by Nora Roberts
you, that we’d talked about the murder and coming up there had upset you.” He rose to fetch the pot and freshen her coffee. “The crew may mumble about overimaginative women, but that’s all.”
She shut her eyes. She hadn’t expected sensitivity from him, much less understanding. “Thanks.”
“It’s your secret if you feel it’s necessary to keep it, A.J.”
“It’s very necessary. How did you feel when you realized?” she demanded. “Uncomfortable? Uneasy? Even now, you’re tiptoeing around me.”
“Maybe I am.” He started to pull out a cigarette, then shoved it back into the pack. “Yeah, it makes me uneasy. It’s not something I’ve ever had to deal with before. A man has to wonder if he’ll have any secrets from a woman who can look inside him.”
“Of course.” She rose, back straight. “And a man’s entitled to protect himself. I appreciate what you’ve done, David. I’m sure my clothes are dry now. I’ll change if you’ll call me a cab.”
“No.” He was up and blocking her way before she could walk out of the kitchen.
“Don’t make this any more difficult for me, or for yourself.”
“Damned if I want to,” he muttered, and found he’d already reached for her. “I can’t seem to help it. You make me uneasy,” he repeated. “You’ve made me uneasy all along. I still want you, Aurora. That’s all that seems to matter at the moment.”
“You’ll think differently later.”
He drew her closer. “Reading my mind?”
“Don’t joke.”
“Maybe it’s time someone did. If you want to look into my head now, you’ll see that all I can think about is taking you upstairs, to my bed.”
Her heart began to beat, in her chest, in her throat. “And tomorrow?”
“The hell with tomorrow.” He brought his lips down to hers with a violence that left her shaken. “The hell with everything but the fact that you and I have a need for each other. You’re not going home tonight, Aurora.”
She let herself go, let herself risk. “No, I’m not.”
7
There was moonlight, streaks of it, glimmering. She could smell the hyacinths, light and sweet, through the open windows. The murmur of a stream winding its way through the woods beside the house was quiet, soothing. Every muscle in A.J.’s body tensed as she stepped into David’s bedroom.
The painting hung on the wall as she had known it would, vivid, sensual streaks on a white canvas. The first shudder rolled through her as she turned her head and saw her own vague reflection, not in a mirror, but in a tall glass door.
“I dreamed this.” The words were barely audible as she took a step back. But was she stepping back into the dream or into reality? Were they somehow both the same? Panicked, she stood where she was. Didn’t she have a choice? she asked herself. Was she just following a pattern already set, a pattern that had begun the moment David Brady had walked into her office?
“This isn’t what I want,” she whispered, and turned—for escape, for freedom—in denial, she couldn’t have said. But he was there, blocking her way, drawing her closer, drawing her in just as she’d known he would be.
She looked up at him as she knew she had done before. His face was in shadows, as indistinct as hers had been in the glass. But his eyes were clear, highlighted by moonlight. His words were clear, highlighted by desire.
“You can’t keep running, Aurora, not from yourself, not from me.”
There was impatience in his voice, impatience that became all the sharper when his mouth closed over hers. He wanted, more desperately than he had allowed himself to believe. He needed, more intensely than he could afford to admit. Her uncertainty, her hesitation, aroused some deep, primitive part of him. Demand, take, possess. The thoughts twined together into one throbbing pulsebeat of desire. He didn’t feel the pleasant anticipation he had with other women, but a rage, burning, almost violent. As he tasted the first hint of surrender, he nearly went mad with it.
His mouth was so hungry, his hands were so strong. The pressure of his body against hers was insistent. He held her as though she were his to take with or without consent. Yet she knew, had always known, the choice was ultimately hers. She could give or deny. Like a stone tossed into clear water, her decision now would send ripples flowing out into her life. Where they ended, how they altered the flow, couldn’t be foretold. To give, she knew, was always a risk. And risk always held its own excitement, its own fear. With each second that passed, the pleasure grew more bold and ripe, until with a moan of acceptance, she brought her hands to his face and let herself go.
