Warm Hearts (16 page)

“No.”

“Me, neither. So what do you think?”

“I think that I've never thought of doing anything half as impulsive as this before.”

“Wrong.”

“Wrong?”

He took her face gently in his hands, fingertips tangling with the damp tendrils by her cheeks. “Making love with me earlier tonight was more impulsive, don't you think?”

She blushed and nodded.

“Which goes to show that our impulses are good where each other is concerned, so let's go to Maine.”

“Okay.”

7

It was a lovely idea, “was” being the operative word. But to have caught a flight to Bangor and allowed for driving time from there would have meant leaving at seven, and at seven that morning Brendan and Caroline were dead to the world. After a night of much loving and little sleep, it was no wonder.

Brendan was the first to awaken. Sprawled facedown on the bed, he turned his head on the pillow, dragged in a sleep-roughened breath, then stretched. His body felt utterly spent, but it was a relaxed kind of exhaustion, a lovely lethargy that spread from his neck to the tips of his toes.

Satisfied. He felt incredibly satisfied. It was a new sensation and it puzzled him, until he managed to pry open one eye and see where he was. Unable to resist when his gaze lowered over a disheveled head of hair, an ivory-smooth back and a softly rounded bottom, he broke into a very slow, very smug, very male grin.

A minute later, the grin vanished and his head popped up. “Oh, no,” he whispered, focusing on the nightstand clock.
“Eleven?”

A soft moan came from Caroline, whose head was tucked by his ribs. She curled a leg sideways and straightened one arm on the rumpled sheet, then, with another moan, reversed each of those movements and slowly turned toward him. He knew the instant that awareness hit her, because she went abruptly still. She extended the fingers of one hand and tentatively touched their tips to his waist. Then, as tentatively and almost disbelievingly, she raised her head and met his gaze.

“We overslept,” he said. His voice, still sandy with sleep, held the same element of unsureness that he saw in her gaze. He didn't know whether she was pleased, displeased or indifferent, and the matter of the trip to Maine was the least of it. Hard as it was to believe, when he felt as though he'd known her forever, this was the first time they'd faced each other in broad daylight.

Caroline's only problem was an initial disorientation. She wasn't accustomed to waking up with a man, and his sheer physical presence with its distinct warmth and scent confused her—until she realized that this was Brendan. Her confusion vanished quickly. Brendan. It seemed perfectly natural that he should be in her bed. With the softest of smiles, she lay her forehead on his middle.

“Caroline?”

She yawned.

“Are you okay?”

She hummed a yes.

“I think it's too late to try for Maine.”

“S'okay,” she murmured. “This is nicer.”

He gently twisted her hair off her neck. “Anyway, it's raining.”

She hummed another yes.

He wondered if she knew what was going on, because it sounded to him like she was falling back to sleep. At least she seemed content, he mused with another smile as he looked down her prone form.

She was a sprawler like he was. There'd been some tight moments on her double bed during the night, times when, in their sexual abandon, they'd nearly toppled to the floor. Even now he was perilously close to the edge, while she angled out from his side. But he didn't mind.

Lord, was she sweet. Sweet and natural and uninhibited. She was perfectly at ease with him. They were made to be together.

Unfortunately he couldn't tell her that, though every instinct inside him wanted to. She'd think that he was trying to put ties on her, and he'd promised her that he wouldn't. He'd also promised that they'd go to Maine, but he'd broken that one.

“I should have set an alarm,” he said in a soft apology to himself as much as to her, then mumbled something resembling “Guess I had other things on my mind.”

For someone who was allegedly falling back to sleep, Caroline's good-humored if groggy-sounding “I'll say” was prompt. She knew precisely what Brendan had had on his mind, and she'd been guilty of the same. She couldn't begin to review each single instance when they'd turned to each other during the night. At times he'd been the initiator, at times she had been. Who had moved first hadn't mattered, though, because they'd shared a fierce and endless hunger. Even now, when she opened her eyes to the lean, manly lines of his torso and legs, she felt a stirring inside. Slightly dismayed by that, she stirred the rest of her body, maneuvering up to meet his head on the pillow. She couldn't restrain a moan in the process.

