A Love Like This

by Diana Palmer

  “You’re a picture, do you know it?” he mused. “All that long, sexy hair and big blue eyes, and your tan looks pretty good with white and gold.”

  She stood up, smiling. “You look like a cowboy,” she replied.

  His eyebrows arched. “Is that a compliment or a criticism?”

  She lowered her eyes shyly. “I like cowboys.”

  “Where’s Margaret?”

  “Gone home. I’ve fixed you a plate, if you’re hungry.”

  He looked faintly sheepish for a minute, steadying his dusty boots. “Well, Jim was up at the cow camp with us,” he began. “Jim’s the cook when we’re working. He rustled up a pot of chili and some tortillas and a pudding that I expect to dream about for days.” He cocked his head at her. “Don’t tell Margaret, will you? I’ll get burned biscuits for a week if she finds out. Could you dispose of that plateful of stuff without her knowing?”

  She laughed delightfully. “Of course.”

  “I’ll be down directly, once I clean up, and I’ll thank you properly,” he murmured, lowering his voice an octave.

  She felt her heart skip at the look in his dark eyes as he went by her. He winked on his way into the hall, and she watched him go, feeling strangely quiet and contented yet delirious with anticipation.

  He paused on the middle step and looked down at her. “How about making some coffee?” he asked. “I’ll come back down and we’ll share a pot while we talk.”

  His eyes fell to her body and lingered. She felt weak in the knees. He wanted more than just talk, and she knew it. They were so much on the same wavelength that she could almost feel him breathing.

  “I’ll do that,” she said, her voice husky.

  He nodded. His eyes smiled. “And I could do with a piece of cake, if there’s any left,” he added.

  “There’s enough. I’ll slice it. Don’t drown in the shower,” she teased.

  “I can swim.” He grinned and continued up the stairs.

  Elissa made coffee and carried the silver service into the living room, curling up on the sofa to wait for him. Minutes later he joined her, dressed in clean denims and a half-unbuttoned blue-check shirt. His hair was damp, and he smelled of soap and spicy cologne. Elissa could hardly take her eyes off him as he eased his tall, powerful frame down on the sofa beside her.

  “I’ll pour,” she said. She sounded, and was, flustered. To disguise it, she moved to the floor in front of the coffee table so that she was just in front of him. It was all she could do to get the coffee out of the heavy silver pot into the white china cups.

  “You’re nervous. Why?” he asked quietly.

  She laughed. “I don’t know.”

  He reached down, turning her so that she was kneeling between his legs. His fingers traced her flushed cheeks, and his eyes were steady on hers. Everything she felt was in her face—it was like reading a book—and his reaction to that blatant adoration shocked him. He felt a surge of possession strong enough to knock the breath out of him, and his body was suddenly, achingly hungry for hers. Not for sex alone but for something more. He frowned. He’d never felt that need before, not with any woman. He wanted to...to join with Elissa. To know her in every way there was.

  He felt oddly young as he bent toward her, and the first touch of his mouth against her soft one was tentative. He drank in the floral scent of her, drowned in her shy, eager response. It was always like this with her, like flying, like bubbles in champagne. She was his from the moment he touched her. But now it felt as if he belonged to her, as well.

  With a long, aching sigh, he brought her up against him, easing her onto his lap as he deepened the slow, tender kiss. She felt his kiss with wonder, because it had never been like this before. She relaxed into him, looping her arms around his neck, her mouth parting, opening under the sweet ardor of his.

  She felt his hands at her waist, tracing her rib cage, then delicately touching the soft contours of her breasts. Under the caftan, she wore only pale yellow briefs, and when he felt her skin so close, his breath caught.

  Her body began to tremble as he stroked it, his fingers deft and sure and faintly insistent. His mouth hardened on hers, and her ears were filled with the harsh quickness of his breathing and her own faint gasps when he touched her more intimately.

