"I was just—Never mind."
"Phoebe, if things keep progressing at their current rate, it's about eighty percent guaranteed we're going to be intimate before this night's over, so you'd better tell me what's on your mind. Otherwise, the whole time we're going at it, I'll be waiting for you to bark like a dog or tell me to call you Howard."
She gave him an unsteady smile. "I'm not that imaginative. I wanted to ask—I mean, would you mind very much if we—" She got stuck and tried again. "If we pretend I'm a—"
"Lion tamer? Prison guard?"
"A virgin," she whispered and felt her cheeks flush with embarrassment.
He gazed at her. "A virgin?"
She dropped her eyes, mortified at what she'd revealed. "Forget it. Forget I said anything. Let's just do it."
"Phoebe, darlin', what's going on here?" He brushed his index finger over her lips.
"There's nothing going on."
"You can tell me. I'm sort of like a bedroom priest; I've pretty much heard it all. Have you ground out so many miles between the bedposts that you want to turn back the odometer a little?"
"Something like that," she murmured.
"I don't have a whole lot of experience with virgins to draw on. Matter of fact, I don't recall that I have any. Still, I's'pose I could use my imagination." And then his eyes narrowed. "I don't have to pretend that you're sixteen or anything, do I, because that kiddie stuff turns me off."
"Thirty-three," she whispered.
"That old?"
He was teasing her, and she knew it, so she tried to sound offhand. "Why not? Maybe one of those dried-up women who's secretly afraid of men. Somebody like that."
"Now this is getting kinda interesting." His thumb brushed along the very top of her breasts, just above the edge of the bedspread. "I don't suppose a woman like you would let me have another look at what you've got hidden under here?"
"As long as you don't say anything nasty about them."
"I wouldn't do that."
"You did. You told me to show you my—"
He pressed his finger over her lips. "That wasn't me. Only a real jerk would talk like that."
She loosened her grip on the spread. Slowly, he lowered it, letting the cover fall to her waist.
"Now a man like me would appreciate a sight like this." Despite his words, he didn't even look. Instead, he was studying her face.
Before she knew it, she was the one touching him. She ran her palms over his arms and along his shoulders. She was entranced with the contrast between his iron-hard muscles and the gentle way he nuzzled her neck. He trailed kisses along her jaw, nibbled her chin, the corner of her mouth. Finally he drew back and looked down at her breasts.
They had been painted by Flores and viewed by multitudes, but she felt as if they were being seen for the first time. He touched her. Just the pads of his thumbs on the very tips of her nipples, and the feeling was so exquisite that she sighed, an expression of desire and pleasure that spread all the way to her toes.
"Lean back," he whispered.
She sank into the pillows. He continued to touch her like that, just the very tips of her nipples, until she didn't think she could bear it any longer. She had never experienced desire like this, so warm and liquid with no place for fear. He slipped his hand farther into her panties.
"Stop."
He immediately withdrew.
She smiled. "I want to see you." Going up on her knees, she reached for his zipper, then found the courage to slide it down over the heavy bulge that strained the denim.
"Hold on a minute, darlin'." He stilled her hands before she could go further and got up from the bed to disappear into the bathroom. He reappeared a moment later.
Her lips curved as he tossed a handful of foil-wrapped condoms on the table at the side of the bed. "What an ego."
"How would a maiden lady like you even know what those are?"
"Public television."
Now he was the one with the grin, and she realized this was the first time she had ever laughed in bed with a man. Until this moment, she had never imagined that laughter and sex could go together.
"Where were we?"
She was amazed at her own boldness as she reached for the open V of his jeans. "Right here, as I remember." She couldn't believe how urgent her need was to see him. Instead of being afraid, she was experiencing a heady mixture of curiosity and lust.
"Don't faint on me."
"I'll try not to." She pushed the denim away and then swallowed hard as he sprang free from a pair of white cotton briefs.
"Oh, my." Her gasp wasn't feigned.
He chuckled. "Take deep breaths."
