Everlasting

by Iris Johansen

  His hand was waiting for her, too, outstretched in silent invitation. She slipped her small hand into his large one with the supreme naturalness of a trusting child and suddenly experienced a tingling shock of sensation that was immediately drowned in a sparkling sense of perfect lightness. Hello," she whispered.

  "Hello," he said thickly. "Welcome home, love."

  Home. Yes, that's what was waiting for her. Why hadn't she realized it? What had been before, was happening again. A smile suddenly lit her face with radiance. "Oh, I'm so happy. I do love—" She broke off. There was something wrong. She frowned, trying to pierce the mists obscuring the shining truth she'd known just a minute before. Zack?"

  His smile was fading as his hand tightened around her own. "I'm still here, Kira. I'll always be

  here."

  "Yes, I know, but there's something wrong. Something—" She stopped again. Then she shook her head as if to clear it. Crazy. What had hap­pened was completely crazy. Her nerves must be more strained than she thought to have tricked her into a wild flight of fancy. She closed her eyes for an instant and drew a deep, steadying breath. She was experiencing a poignant disappointment that was shaking her to the core and was as insane as the rest of it. She didn't want to return to reality when that moment of piercing recognition had been so magnificent. Recognition? Oh, Lord, she was going mad. Her eyes opened and she smiled with forced gaiety. "Sorry. I think you must have mesmerized me for a moment. Are you sure you're not a shaman too?"

  There was a flicker in his eyes that might have reflected the same wild disappointment she was feeling. "I'm sure."

  "Well, you could have fooled me," she said flip­pantly. "Do you get that response from Mallory Thane too?"

  "No."

  Kira could feel the wild color sting her cheeks. She was suddenly feverish. "I'm surprised." Her tongue moistened her lower lip. "I hear you're quite the ladies' man and she's known to be—"

  "Be quiet." His voice was very soft to be so com­manding. "I know you're frightened, but stop try­ing to put barriers between us." He released her hand and suddenly was cupping her shoulders. He shook her gently. "Mallory Thane isn't important. None of them were important, and now they're all simply past history."

  She wouldn't look at him. Her gaze was fastened stubbornly on the middle of his chest. "You were expecting her here last night."

  "No, I wasn't expecting anyone but you."

  She believed him, and that was as crazy and frightening as everything else that had gone before. "I don't understand any of this."

  "You will." His hands moved from her shoulders gently to cup her face in his palms. "It isn't time yet. Trust me, Kira."

  "I'm trying." Her words were a mere whisper. "I have to trust someone. I don't seem to have much confidence in myself anymore."

  "Do you suppose you could stretch that faith enough to look up at me?" There was a thread of gentle humor in his voice. "I think your fierce glare is burning a hole through my breastbone."

  Her gaze lifted, and his look of tenderness and understanding was like a soothing balm to her troubled spirit.

  "That's better." He smiled. "For a moment I thought we'd skipped a few hurdles, but evidently it wasn't meant to be." His thumbs splayed out across her cheekbones to rub gently at the corners of her lips. "Perhaps it's better this way. We have so much to experience, and everything is bright and shining and new." His head came down slowly.

  "I'm going to kiss you. Is that all right with you, love?"

  He was only a breath away, his dark eyes holding her own. She could feel the warmth radiating from

  his body and smell the clean, fresh scent of him. Her throat was so tight the assent came out a little huskily. "Yes."

  She had expected warmth and gentleness, but not the honey sweetness. His lips were hard and firm, yet they wooed and tempted, cherished and promised. He built labyrinths of golden intimacy and then led her through them so lovingly she thought her heart would stop with each new, exquisite twist and turn. She didn't know how many times their lips met and parted or how many ways his hands moved and angled her head to take and give and take again. Time flowed, intimacy deepened. Time flowed again. Such a beautiful, meaningful circle, she thought dreamily.

  His head lifted at last and he looked down at her.

  His eyes were night-black, the pupils dilated. "Good?" he asked softly.