  Her soft blue eyes looked up into his when he lifted his head, and she saw a strange expression there. “What is it?” she whispered unsteadily.

  He watched his fingers tracing her breasts, watched the involuntarily movement of her body at the pleasure he gave her. “I want you,” he breathed. “But not...like I’ve ever wanted anyone else.” His dark eyes went back to hers. “I want to join your body to mine. I want oneness...”

  Her lips parted. “Yes.” Even as she thought the word, she said it, because this might be the only time. She might lose him, but this once she could belong to him. He knew she was a virgin. It would be special. It would be everything.

  She slid the zipper of the caftan down to her waist, and his chest rose sharply. He searched her eyes for a long moment before he eased the fabric out of the way and looked at her. After a moment, he bent, and his lips began to touch her in reverent adoration. Her breasts, her belly and her hips burned under his mouth. She moved helplessly as he touched her in ways he never had, and long before he eased her out of her caftan and briefs, she was lost.

  She moaned when he moved away long enough to strip off his own clothing, his eyes dark and sensual and full of desire. There was a faint tremor in his powerful body as he sat back down on the sofa and eased her gently over him, so that she was sitting facing him. She gasped at the first touch of skin against skin, light against dark, hard muscle against softness.

  “There’s nothing to be afraid of,” he whispered, brushing her body in agonizingly slow movements against his, her breasts just barely touching him, her hips trembling against his blatant masculinity.

  Her hands gripped his hard arms, and she leaned her forehead against his chest so that he wouldn’t see the fear. “Is it going to hurt?” she whispered.

  “It’s going to be beautiful,” he whispered back, his hands on her hips. “Give me your mouth.”

  She lifted her face and saw the soft affection in his eyes. Her heart was his. She loved him so. It was magic, the way it felt, to be this way with him, to be intimate with him. Her mind was beyond right and wrong, in thrall to the budding demands of her own womanhood.

  His hands explored her waist and hips, gently caressing, softly arousing. He moved her hips against his, and she bit back a moan. She clung to him, astounded by what was happening.

  “Oh, King,” she whispered achingly, lifting her eyes.

  He eased her upward then, holding her gaze while he positioned her hips against his. His face was that of a stranger, utterly sensual, slightly threatening, but there was something in his dark eyes that held her spellbound. He bent, his breath mingling with hers as he brushed his mouth over hers in lazy, comforting sweeps that eased her fear.

  While his lips toyed with hers, his hands were learning the silken contours of her body. He teased her breasts, nudging their hardened tips, making her tremble with the sensations he aroused. He nipped her lower lip and trailed his mouth over her throat, her shoulders and, finally, the soft swell of her breasts.

  She could hardly breathe. She held his arms for support, her eyes closed, the air cool at her back. He moved then, and she felt the sudden contact with his thighs, the ripple of muscles as he probed her softly. She gasped, looking up, her breath stopped in her throat.

  He moved against her, very slowly, holding her eyes. His hands made their way to her hips, moving her against him in a slow, lazy, arousing rhythm. She didn’t understand what was happening to her. She felt her body begin to tremble, and she gasped when he increased the gentle rise and fall of his hips against her. She clutched at him, overwhelmed by the intimacy of the g
esture.

  “King...sitting up?” she gasped, her voice scarcely recognizable to her own ears.

  “Shh,” he whispered, lowering his mouth over hers in delicious teasing motions. “Just relax, little one. I wouldn’t hurt a hair on your sweet head for all the cows in Texas.”

  “But...like this?”

  He laughed gently, even though his body was shuddering with his need of her. He looked down at her taut breasts and deliberately pressed his hard, hair-roughened chest against them. She moaned, and the sound fired his blood.

  “Are you going to get noisy?” he whispered into her mouth. “I won’t mind.” He bit her lower lip delicately while one hand teased her swollen breast and moved down slowly to her hips, her thighs and into a sudden, wildly shocking intimacy that she instinctively protested. But after a minute, when her body demanded that she let him do it, she gave in and held on, crying out softly at the delicious pleasure he was giving her. She felt tears sting her eyes and run down into her mouth.

