Beautiful Dreamer with Bonus Material

by Elizabeth Lowell

  Coils of wind hummed around and through the house, making the walls shiver.

  Rio shut the door, turned, and saw that Hope was shivering, too. She came to her feet slowly, looking at him with eyes that were wide and very dark.

  “I know you don’t—” Her voice broke and she tried again. “I know you don’t want to, but would you hold me, please?” She swayed, holding on to herself because there was no one else. “Please,” she said desperately, scrubbing her face and arms with her hands. “I can’t stand the feel of him on my skin any longer!”

  With a hoarse sound Rio went to Hope, wrapped his arms around her, rocked her gently against his body.

  He held her for long, long minutes, until her skin was warm beneath his hands and her body no longer shuddered with vicious memories. He felt her take a deep, ragged breath, and then felt her lean against his strength with a trust that made him want to cry out in despair.

  “I would have used the knife,” she said bleakly.

  “I know.” His voice was soft and certain as he smoothed his cheek against the dark satin of her hair.

  “Do you?” she asked, tilting her face up to his.

  “Yes. You’re a one-man woman,” Rio said, bending down to Hope. “And God help us both, I’m that man.”

  He lowered his mouth to her trembling lips, kissing her with melting gentleness, cherishing her. The tip of his tongue caressed the cut on her lip.

  “Even your blood is sweet,” he whispered.

  She made a low sound and swayed against him.

  “Does that hurt?” he asked softly against her mouth, not lifting his head at all.

  “No,” she said in a low voice, watching him through half-closed eyes. “It feels . . .”

  Her voice died. She shivered and moved her head very slowly from side to side, offering more of her mouth to him in a silent plea.

  With tiny, hot movements of his tongue he caressed her lips, licking away every last bit of Turner’s ugly embrace. She moaned and clung to Rio, letting his warmth and his tenderness fill her senses.

  Her lips parted in a helpless invitation that he accepted with a deep sound of pleasure and need. His tongue stroked the inner softness of her mouth, tasting her while tiny shudders of desire rippled through his powerful body, passion surging hotly, threatening to strip away his control.

  He shouldn’t be holding her, touching her, tasting her on his tongue like a wild, sweet rain.

  “Hope,” he breathed against her mouth. And then again, urgently, “Hope, tell me to stop.”

  Her eyes opened, luminous with emotion. “I love you,” she whispered, and her breath flowed warmly over his lips.

  “God,” Rio groaned, and he buried his face against her neck, unable to bear the radiant truth of her eyes. “I didn’t want to hurt you,” he said harshly.

  “I know.” Her voice was like her eyes, serene, certain.

  “I don’t have any past, any future, any present. I am the wind.”

  “Yes,” she said, turning to caress his cheek with her lips. “I know.”

  He straightened and confronted the extraordinary beauty of Hope’s eyes. His hard, warm hands shaped her face.

  “Then tell me to go,” he said in a hoarse voice.

  She smiled sadly. “Never, my love.”

  “Hope—”

  “Kiss me,” she interrupted, standing on tiptoe to reach his mouth.

  “Hope, I don’t—”

  The soft heat of her lips, her tongue, drove every word from Rio’s mind. He made a rough, low sound and took her mouth even as she took his. The gliding pressure of tongue over tongue became a wildness shaking him. He couldn’t hold her close enough, taste her deeply enough, or control the hunger sweeping through him like a violent desert storm.

  Before the kiss ended he was fully aroused, needing her as he had never needed a woman before. With an effort that left him shaking, he lifted his mouth from hers.

  “No more,” he said hoarsely.

  Her luminous eyes searched his. “Why?”

  His laugh was short, rough. He felt her warmth over every inch of his body, but most of all in the rigid flesh straining against his jeans. Against her. He moved his hips once, slowly. The blunt, unmistakable ridge of male passion caressed her.

  “That’s why,” he said almost angrily.