  "Wonderful ..." She wished he hadn't stopped. Her lips felt soft, pliant; she ached for the sweet­ness of his lips, and the pain was almost as sharp as the desire she'd known last night. How strange and wonderful were the heights to which his mere kiss could lift her. "I wish it could go on forever."

  "It can't, though." His lips were pressing soft, loving kisses on her cheeks, the tip of her nose, her temple. "There's too much electricity stored up between us." He tilted her head back and his warm lips drifted over the sensitive cord of her throat. "It has to change, but we'll always have this to come back to, you know."

  "Will we?" It was very comforting to know that, she thought hazily. But he was right; it was already changing. His lips were growing hotter against her throat and she could see his chest ris­ing and falling with the harshness of his breath­ing. The tiny changes she could detect in his body triggered identical ones within her own. She was no longer languid and dreamy.

  The sensations she was feeling now were all sharp and aching and fever-hot, and she wasn't sure she wanted to be jarred out of blissful eupho­ria. There was a liquid throbbing between her thighs and her breasts felt full and painfully swollen. She wished he'd move his hands from her face and put them on her breasts. Perhaps that caress would ease their strange aching. She was vaguely surprised that the desire didn't shock her. She had never before wanted a man's hands on her, touching intimately. Yet she supposed it shouldn't have surprised her. There was no comparing any of the emotions she was feeling for Zack with those in her previous experience.

  The muscles of his body were hardening, rippling. She was aware of that meaningful tau­tening, even though he was only touching her with his hands. His body was readying itself. The Knowledge sent a near savage jolt of pure desire through her. He wanted her. She could see the pulse leaping crazily in his temple and feel the soft nip of his teeth on the flesh of her throat.

  "You see?" His voice was guttural. He lifted his head and his face was flushed and heavy with sen­suality. "It never stays the same. There's too much waiting for us."

  Yes," she whispered. She wondered if her eyes were as glazed and wanting as his. They probably were. She felt as if every breath she drew was -eploding little fiery sparks into her bloodstream.

  "I want to touch you. I want my hands on you,"

  "Yes," she said again. She couldn't seem to say anything else to him. Response and assent. The reaction was as basic as nature itself.

  "You want it too? I don't want to take, Kira."

  "I want it too."

  His lips curved in a rare smile. "That's all I wanted to know. I'm surprised I even had the restraint to look this particular gift horse in the mouth. Come along, love,"

  He was taking her by the hand and, to her sur­prise, leading her away from the bed across the room. "Where are we going?"

  Right here." He had stopped beside the deep-cushioned contemporary easy chair against the wall. He sat down and positioned her between his legs. "If we used the bed, I'm sure this preliminary foray would result in an instant merger." His hands were swiftly untying the belt of her robe.

  She felt a swift thrust of disappointment. "I assumed you had grown impatient with your little anticipatory game."

  "I am impatient," he said dryly. "And hurting and. . ." He opened the robe and stared at her for a long moment. She felt scorched, burned, and knew her body was responding helplessly and very obvi­ously to his hot, lingering appraisal. The sheer veiling of the yellow chiffon nightgown might just as well not have been there for all the covering it gave her. "Oh, Lord, am I hurting."

  And so was she. The robe d
ropped, making a pool of sunshine color on the dark brown carpet at her feet, and she stood before him in only the sheer nightgown. There was something vaguely barbaric about their positions—Zack sitting fully clothed and she standing almost naked between his legs like a slave girl waiting to pleasure him.

  "What are you thinking about?" His gaze had moved from her body to her face. The tip of his tongue reached out to moisten his lower lip and the unconscious motion sent a surge of aching tension to every muscle in her body. Sweet heaven, those lips were so diabolically and beautifully sen­sual in his taut face.

  "I think you know."

  "I probably have a good idea." His gaze traveled slowly from the creamy satin of her shoulders to the full thrust of her breasts against the chiffon. "Do you like me to look at you?"

  "Yes."

  "That's good. I think there's every chance it will be one of my very favorite things to do." He slowly reached up and slid first one thin strap off her shoulder, then the other. The bodice of the gown

  slipped until only the swollen fullness of her breasts was holding the clinging material in place.