It was only passion, A.J. told herself while her body strained and ached. Passion followed no patterns, kept to no course. The need that grew inside her had nothing to do with dreams or hopes or wishes. It was her passion she couldn’t resist, his passion she couldn’t refuse. For tonight, this one night, she’d let herself be guided by it.
He knew the instant she was his. Her body didn’t weaken, but strengthened. The surrender he’d expected became a hunger as urgent as his. There would be no slow seduction for either of them, no gentle persuasion. Desire was a razor’s edge that promised as much pain as pleasure. They both understood it; they both acknowledged; they both accepted. Together they fell onto the bed and let the fire blaze.
His robe tangled around her. With an impatient oath, he yanked it down from her shoulder so that the tantalizing slope was exposed. His lips raced over her face, leaving hers unfulfilled while he stoked a line of heat down her throat. She felt the rasp of his cheek and moaned in approval. He sought to torment, he sought to dominate, but she met each move with equal strength. She felt the warm trace of his tongue and shivered in anticipation. Unwilling to leave the reins in his hands, she tugged at the buttons of his shirt, unfastening, tearing, until with her own patience ended, she ripped it from his back.
His flesh was taut under her palms, the muscles a tight ridge to be explored and exploited. Male, hard, strong. His scent wound its way into her senses, promising rough demands and frantic movement. She tasted furious demands, hot intentions, then her excitement bounded upward when she felt his first tremble. Painful, urgent, desperate needs poured from him into her. It was what she wanted. As ruthless as he, she sought to drag him away from his control.
The bed was like a battlefield, full of fire and smoke and passions. The spread was soft, smooth, the air touched with spring, but it meant nothing to them. Warm flesh and sharp needs, rippling muscle and rough hands. That was their world. Her breath caught, not in fear, not in protest, but in excitement, as he pulled the robe down her body. When her arms were pinned she used her mouth as a weapon to drive him beyond reason. Her hips arched, pressing against him, tormenting, tempting, thrilling. As his hands moved over her, her strength seemed to double to race with her needs.
But here in this fuming, incendiary world there would be no winner and no loser. The fire sprinted along her skin, leaving dull, tingling aches wherever his hands or lips had touched. She wanted it, reveled in it, even while she burned for more. Not content to leave the control in his hands for long, A.J. rolled on top of him and began her own siege.
He’d never known a woman could make him shudder. He’d never known a woman could make him hurt from desire alone. She was long and limber and as ravenous as he. She was naked but not vulnerable. She was passionate but not pliant. He could see her in the moonlight, her hair pale and tumbled around her face, her skin glowing from exhilaration and needs not yet met. Her hands were soft as they raked over him, but demanding enough, bold enough, to take his breath away. The lips that followed them did nothing to soothe. She yanked his slacks down with a wild impatience that had his mind spinning and his body pounding. Then before he could react, she was sprawled across him, tasting his flesh.
It was madness. He welcomed it. It was torment. He could have begged for more. Once he’d thought he had discovered a simmering, latent passion in her, but nothing had prepared him for this. She was seduct
ion, she was lust, she was greed. With both hands in her hair, he dragged her mouth to his so that he could taste them all.
It wasn’t a dream, she thought dazedly as his mouth clung to hers and his hands again took possession. No dream had ever been so tempestuous. Reality had never been so mad. Tangled with her, he rolled her to her back. Even as she gasped for air, he plunged into her so that her body arched up, taut with the first uncontrollable climax. She reached up, too stunned to realize how badly she needed to hold on to him. Wrapped tight, their strengths fed each other as surely as their hungers did.
They lay together, weak, sated, both of them vanquished.
Gradually sanity returned. A.J. saw the moonlight again. His face was buried in her hair, but his breathing had steadied, as hers had. Her arms were still around him, her body locked tight to his. She told herself to let go, to reestablish distance, but lacked the will to obey.