  Hope’s smile was like her body, invitation and incitement at once. “That’s the best reason I can think of not to stop,” she murmured, kissing the corners of his mouth, moving her hips against him in return.

  “Hope—”

  “I’m not asking you to stay with me forever,” she interrupted, breathing her warmth into his mouth. “I’m not even asking you to say you love me. All I’m asking is to feel your life inside me. That’s all, Rio. Just that. You. Inside me.”

  Her words wrenched a cry from him that was both harsh and infinitely sweet. He could no more resist the outpouring of her love than the land could resist a silver fall of rain. Without stopping to think or argue or deny, he lifted her into his arms. Her weight was as feminine and heady as her smile.

  “You don’t have to carry me off to the bedroom,” she said. “I won’t change my mind or run away.”

  “You sure?”

  Smiling, savoring, she rubbed the palm of her hand over the hard muscles of his chest, the strong tendons of his neck, the line of his jaw. His head turned swiftly. Lovingly, his teeth captured the flesh at the base of her thumb. With sensuous finesse he bit down.

  Desire lanced through her with a force that dragged a hoarse, surprised cry from her throat.

  He repeated the caress, then sucked on the tender flesh.

  “Run away? My God, I’d be lucky to stand up,” she said raggedly. “You make me weak.”

  He heard the surprise in her voice, felt the quivers of need that coursed through her body. Smiling rather fiercely, he started up the stairs. Then he stopped without warning and looked down at Hope. His pupils were fully dilated, leaving only a crystal rim of midnight blue. He took her mouth with a hard thrust of his tongue and laughed aloud to feel the passion shaking her.

  “Beautiful dreamer,” he said huskily, and thrust into her again. “God, how I want you.” He lifted his head finally, all but crying out in protest at having to end the kiss. “I’m carrying you because I’m trying to slow myself down.”

  She searched his face, reading his hunger in every taut line, every harshly drawn breath. “Is it working?”

  “What do you think?”

  Hope smiled slowly. “I think your bedroom is closer than mine,” she murmured, tracing the line of his jaw with the tip of her tongue.

  His eyes closed for an instant while desire raged through him. “I think you’re right.”

  He stopped and kissed her again, searching the hot textures of her mouth with slow strokes of his tongue. When he heard the sounds welling from deep in her throat, and from his, he wondered if he would be able to get enough of her even when he was buried in her.

  Then he wondered if he would be able to wait to find out, or if he would take her right here, right now, on the stairway.

  He was certain that she wouldn’t protest if he turned her in his arms and fitted her body over his, sheathing himself in her slick, passionate heat. Her willingness was plain in her hazel eyes dilated and dazed with hunger, in the way her lips opened beneath his kiss, wanting his tongue deep within her mouth.

  Wanting him.

  All I’m asking is to feel your life inside me. That’s all, Rio. Just that. You. Inside me.

  With a hoarse sound that could have been Hope’s name, he dragged his mouth away from hers and went up the stairway with long, powerful strides. The door to his room was open. He kicked it shut behind him and carried her over to the bed. Then he stopped, still holding her, but not kissing her, not even looking at her.

  Hope was afraid that he had changed his mind. She didn’t want that. She wanted to belong to him in a way that she had belonged to no other man. Urgently she
slid her fingers between the snaps on his shirt. The heat of his body was like a furnace burning her with the promise of strength and passionate need. Shivering with pleasure and hunger, she caressed him and felt the answering quiver of his body.

  “You want me,” she said huskily. “I can feel it. Why did you stop?”

  He gave her a crooked smile that made her ache. “You’ve driven me crazy.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I can’t even let go of you long enough to undress you.”

  Hope would have smiled, but the hunger she felt for Rio was too close to pain. Her fingers shook as she reached for the long zipper that lay hidden beneath a front fold of the caftan. The zipper made a soft, secret sound as she opened it.