  Zack leaned back in the chair and simply looked at her for a long moment. "You have wonderful skin.

  It radiates a sheen that glows with life."

  "Do I?" She scarcely knew what she was saying.

  How could he just sit there looking at her when every muscle and nerve in her body was on fire with frustration? Why didn't he touch her?

  "Yes." He leaned forward and laid his cheek against her abdomen. She inhaled sharply as she felt the sudden warmth of his flesh through the sheer fabric of the nightgown. "Wonderful skin. Strong, firm muscles." One big hand was lazily rubbing her belly. "And softness." His palm slid down to gently cup the apex of her thighs so that only the mist of material separated him from that most intimate part of her. She could feel the heat of his hard hand and made a low sound deep in her throat as he started to rub back and forth, alternating hard pressure with gossamer lightness so that she could become accustomed to neither, his every touch then giving her a fresh jolt of sensation. "Do you like this?" She nodded. She didn't think she could have spoken if her life had depended upon it. With his cheek pressed against her, he couldn't see the nod, but it didn't really matter. He knew very well what pleasure he was giving her. "What else would you like me to do to you?"

  She could scarcely breathe. How could he expect her to speak? But he evidently did, for he was lifting his head to look up at her. His hand was still moving gently against her. "What else, Kira?"

  Her tongue moistened her dry lips. "Zack . Her gaze dropped helplessly to the sheer chiffon veiling her breasts. Her nipples were so exquisitely sensitive now that even the light wreath of mate­rial was causing them to ache.

  His eyes followed hers and then grew midnight dark as he saw the hard, pointed tips thrusting at the material. "Your breasts?" His hand instantly reached out and hovered over her right breast. She could feel the warmth, though he wasn't touching her. "So swollen," he whispered, his eyes on the firm globes rising from the chiffon. "So ripe and swollen and ready." His hand closed suddenly over her breast and a wild shudder ran through her. "Ready for me."

  "Yes. Oh, yes." The cry was wrung from her. "Please, please do something!"

  "Shh, I will." He pulled her onto his lap, settling her astride him. His fingers were trembling as he pushed the chiffon the last few inches and bared her breasts. "Beautiful," he murmured. "Sweet heaven, you're beautiful, Kira." He lowered his head slowly. She felt his warm breath, then the firmness of his lips, and she gave a low, frantic half-moan, her fingers tangling in his hair, bringing him to her.

  Kira heard his low laugh. Strangely, it held no hint of triumph, only an exultant joy. "You want me. Lord, I love to know that." The words were muffled against her breast. Then his mouth was opening, taking her, his tongue running over one breast in wild delight and then switching to her other breast to suckle and pleasure her with a hun­ger that soothed even as it inflamed.

  She was vaguely aware of his hands on her thighs pushing up the chiffon while his lips and teeth nibbled, nipped, and then soothed with a deep, primitive enjoyment. His chest was shud­dering with every breath and his hands were sud­denly frantic as they slipped under the gown and cupped her naked buttocks in his warm palms. Another shock, she thought hazily. Every different touch was a fresh shock to her nerve endings, but a shock that she accepted happily and with amazing rapidity. He was pressing her closer and she felt his iron-hard warmth against the center of her womanhood. She nestled even closer and moaned with hunger. Hunger. She had never known such hunger. He kept taking, giving, but it made no dif­ference. The hunger kept growing, sharpening

  with every passing moment.

  "We have to stop, you know," he muttered. His hands tightened on her flesh as if to refute his words. "Kira... ."

  "No!" He couldn't stop now. The hunger was so intense it was hurting her. Was this what he meant when he said that he was hurting? Her hands gentled his hair as she felt a rush of almost maternal feeling. "Please. Don't stop."

  "Do you think 1 want to?" he growled. His eyes closed. "It's out of control. I didn't expect you to be this... loving."

  Loving. The word should have been out of place, but somehow it wasn't. Lust alone could never be this emotionally intense—there had to be a strong element of love in it. Her fingers ran through his hair yearningly, adoring the crisp texture between her fingers. "That's the way I feel," she said softly. "I want ..." Her voice trailed off. There was so much she wanted all at once that she suddenly felt as though she'd been catapulted into a strange emotional maze. Assuagement on a physical level alone wouldn't be enough, yet what else could she hope for? Zack was a stranger.