"Maybe it's just because your hips are so narrow. The contrast…"
"That's one way of looking at it." He smiled as he pulled off what was left of his clothing and stood naked before her.
She couldn't take her eyes off him. His shoulders were broad and powerful, his hips narrow with an almost concave abdomen. One of his knees was scarred, as was his opposite calf.
"This peep show works two ways, you know." He nodded toward the part of her still hidden beneath the spread that had settled in her lap.
"I'm too shy," she replied, sinking back on her heels.
"I guess I can understand that. Considering your inexperience and everything." The mattress sagged as he settled down on the edge. "What I'm going to suggest is this. Since you're a maiden lady, you might be less embarrassed if you just reached under the cover, slipped off what you've got left, and handed it out."
Lowering her eyes, she leaned back into the pillows and did as he suggested. As she dropped her panties at the side of the bed, she could barely control her excitement over this crazy, unpredictable seduction.
He lay down next to her on a bent elbow, slipped his other arm under the cover and drew up her knee to play with her ankle bracelet. "You just tell me to stop any time you get nervous."
An overwhelming flood of emotion washed through her. Even though he was teasing, he would never know how much those words meant.
Leaning forward, he started kissing her again: lips, breasts, sweet, hot kisses burning her skin, while she kissed him back and his hand moved higher under the covers until he was stroking her inner thighs.
"Spread open just a little bit for me now," he whispered.
She moved her legs. The cover fell away except for a small corner between her thighs. He brushed it aside.
She waited for him to make some crack about her being a natural blonde, but he didn't say anything. She drew a deep, shuddering breath as he began to explore her.
"Does that feel good?"
"Yes. Oh, yes."
"I'm glad."
"Would you stop?"
He withdrew his hand.
Joy and lust swirled inside her when she realized he had done as she'd asked. His compliance gave her courage. She twisted her body so that she was above him, her breasts gently swaying, the nipples stirring the hair on his chest. She watched his expression as she began her own sensual mission, trailing her hand down over his chest to his belly, which was covered with a thin sheen of perspiration.
She slipped lower and touched him. He caught his breath. She felt him rigid and pulsing in her hand, straining for release, and once again, fear mingled with desire. This time, however, desire was stronger.
"We're getting close to the point of no return," he whispered hoarsely.
She shook her head. Fondled him. "You promised."
"Stop," he groaned.
She did.
He rolled over so that he was once again looking down at her. "Let's get you ready, virgin lady," he whispered, " 'cause I don't think I can hold off much longer."
It was so good.
He prepared her with his fingers as if she were brand-new. Emotions she couldn't name filled her heart while his deep stroking sent waves of fire surging through her. His breathing was heavy, his skin flushed. He stopped to reach for one of the foil packets and sheathed himself b
efore he returned to his caresses.
"You're so tight," he whispered, as he shifted his hips and poised himself to enter her. "It's almost like—"
"Stop," she sobbed, even though she knew he had gone past the point where he would listen.
But he rolled off. Fell back. Sweat beaded his forehead. "You're killing me," he gasped, his chest heaving.
She couldn't believe he'd kept his promise, and in those moments she loved him. She told herself it wasn't a permanent emotion, not happily-ever-after, but an ephemeral love born of gratitude. Along with her heart, her whole body opened to him, demanding that he fill her and trusting him to do no damage. She clutched at his shoulders, drew him back.
He clasped her behind the knees and spread her thighs.
"Slow," she pleaded. "Don't hurt."
"Oh, I won't, darlin'," he said as he parted her. "I wouldn't hurt you for anything."
And he didn't. His entry was achingly slow, and he watched her the whole time, green eyes half-lidded, neck muscles rigid, skin damp. She could feel his iron control, even as her body stretched to take him. He began pumping inside her, and her own control slipped away.
"That's right," he whispered, as her head thrashed on the pillow and tiny moans slipped through her lips. "Make some noise for me, baby. Make all the noise you want."