Rolling to his side so that he faced her, he put a hand on her hip. “What's wrong?”

Her cheeks grew pink. “Nothing. Just a little sore.”

His hand slid down her thigh, then up its inside. “Here?”

She nodded.

“You haven't been with a man since Ben?”

“No. And I never did this with him.”

Brendan's lips twitched. “Marathoning?”

She laughed. It was a soft sound, feather light and gay. “Mmm. I guess that says it.” She was quiet for a minute. “Where do you get your strength? You're probably not the least bit sore.”

His dark eyes twinkled as they held hers. “I wouldn't say that. I thought I was in good shape, playing raquetball and all, but this morning my upper arms and shoulders are protesting something or other I did to them.”

She pictured precisely that something or other he'd done, and her skin warmed. “I'm glad to know it's not only me,” she said more softly. Looking into those velvety brown eyes, she was mesmerized. But it wasn't only his eyes. It was his tousled hair and his stubbly jaw and the breadth of his chest and the fullness of his sex—all of which were powerful items in her periphery.

He caught her lips in a soft, sweet kiss. The backs of his fingers feathered the warm curls at the apex of her thighs. Gently, so gently he touched her, but it was enough to generate all sorts of fiery little responses. When she moaned again, it had nothing to do with the soreness.

Riding on the pleasure brought by his stroking fingers, she whispered his name, then said in the same awe-filled breath, “This could go on forever.”

“Let it,” he whispered back. His fingers sank deeper and he delighted in the audible catch in her breath.

“I've never been like this,” came her soft words of denial, but her eyes were closed, her lips remained parted, and she'd bent one knee to give him better access.

He was up on an elbow, alternately watching her face and the action of his hand. His voice was thick. “It's good for you.”

“So much?” she whispered.

“Uh-huh.”

She gave a tiny gasp and undulated against his hand. “We have to stop…”

“Not yet.”

“I don't know … how much more I can take.”

“Just this.”

Her fingers dug into his shoulders. “Brendan!” Her breathy cry held both surprise and wonder, which was incredible to Brendan, since he'd brought her to many other climaxes in the course of the night. But her body rocked under the force of this one, and by the time the spasms had begun to wane, she had her face buried in the crook of his shoulder.

In time she let out a long, ragged breath.

“Good?” he whispered huskily.

“Mmm.”

They lay for several minutes listening to the gentle sough of the warm rain falling in the courtyard and, beyond that, the distant sounds of traffic.

“Whatever must you think of me?” she murmured, raising sheepish eyes to his.

“I think,” he said, “that you're a very passionate woman.”

Her hand was resting on his stomach. She slid it lower, whispering, “And you? You share the passion. Will you let me pleasure you, too?”

His fingers closed around hers, guiding them back the way they'd come. “Not now.” He kissed her forehead.

“But you're hard—”

“And enjoying the knowledge that I've satisfied you. It's enough this time.”

Caroline found it hard to believe that a man could be so selfless. Yet, studying his face, she saw nothing but sincerity etched in his features. “Are you sure?” she asked in a whisper.

He smiled and nodded.

What a handsome smile, she thought. A confident smile. A gentle and generous one. It caused a distinct tightening in the region of her heart.

To counter that tightening, she sent him an accusing look. “You've bewitched me, I think. Either that or there's something in the air. Do you suppose exhaust fumes from the courtyard could be an aphrodisiac?”

Barely restraining a grin, he shook his head.

Her grunt held begrudging agreement. She didn't smell exhaust fumes; she never had. At the moment, though, the air surrounding them was musty, a mixture of humidity, sleep and sex that she found to be delightfully earthy.