  "So do I," he said huskily. His eyes opened to reveal unbearable strain. "But we can't have it. Not yet." He was swiftly shifting her off him and stand­ing up. "It has to be right."

  "Right?" He was leaving her. She couldn't keep the note of disbelief and frustration out of her voice as she watched him stride swiftly toward the door. "Isn't it a little late to worry about—" She cut the words off abruptly. Her fingers automatically went to her bodice and pulled up the straps of the gown. "I don't understand any of this. Why did you do this to us if you weren't going to finish what you started?"

  He turned at the door, his face taut with pain. "I know you don't understand. I told you, I miscalcu­lated. I thought I could take a little and lessen this damn hunger I have for you. But it didn't work out that way. It only made it worse." His gaze traveled over her and she felt as if he were touching her again. "I'm not even going to be able to look at you or touch your hand without wanting this again."

  "Why?" she asked. Her hands tightened on the arms of the chair. "What's the difference whether it's now or later."

  "You have the right to know me," he said harshly. "I may not be able to hold out for very long, but I don't want to be a faceless stranger to you when I first make love to you. I want it to be right, dammit. If I didn't think it was important, do you believe I would have let you go?" He drew a deep, shuddering breath. "You'd better get dressed. We'll be leaving for Tamrovia within the hour."

  He closed the door with quiet restraint and it seemed more explosive than a slam to Kira.

  She gazed blankly at the door for a moment before she could even consider moving from the chair. She had a vague feeling she should be resentful toward Zack for having wrested the deci­sion from her so summarily. Yet how could she regret the fact that he had been willing to undergo such painful self-denial in order to spare her the possibility of feeling cheapened?

  He wanted her to have a chance to get to know him, but in a strange, incomprehensible way she felt that getting to know him was completely unnecessary. She did know him. She knew he was honest and had a code of ethics that would be even harder on him than on those around him. She knew that his loyalty, once given, would be as unshakable as those mountains he had claimed as his own. The knowledge was so fundame
ntally instinctive she didn't even question it. Something was happening to them, and although she was still bewildered, she was no longer frightened. Instead, she was beginning to experience a buoyant exhilaration like nothing she had ever known before. It was as if a wonderfully thrilling adventure were hovering on the horizon and all she had to do was move toward it and it would be hers. Dear Lord, how she wanted that adventure!

  She jumped up and bent to retrieve the yellow silk robe on the floor. She had to shower, dress, and then repack her night things. She cast a glance at the covered tray on the bed and made a face. The food was probably stone-cold by now. Even if it was still edible, she was too emotion-charged to find food appetizing at the moment. Perhaps she would be able to eat something later on the plane.

  Her steps were quick and light, with just a hint of ebullience, as she crossed the carpet toward the adjoining bathroom.

  "You seem to be in a good mood," Zack said, his eyes narrowed on her face. "I had no idea you'd be this happy to get back to Tamrovia. Somehow I got the impression you weren't overly fond of your native land."

  "I'm not. Oh, that's not true. I guess I actually love it." Kira slipped her arms into the pearl-gray suit jacket she'd removed for the trip. "It's just that I always feel a sense of oppression when I step off a plane onto Tamrovian soil." She wrinkled her nose. "Which doesn't indicate that I'm particularly sensitive. Stefan is known to have the same effect on the entire country. No one has ever told him monarchs can't censor the press and outlaw trade unions in this century. Or, if they have, he hasn't really heard it."

  "And no habeas corpus," Zack said thoughtfully. "His particular form of deafness could be very dan­gerous."

  "Why do you think Stefan has tightened the exit visa restrictions and strengthened the comple­ment of border guards? The Tamrovian factories are all pitifully undermanned because workers are leaving Tamrovia for Germany and Switzerland. Who can blame them?"

  A curious smile touched Zack's face. "You seem very well informed for a 'scatterbrained madcap.' "