  He watched with dark, hungry eyes while green fabric fell away from skin that was both softer and hotter than velvet. She shrugged away some of the cloth, revealing the creamy curves and dark rose peak of one breast. The nipple pouted and grew tighter as he looked, begging for his tongue, his teeth, his mouth.

  Slowly, with an aching kind of control, he turned Hope in his arms and allowed her legs to slide down over him. The changing pressure of her body against his arousal made him shiver with raw pleasure.

  He didn’t let go of her. He couldn’t. He lifted her until her breast was level with his mouth. With small, slow movements of his head, he brushed his lips over her nipple and felt the passionate trembling of her response. Even as she cried out his name, asking for him, he drew her deeply into his mouth, caressing her as though he was drawing life itself from her. Then he lost himself in the taste of her and she lost herself in the feel of his mouth so hot and knowing on her breast.

  It was a long time before he released her, long enough for her to be shuddering, long enough for her skin to become as hot as his, as misted with passion.

  He wanted to open his jeans and bury himself in her right where they stood.

  He wanted to lie down with her, take her so slowly she would be crying and wild before they were halfway joined.

  He wanted it fast and hard, slow and sweet, violent and serene. He wanted everything with her, more than he had ever wanted from any woman. The depth of his need would have frightened him if he had room in his mind for anything but Hope.

  When he put her on the bed, the caftan fell open at the slit. One slender leg gleamed between green velvet folds. Her exposed breast quivered as she breathed, its tip taut and glistening from his hungry mouth. She smiled up at him with lips still hot from his kisses, wanting him.

  He had never seen anything more beautiful, not even the land itself.

  Eighteen

  WITH HANDS THAT ached to touch Hope, Rio tore impatiently at his own shirt, undoing the steel snaps in a single ripping sound. His leather belt hissed as he jerked it through denim loops. The rest of his clothes quickly dropped to the floor until he stood naked before her, fighting to slow himself down yet unable to control the hunger that made his breath short and his arousal pulse hotly with every rapid heartbeat.

  He saw her look at him, all of him, accepting him without hesitation or fear. When he heard her murmuring sound of admiration he thought he would lose control right there. She was destroying him and she didn’t even know it.

  Her trembling fingers traced a line from his waist to his thigh. Curiously she touched the thrusting evidence of his desire. He clenched his hands and groaned with pleasure. When her fingers curled softly, sweetly around him, sweat gathered and ran down his spine.

  “You’re killing me,” he said hoarsely.

  She gave him a startled look. “Am I too rough?”

  He gave a crack of laughter. “My beautiful dreamer. Don’t you know? Right now you could skin me with a dull knife and I’d beg for more.”

  He lifted her fingers to his mouth, biting them sweetly and then rubbing them across his chest, his nipples, his belly. But he couldn’t bear being without her taste for more than a few seconds. He lifted her hands and bit them again, groaning with raw hunger. He had just enough restraint not to leave more than fleeting marks of passion on her skin. But he wanted to.

  And she wanted him to.

  She wanted him with an intensity that made her twist and tremble and utter small, wild sounds that ate at the core of his control.

  “I want to be gentle,” he said through his teeth. “Help me.”

  Gracefully she shrugged away the green velvet folds of her caftan. When he saw that she wore nothing beneath the cloth but a flush of desire spreading across her smooth, pale skin, he nearly went to his knees.

  His dark hands stroked from her lips to her toes, wanting all of her, shaking with the wanting. Finally his fingers tangled in the dark curls between her thighs. Gently he slid one finger partway between her soft, hot folds, silently asking if she was as ready for him as he was for her.

  She was slick, hot, wet, and very tight.

  He knew then that she wanted him—and that it had been a long, long time since she had been with a man. The knowledge both excited and chastened him. With two fingers he delicately, teasingly, moved within her. He went just far enough that she knew he was there, just enough to stretch her, but not nearly deep enough for either one of them.