Closing her eyes, she fit herself more snugly into the arm Brendan offered and smiled in contentment when he began to stroke her hair. It amazed her that she welcomed the physical contact, particularly given the weather. But then, physical contact with Brendan was like nothing she'd ever known before. It was new and refreshing, offering a counterpoint to the heat. His firm body supported hers even as it yielded to her curves. Regardless of how casual or incidental, his touch was exciting in the tremors it caused, and in the case of deliberate provocation it was stimulating, sensual and satisfying. It was also a total distraction from the rest of the world.

Body and mind, both buzzed with lingering pleasure. Caroline was thinking that she could spend the entire day with him this way when he gently eased her aside and rose from the bed.

Bending down to kiss the tip of her nose, he whispered, “Be right back,” before disappearing into the bathroom. When he reemerged moments later, he crossed to the refrigerator, poured a large glass of orange juice and delivered it to her in the bed.

“I'm impressed,” she said, propping a pillow between her back and the headboard. She accepted the orange juice, took a healthy drink, then handed it back. “Breakfast in bed. Not bad.”

He took a swallow of juice. “If I were truly chivalrous, I'd be making an exotic omelet.”

“It's okay. I'm not a breakfast person.” She smirked. “But you don't know that, do you?”

Pursing his lips, he shook his head slowly. “Can't see in during the day. I only know you as a creature of the night.”

She chuckled at that. “You make me sound wicked.”

“Not wicked. Maybe wild or sensual, even wanton, but never wicked.” He slid down against the headboard until they were flush side to side and slanted her a glance. “So. Since we've blown a trip to Maine, what's your pleasure? Washington is a romantic city. We could play tourist and walk around in the rain.”

“In the rain?” she echoed meaningfully.

“Mmm. Forget walking around. We could take a drive to the country.”

She considered that, but again there was the rain and somehow the thought of being restrained for hours in a car with Brendan's hands stuck on the wheel bothered her. She crinkled her nose in rejection of the idea.

“I could leave you in peace,” he suggested cautiously. “You could do whatever you'd do on a normal Saturday—” She interrupted him with a vigorous shake of her head. Relieved, he spread his arms in a gesture of self-sacrifice. “I'm at your disposal. You name it.”

What she really wanted to do was to stay right there all day. She felt pleasantly tired and thoroughly sated. Her body's soreness would respond to a warm bath, and she rather liked the idea of taking one with Brendan, then just lying around talking, making love, thumbing her nose at the busy pace of the rest of her life.

But, Lord, what would he think if she suggested a full day of lazing around? He might revise his assessment of her to wicked after all. What she needed, she decided, was for
him
to suggest that they idle away the day together.

The phone rang just then. She shot a glance in its direction, then returned her gaze to Brendan. When the second ring came, she plopped a wet kiss on the tiny white scar on the tip of his chin, climbed over his body and padded across the floor to the peninsula. She had the instrument halfway to her ear before she thought twice, but by then it was too late.

“Hello?”

“What's going on, Caroline? I got a call from Elliot a few minutes ago. He's furious.”

“Norman,” she breathed, looking distinctly regretful as she turned around to face Brendan. If only she'd stopped to think before she'd picked up the phone. If only she'd let the damned thing ring. If only she'd put on her machine. “How're ya doin', Norman?” she asked conversationally.

“Not real well, considering that my brother just ruined the peace of my Saturday brunch.”

She felt a surge of guilt. “I'm sorry,” she said on impulse, then added, “He shouldn't have done that.”

“What I want to know is why he did. What happened between you two?”

Caroline's eyes were on Brendan, who was lounging against the headboard with one knee bent and an arm folded behind his head. She had his full attention, which, thank heavens, wasn't a problem. He knew about Elliot. He knew about Elliot's relationship to Norman. And the sight of him—his mere presence—calmed her.

“What did he say?” she asked quietly.

“He said you'd been two-timing him.”

“He's upset.”

“He said you'd been using him.”

She felt another twinge of guilt. True, she'd used Elliot as a buffer between Ben and her, but Elliot knew nothing of that. As for the accusations he'd made the evening before—accusations she was sure he'd repeated to his brother—she was innocent.