It had only been passion, she reminded herself. It had only been need. Both had been satisfied. Now was the time to draw away, to move apart. But she wanted to nuzzle her cheek against his, to murmur something foolish and stay just as she was until the sun came up. With her eyes closed tight she fought the urge to soften, to give that which, once given, was lost.
No, he’d never known a woman could make him shudder. He’d never known a woman could make him weak. Yes, once he’d thought he’d discovered a simmering, latent passion in her, but he hadn’t expected this. He shouldn’t still feel so dazed. So involved.
He hadn’t been prepared for the intensity of feeling. He hadn’t planned on having the need grow and multiply even after it was satisfied. That was the reason he’d lost some part of himself to her. That was, had to be, the only reason.
But when she trembled, he drew her closer.
“Cold?”
“The air’s cooled.” It sounded reasonable. It sounded true. How could she explain that her body was still pumping with heat, and would be as long as he was there?
“I can shut the windows.”
“No.” She could hear the stream again, just smell the hyacinths. She didn’t want to lose the sensations.
“Here, then.” He drew away to untangle the sheets and pull them over her. It was then, in the dim light, that he noticed the pale line of smudges along her arm. Taking her elbow, he looked closer.
“Apparently I wasn’t careful enough with you.” A.J. glanced down. There was regret in his voice, and a trace of a kindness she would have little defense against. If she hadn’t been afraid, she would have longed to hear him speak just like that again, she would have rested her head on his shoulder. Instead, with a shrug she shifted and drew her arm away. “No permanent damage.” She hoped. “I wouldn’t be surprised if you found a few bruises on yourself.”
He looked at her again and grinned in a way that was completely unexpected and totally charming. “It seems we both play rough.”
It was too late to hold back a response to the grin. On impulse, A.J. leaned over and took a quick, none-too-gentle nip at his shoulder. “Complaining?”
She’d surprised him again. Maybe it was time for a few surprises in his life. And in hers. “I won’t if you won’t.” Then, in a move too abrupt to evade, he rolled over her again, pinning her arms above her head with one hand.
“Look, Brady—”
“I like the idea of going one-on-one with you, A.J.” He lowered his head just enough to nibble on her earlobe, until she squirmed under him.
“As long as you have the advantage.” Her voice was breathy, her cheeks flushed. With his hands on her wrists he could feel the gradual acceleration of her pulse. With his body stretched full length, he could feel the dips, the curves, the fluid lines of hers. Desire began to rise again as though it had never been quenched.
“Lady, I think I might enjoy taking advantage of you on a regular basis. I know I’m going to enjoy it for the rest of the night.”
She twisted one way, twisted the other, then let out a hissing breath, as he only stared down at her. Being outdone physically was nearly as bad as being outdone intellectually. “I can’t stay here tonight.”
“You are here,” he pointed out, then took his free hand in one long stroke from her hip to her breast.
“I can’t stay.”
“Why?”
Because relieving pent-up passion with him and spending the night with him were two entirely different things. “Because I have to work tomorrow,” she began lamely. “And—”
“I’ll drop you by your apartment in the morning so you can change.” The tip of her breast was already hard against his palm. He ran his thumb over it and watched passion darken her eyes.
“I have to be in the office by eight-thirty.”
“We’ll get up early.” He lowered his head to brush kisses at either side of her mouth. “I’m not planning on getting much sleep, anyway.”
Her body was a mass of nerve endings waiting to be exploited. Exploitation led to weakness, she reminded herself. And weakness to losses. “I don’t spend the night with men.”
“You do with this one.” He brought his hand up, tracing as he went until he cupped her throat.
If she was going to lose, she’d lose with her eyes open. “Why?”
He could have given her quiet, persuasive answers. And they might have been true. Perhaps that’s why he chose another way. “We haven’t nearly finished with each other yet, Aurora. Not nearly.”