He thrust deeply, and she moved with him. The sensation was wonderful and frightening. She began to spiral, and now it was not his loss of control that threatened her, but her own. Her fingers dug into the steely bands at his shoulders. Something was happening to her. Something wonderful. Something terrifying. If she lost control… She opened her mouth and sobbed, "Stop!"
The sound he made was barely human, a strangled exclamation deep in his throat. This time she knew he wouldn't listen. He had traveled too far and her request was no longer fair.
But he withdrew. This iron-willed man who could have overpowered her in an instant acceded to her wishes and fell back into the pillows, skin flushed, veins throbbing in his neck, chest heaving.
With his acquiescence, the shackles that had bound her for so long broke away, and joy took their place. She fell on him. Kissed him with her tongue. Took his hair in her fists as she reclaimed her womanhood and loved him with all her heart.
It seemed natural for her to mount him.
She slipped her leg over his hips and gradually took him into her body, his size forcing her to go more slowly than she wished so she could accommodate him. When she had completely impaled herself, she gazed down at him. His eyes were open, but glazed, his lips taut. She began to move, timing the strokes as little sobs slipped through her lips. He cupped her buttocks so she didn't lose him, his fingers soothing her where they were joined.
She splayed her hands in the hair on his chest, arched her back, and rode him higher and higher. Her hair began to fly. She had become a glittering blond amazon who had claimed the mightiest of men to service her. He bucked, but she stayed with him, her thighs gripping his powerful hips. She was in command. He was hers to take.
He was blowing now. His chest heaved as he emptied and filled his lungs, an athlete reaching for the limits of his endurance. She understood then that he was determined she would shatter first. He was a man who thrived on competition, and in this particular game, second place earned the trophy. He didn't know how it was with her. He didn't understand that she couldn't.
But there was something she didn't understand. To him, winning was everything. And he wasn't above cheating.
With his fingers, he found her most vulnerable spot. She gasped for air, her head fell forward. He deepened that thrilling, unfair touch. The room whirled around her, spinning faster and faster, and the boundaries between what was his and what was hers dissolved.
It couldn't be happening. It never happened…
A great cry spilled from her very center. She heard a dim, answering roar and felt his fierce shudders. Spinning free of gravity, they hurtled into oblivion.
Chapter 13
« ^ »
Phoebe's cheek was stuck to Dan's chest and her leg was twisted at an uncomfortable angle, but she didn't care. As she lay in his arms, her heart was filled with gratitude toward this tender warrior who had done so much to vanquish the enemies of her past.
The air conditioner hissed. In the hallway someone slammed a door. She waited for him to speak because she didn't know what to say.
He shifted his weight and rolled to the side. She felt chilly air on her bare back. He pulled his arm from beneath her and sat up on the edge of the bed, his back to her. She felt the first wisps of uneasiness.
"You were great, Phoebe."
He turned and gave her a fake, too-friendly smile. A chill shot through her as she wondered if it was the same one he'd given all the football groupies when he was done with them.
"I had a real good time. Really." He reached for his jeans. "Tomorrow's a big day. Got to get up early."
Every part of her had grown cold. She fumbled with the covers. "Of course. It's late, I—" She slipped out of bed on the opposite side. "Let me just—" She grabbed for her clothes.
"Phoebe—"
"Here. I've got it all." She made a dash for the bathroom. Her cheeks burned with shame, anger, and hurt as she pulled on her clothes. How could something that had been so earth-shattering for her have been so meaningless to him? She tried to force air past the knot in her throat. Her teeth began to chatter, and she clamped her jaw shut, determined not to let him know what he had done to her. She wouldn't fall apart until she was alone.
When she emerged, she saw that he had pulled on his jeans. He faced the bathroom door. His hair was tousled, his expression guilty. "You want a drink or something?"
Drawing on the same bravado that had kept her sane for so many years, she tossed her ugly white bra at his feet. "Add this to your souvenir collection, Coach. I don't want you to lose count."
Then she was gone.
As the door shut behind her, Dan cursed under his breath. No matter how much he wanted to rationalize, he knew he had just acted like a first-class heel. Even so, he rubbed his arm and tried to tell himself that what he'd done wasn't all that bad. Phoebe knew the score, so what was the big deal?