  He tasted them and lifted his head to watch her fevered eyes, her flushed face, while he savored her sweet body. “It won’t be hard for you,” he whispered, and he shifted, just a little, holding her hips. “It won’t be hard at all. Don’t tense up. I’m going to show you the mystery, Elissa. I’m going to make a woman of you now.”

  She felt him arch slightly, and her lips parted on a soft gasp. She looked into his eyes, frightened at the first burning stab of sensation.

  His hands framed her face as he moved again, and she jerked a little. “Another few seconds,” he whispered, his voice soft and slow and intimate. He smiled. “Relax for me. It won’t ever hurt again, I promise,” he breathed brokenly, his hands bringing her down to him.

  He kissed her softly as he took her completely, and her nails bit into him. She started to stiffen, but she bit her lip and laid her forehead against his broad, damp chest and forced her body to admit him. There was only a small stab of pain, and then she sighed in relief.

  His hands moved on her, stroking her, doing impossible things, moving her, shifting her. He bent to her mouth again, probing it with his tongue. He took it, and his hips began to move, and she felt a savage ripple of pleasure that took her by surprise. Surely, she thought dazedly, she’d only imagined it. But he moved, and it came again. And again. She bit his shoulder, shuddering. He shuddered, too, and she felt his body surge powerfully.

  He lifted his mouth just enough to look at her. “Exquisite,” he whispered, studying her. “That expression, wild and tortured, as if I were hurting you. But I’m not, am I?”

  “No,” she whispered. His hand moved, and she cried out, biting her lip.

  “Don’t stop yourself,” he gasped as he increased his rhythm, his eyes stormy and dark. “There’s no one to hear you. Let it out. Make noise,” he whispered. “Make as much noise as you want.”

  His hands bit into her thighs, holding her down to him. Her eyes dilated, because she’d never expected that it would be like this. Her head fell back, and she gasped as he arched under her. His face was a mask of passion, tight and flushed, his eyes black as night and glittering, exultant.

  She cried out, and her fingers bit into his shoulders as she shuddered with unexpected, total completion, his name a hoarse sound torn from her throat.

  He felt her convulse, stunned that it should happen for her the first time. And then he felt the familiar stab of fulfillment racking him, and he cried out her name over and over.

  A long time later, she wafted back to earth. Under her, his body was damp and shuddering in the aftermath, his hands protective now, soothing, tender. He lifted his face to hers and began to kiss her, his hard mouth so tender and cherishing that she wanted to cry. He whispered her name over and over again, his voice awed. He’d never experienced anything like this in his life. With Elissa, he’d attained heights he hadn’t touched before. Whatever this was, it wasn’t simply sex.

  His body still trembling, he kissed her closed eyes warmly and then her face again, in soft, searching caresses. She felt loved, cherished, and she smiled against his damp throat.

  He nipped her ear. “I felt it happen to you,” he murmured. “It almost never does the first time.”

  “My body didn’t know. I’ll make sure I tell it.”

  “Imp,” he drawled. He looked into her eyes and shifted his hips, his eyes hot and wicked when she gasped. “Shocking, isn’t it?” he whispered. And then his gaze softened, and his smile faded. “I hope you aren’t having second thoughts,” he said quietly.

  She opened her mouth to tell him that she wasn’t protected, but his opened against it, and his hips rose and fell, and the pleasure came stabbing back in a rhythm that was already familiar.

  “Angel face,” he whispered softly. “I’ve dreamed about this for so long, about how it would be with you. It was beyond my wildest dreams. It was perfection,” he breathed, touching her face reverently. “My God, it’s never been like that for me. Never.”