He was right. The need was screaming through her. That she could accept. But she wouldn’t accept being pressured, being cajoled or being seduced. Her terms, A.J. told herself. Then she could justify this first concession. “Let go of my hands, Brady.”
Her chin was angled, her eyes direct, her voice firm. She wasn’t a woman, he decided, who could be anticipated. Lifting a brow, he released her hands and waited.
With her eyes on his, she brought them to his face. Slowly her lips curved. Whether it was challenge or surrender he didn’t care. “I wouldn’t plan to sleep at all tonight,” she warned just before she pulled his mouth to hers.
The room was still dark when A.J. roused from a light doze to draw the covers closer. There was an ache, more pleasant than annoying, in her muscles. She stretched, then shifted to glance at the luminous dial of her clock. It wasn’t there. With her mind fogged with sleep, she rubbed a hand over her eyes and looked again.
Of course it wasn’t there, she remembered. She wasn’t there. Her clock, her apartment and her own bed were miles away. Turning again, she saw that the bed beside her was empty. Where could he have gone? she wondered as she pushed herself up. And what time was it?
She’d lost time. Hours, days, weeks, it hadn’t mattered. But now she was alone, and it was time for reality again.
They’d exhausted each other, depleted each other and fed each other. She hadn’t known there could be anything like the night they’d shared. Nothing real had ever been so exciting, so wild or desperate. Yet it had been very real. Her body bore the marks his hands had made while he’d been lost in passion. His taste still lingered on her tongue, his scent on her skin. It had been real, but it hadn’t been reality. Reality was now, when she had to face the morning.
What she’d given, she’d given freely. She would have no regrets there. If she’d broken one of her own rules, she’d done so consciously and with deliberation. Not coolly, perhaps, but not carelessly. Neither could she be careless now. The night was over.
Because there was nothing else, A.J. picked his robe up off the floor and slipped into it. The important thing was not to be foolish, but mature. She wouldn’t cuddle and cling and pretend there had been anything more between them than sex. One night of passion and mutual need.
She turned her cheek into the collar of the robe and let it linger there for a moment where his scent had permeated the cloth. Then, securing the belt, she walked out of the bedroom and down the stairs.
The living room was in shadows, but the first tongues of light filtered through the wide glass window
s. David stood there, looking out, while a fire, freshly kindled, crackled beside him. A.J. felt the distance between them was like a crater, deep, wide and jagged. It took her too long to remind herself that was what she’d expected and wanted. Rather than speak, she walked the rest of the way down the stairs and waited.
“I had the place built with this window facing east so I could watch the sun rise.” He lifted a cigarette and drew deep so that the tip glowed in the half-light. “No matter how many times I see it, it’s different.”
She wouldn’t have judged him as a man drawn to sunrises. She hadn’t judged him as a man who would choose a secluded house in the hills. Just how much, A.J. wondered, did she know about the man she’d spent the night with? Thrusting her hands into the pockets of the robe, her fingers brushed cardboard. A.J. curled them around the matchbook he’d stuck in there and forgotten. “I don’t take much time for sunrises.”
“If I happen to be right here at the right time, I usually find I can handle whatever crises the day has planned a little better.”
Her fingers closed and opened, opened and closed on the matchbook. “Are you expecting any particular crisis today?”
He turned then to look at her, standing barefoot and a bit hollow-eyed in his robe. It didn’t dwarf her; she was only inches shorter than he. Still, somehow it made her appear more feminine, more…accessible, he decided, than anything else he remembered. It wouldn’t be possible to tell her that it had just occurred to him that he was already in the middle of a crisis. Its name was Aurora J. Fields. “You know…” He tucked his hands in the back pockets of well-broken-in jeans before he took a step closer. “We didn’t spend too much time talking last night.”
“No.” She braced herself. “It didn’t seem that conversation was what either of us wanted.” Nor was it conversation she’d prepared herself to deal with. “I’m going to go up and change. I do have to be in the office early.”
