mouth in hers so deeply that she convulsed and shuddered in his arms.

She floated deep in his kiss, dizzy with the sensation of his arms lifting her, carrying her... then softness, sinking down, his face above hers... reaching up, wrapping her arms around his neck and feeling his length against her as their mouths found each other again. His hand covered her breast and sensation shot through her body.

"Jamila?"

She couldn't speak, but the sound she made must have told him, because he caressed her shoulders, gentle now. Throbbing breath tangled in her throat until he found a way to free her of the fabric and the air went out of her lungs in a dizzying moan when he found her naked breasts.

"I didn't know," she moaned, and the heat burned slow as she lost contact with anything related to time. The world became his mouth on her breast, his hands shaping, touching, caressing her body. She heard her own sounds and madness pulsed in her veins.

He pleasured her, drawing deep purple sensations as he kissed the full underside of her breast, deepening to blazing red when his mouth found the aching nipple, then hot blue when his lips lightly traced the line of her hip.

Her hands grew restless and sought his warm flesh, his heartbeat against her palms. She struggled with buttons, fabric, and finally found the broad expanse of his chest, where she tasted his ragged heartbeat with her mouth.

She closed her eyes and felt Alex wash over her. Alex... Alexander... and she knew this would never be enough. She covered his nipple with her mouth and rejoiced when his body convulsed. Words... she wanted words, couldn't speak.

"Slow," he said unsteadily.

She lifted her head and saw the battle for control in his eyes, but she needed to drive control from him, to prove he needed her... like this, forever.

She sought the pulse in his throat with her mouth, the sensitive rigid male nipples on his breast. She heard his groan, then he twisted and she lost herself in sensations as his mouth raged over her body, teaching her all the places he could touch, could kiss, teaching her how his naked leg pushed between her thighs shafted need to her belly.

"Just a minute," he groaned. "Wait, I have to—"

She found his mouth and stole his words in a shattering kiss that left her clinging to his shoulders. Then he pushed her down into the mattress, looming high over her, and she saw need in his eyes, his face, saw him struggle for breath, for sanity perhaps, and she reached, touching him so that his head reared back.

"I can't... Jamila," he groaned.

And finally, he thrust into her.

She stared up at the naked desire and need on his face as he broke through the barrier of her innocence. Through the single tearing shaft of pain, she felt him deep inside her and knew that now, in this moment, she was the only woman he had ever wanted.

"Jamila," he said, and fought to hold himself still.

She closed her eyes and moved carefully. She felt herself stretch, but moved again so slowly until the pain receded, only Alex filling her, stroking her everywhere with hot tendrils of need.

"Yes," she whispered.

Purple, beyond deep purple, swirling everywhere in long slow strokes. She gave herself up to the colors of love, meeting his thrusts with her own hunger as she felt his tension build again. She felt him everywhere, deep inside her body and soul, sensation taking her apart, shattering into tiny fragments as her body arched, needing him deeper, spinning deeper, deeper, until she lost herself in the long, ragged tumble into oneness.

* * *

Alex felt the fleeting weight of Jamila's fingers against his chest as she moved. He turned his head and stared at her hand, fingers slack against his chest, her naked arm outside the tumbled blankets. Inches away, her mouth was turned toward him, lips parted. When he stopped breathing, he could hear her breath, slow and gentle with sleep.

He tryied to blank out the sensation of her hand on his chest, scorning himself for the attempt. Hadn't he just proven once again that when it came to this uncontrollable woman, every scrap of the civilized man abandoned him?

A virgin, for Christ's sake!

He felt anger at her, for her innocence—the innocence he'd taken—and knew his emotion was irrational. She'd been the one to suggest they come to the hotel.
"I want you to make love to me,"
she'd said, so clearly his body had throbbed instantly with the image.

Damn it, he was a doctor! A responsible, careful man who'd finally given in to the inevitability of having an affair with this woman who drove him to madness without even trying.

But he'd damned well intended to do it carefully, rationally.

Rationally—what a joke! God knew he'd tried. His plan to take it easy, to deliver her home without allowing himself to kiss her had been blown all to hell there on the beach. Certainly he'd been way off his charted course by the time he walked into this hotel with every intention of taking her upstairs and making love to her.

She'd thrown him completely when she told him she was innocent. There must be other twenty-eight-year-old virgins in Seattle, but surely not women like Jamila, confident and beautiful, sensual in every breath.

Like a fool, fe'd felt a primitive surge of lusty victory knowing he would be her first lover.

So maybe a man was entitled to a few secret primitive thoughts, but at the very least he'd owed her care, tender touches and slow kisses designed to arouse. He hadn't realized how powerfully the madness would grab him until too late.

He shuddered at the memory of thrusting powerfully into her body, tearing through the barrier. He'd hurt her unnecessarily, and worse, the three condoms in his wallet were still there, unopened.

Just before the madness, he remembered reaching for his pants. Damn him to hell! Why hadn't he completed the action, used the condom?

She murmured something in her sleep and he slid his arm around her. When she came closer at his touch, he closed his eyes and breathed in the lingering scent of the soap he'd lathered gently over her skin when they showered together. So slow, gentle, the way he'd intended to touch her when they loved.

She'd walked out of the bathroom with a towel around her, pulling the shower cap off her hair, red curls tumbling down her naked back. He'd followed a moment later, had seen her lying on the bed, already half asleep. Then he'd caught sight of their scattered clothes, his wallet half out of his pocket.

She won't be pregnant, he'd told himself. She was the last woman on earth he would choose to have a child with. Once, just once in a lifetime of cautious sex he'd forgotten, and it had to be with her.

Chapter 12