  She stared at his hair-roughened chest and touched it tentatively, liking the feel under her fingers. He stiffened a little, and she smiled at him. “You’re very good at this,” she said shyly, wondering how many women there had been before her. The thought disturbed her a little, and her conscience was twinging. He didn’t love her, she knew, but she loved him. Was that reason enough to covet this oneness with him? This one night out of a lifetime, when she could lie in his arms and pretend that he loved her? She refused to think. She leaned forward and kissed his chest softly. “You’ll have to show me what to do to make it good for you,” she whispered.

  “The mind boggles,” he whispered back, sliding his mouth softly over hers. “Come on. We’ll have a shower, and then we’ll go to bed.” He lifted his head, searching her eyes. “If you still want to.”

  She returned that intent look. “I want to,” she assured him.

  He carried their things upstairs to his bedroom and led her into the shower. For the next few minutes, they soaped and explored each other and kissed until her mouth was swollen and his body was making new and urgent demands.

  “I’m not protected,” she whispered as he laid her down on the bed. “I should have told you before.”

  “I don’t give a damn,” he breathed. He was on fire for her, burning. Consequences didn’t seem to matter anymore, and they were engaged, so what the hell. “A baby wouldn’t be the end of my world or yours.”

  “How would you make love to me if you wanted a baby?” she whispered, her eyes soft with love.

  He smiled as he brushed her mouth with his. “Very much as I did downstairs,” he murmured against her lips. “As if you were innocent all over again. We’d be exquisitely tender with each other, like two people desperately in love. Like...this.”

  It was tender. And profound. He drew it out, exploring her body like some delicate treasure that might break with a harsh breath. Even when he began to take her, it was still gentle, their eyes openly cherishing each other, their voices hushed. When the tide came and washed them into the blinding heat of fulfillment, they were still looking into each other’s eyes, and it was a gentle violence, rocking them with exquisitely tender shudders and warm convulsions that were even more beautiful than those of wild passion.

  When it was over, she cried helplessly, and he held her, kissing away the tears, cradling her against his damp body.

  “You make it so profound,” he whispered shakily. “It isn’t even physical with you. It’s a thing so much of the spirit that it makes me tremble. I never dreamed of such fulfillment.”

  “You make love beautifully,” she breathed.

  “So do you, baby.” He curled her into his body with a weary sigh. “I want to sleep with you, Elissa. I never want to let go of you.”

  She cuddled close to him, savoring his strength, feeling secure and adored and totally fulfilled. At the back of her mind, a tiny voice nagged that it w
asn’t right or proper, but she was too tired to listen.

  “Don’t hate me,” he breathed.

  “How could I?”

  “I took you out of wedlock.”

  “I offered myself.”

  “Did you? Or did I simply back you into a corner and take the choice away from you?” He lifted his head to search her eyes. “Will you mind if I made you pregnant?”

  “There probably wasn’t much risk,” she murmured shyly.

  “The way we made love that last time, there was most definitely a risk,” he said.

  She nuzzled her face against him. “Will you hate me if that happens?”

  “Never.”

  “Babies can create problems.”

  His arms tightened. “Babies are little tiny breathing miracles. Now shut up and go to sleep. I’m so tired, it’s all I can do to breathe, you insatiable little witch.”

  “I’m insatiable?” she burst out.

  He only grinned and folded her closer. “Go to sleep. If you’re able, I’ll make love to you again when we wake up.”

  She sighed. “What a delicious incentive to sleep.”

  “I thought so, too.”

  It seemed like no time at all before the sounds of farm equipment outside the window brought her eyes open. She looked down at King, smiling at his nudity, at the vulnerability of his powerful body in sleep.

  “It’s morning,” she whispered in his ear.

  “Is it?” he whispered back, smiling. He opened his eyes and reached for her, his intentions obvious. “Are you up to this?” he asked solicitously.

  She pressed down against him. “I want you,” she whispered before bringing her mouth to his.

  He took a long time with her, despite his overpowering hunger, and it was late morning before he was satisfied enough to get up. He stretched grandly and looked down at her sprawled facedown on the bed.