The big deal was the fact that, for the life of him, he couldn't remember the last time he'd experienced sex as good as what had just taken place in this room, and it scared him because it had been so unexpected. There'd been this crazy innocence about her that had excited him beyond belief. She'd been wild and sweet, and just thinking about that curvy body of hers was making him hard again.
He kicked away the bra she had tossed at him and stalked over to the minibar, where he pulled out a bottle of beer. As he twisted off the cap, he acknowledged the real reason he'd acted so badly. It was because he'd felt guilty. From the time he'd seen Phoebe kissing Bobby Tom in the bar to the moment that beautiful blonde had shown him the stars in a million different colors, he'd forgotten all about Sharon Anderson.
Dammit! He'd told himself he wasn't going to do this kind of thing any more. He hadn't been with another woman since he'd met Valerie, and that had been almost five years ago. The first time should have been with Sharon, not with Phoebe. Now, when he and Sharon finally climbed into bed, that sweet little nursery school lady was going to be competing in his mind with a seasoned sexual tri-athlete.
Even so, he shouldn't have kicked Phoebe out like that. Guilt gnawed at him. Despite all her character defects, he couldn't help liking her, and he was almost certain he'd hurt her feelings, although she had so much sass, it was hard to know for sure. Damn, that woman had made him crazy from the first time they'd met. If he weren't careful, his lust for her would completely screw up his budding relationship with Sharon.
Right then he made a promise. No matter what he had to do, he wasn't going to let that gorgeous sex bomb sink her claws into him any deeper than she already had. Maybe he owed her an apology, but that was it. From now on, he was a one-woman man.
Phoebe was
mad as hell as she got ready to go onto the field for the first quarter of the Stars-Sabers game. Jerk! Idiot! Moron! She stood at the mouth of the tunnel and called herself every name in the book. Of all the brainless, self-destructive, idiotic things she could have done, this one took the cake.
She still felt woozy from her crying jag last night. Sometime around four in the morning, she had finally taken a long, painful look inside herself and realized there was only one explanation for the depth of hurt she was feeling. She was letting herself fall in love with Dan Calebow.
Her chest spasmed in a short, painful hiccup. Afraid she would start crying all over again, she dug her fingernails into her palms and tried to find some rational explanation for how she had let such a disaster happen. She should have been the last woman in the world to have succumbed to a sexy Southern drawl and a gorgeous set of biceps. But there it was. Some hormonal imbalance, some reckless streak of self-destruction, had sent her flying too close to the sun.
And how hot that sun had burned last night. She had never imagined making love could be like that—funny and tender and wonderful. Her throat tightened as she reminded herself that she might have been making love, but he had been having sex.
She realized she was dangerously close to tears, and she couldn't afford to fall apart again. Fixing a blazing smile on her face, she walked out into the Oregon sunshine, where she planned to exact at least a small measure of revenge for every sweet second she'd spent last night lying in his treacherous arms.
The photographers spotted her before the crowd did. A prerecorded tape began playing the old standard, "Ain't She Sweet?" She realized this must be the surprise Ron had said he would have for her when she went on the field. She was going to be the only owner in the NFL with her personal theme song.
Accompanied by wolf whistles, she struck a pose, blew a kiss, and walked toward the bench, her hips wiggling to the beat. The photographers snapped away at the dazzling red and black python-printed leather jeans that hugged every curve of her lower body, and the fitted black silk man's vest cupping her bare breasts. The owner of the trendy boutique next to the hotel had been persuaded to open the door just for her at ten o'clock that morning after Phoebe had decided the conservative linen dress she'd brought with her would no longer do. The boutique owner had suggested a man's bow tie to accessorize the outfit, but Phoebe had chosen to loop a more feminine bit of black lace ribbon around her throat, while she showed her team spirit with clusters of silver stars dangling from her earlobes. The outfit was expensive, outrageous, and completely inappropriate, a flagrant in-your-face to Dan Calebow.
It Had to Be You Page 18