  Her hips lifted, following his touch as she had followed his kiss. He laughed softly and circled the hot nub that was no longer hidden, but begging openly for his caress. She gasped, shivered, and watched him with smoldering eyes. He watched her the same way, burning, as he bent down and kissed her, caressed her, teased her, tasted her until she cried out and melted for him.

  “Sweet,” he said in a low voice, watching her, tasting her. “So damned sweet. No woman has ever burned for me like you.”

  He took a deep, racking breath and forced himself to look away from the heat welling out of her in gentle pulses.

  She breathed his name and opened even more, needing him.

  Abruptly he knew he couldn’t wait any longer. He turned and grabbed blindly for his jeans.

  “Rio?” She watched him with hungry eyes, afraid that he was going to pull on his clothes and leave her lonely and aching.

  He saw her fear, and her need. He kissed her in swift, steamy reassurance.

  “It’s all right, dreamer,” he said, biting her lips softly while he tore open the tiny package he had found in his jeans. “I’ll take care of it.”

  When Hope realized what he was unwrapping, she shook her head. She didn’t want that. She wanted him. All of him. Everything he could give. If that meant his baby, too, she would be the luckiest woman on earth.

  “No,” she said quickly, covering his fingers with her own. “You don’t need to. It’s all right. Please. I don’t want anything between us. Nothing.”

  He looked into eyes that were both burning and clear. A shudder of raw pleasure went down his spine at the thought of being truly naked within her. She hadn’t been with any man for so long that she was as tight as a virgin, yet she had wanted him enough to protect herself in advance, freeing both of them from the sensual restrictions of a condom. That kind of freedom was something he had never permitted himself with any woman.

  “Are you sure?” he asked. “I’m used to it. I always . . .”

  His voice faded as he watched her lean toward him until her lips brushed over the heartbeat that pulsed visibly through his thick, rigid sex.

  “I want you,” she said. “I want this. Naked.”

  The touch of her tongue made him jerk. The foil packet fell from his shaking fingers to the floor. He uncoiled with a powerful movement that pressed her back onto the bed.

  “Woman,” he said thickly, “so much woman.”

  His whole body was hard with the force of restraining the hunger that shot through him with every motion of her lips brushing over him. His need of her raged like lightning through his body.

  She trembled and opened to him, yielding a hot rain of pleasure as his fingers again found the secrets hidden within her softness. He had never wanted anything as much as he wanted to take
her in that searing, endless instant when pleasure melted her.

  Yet he was sure he would hurt her if he did. For all her heat, for all her need, she was still so tight he could barely ease two fingers into her.

  He rolled over onto his back, pulling her with him, lifting her until her beautiful legs were pressed alongside his. Hard hands caressed from her shoulders down her back, kneading her hips, rubbing her softly against him until she shivered and shared her passion with him in a rain of hot silk. Need raked through him, white-hot, violent.

  “Take me, Hope,” he said hoarsely, easing just a small part of himself inside her. “Take as much or as little as you want. It’s the only way I won’t hurt you.”

  She looked down at his rigid flesh pressing gently into her. Pleasure swept through her in expanding, liquid pulses. She shared them with him, moving against his arousal, making him as slick and hot as she was.

  “I can’t imagine anything hurting with you,” she said, watching him with eyes that knew only love.

  “Dreamer,” he said hoarsely, “beautiful dreamer.”

  His breath broke in a groan as her soft, passionate heat caressed him again. Involuntarily he closed his eyes, giving himself to her, losing himself in her.

  Then he opened his eyes and moved in return, watching her with eyes that had no blue, only the dark glitter of desire. He felt her begin to ease more of herself onto him, more and then more. But still she was tight, a sweet, slick fist squeezing him. Small, too small. It had been too long for her since her last man.

  “I’ll hurt you,” he said through clenched teeth.

  “Not much. I’m told it’s a very fragile piece of skin.”

  Sweat broke out all over Rio’s body as he realized that he had been wrong. It hadn’t been a long time since Hope had been with a man. It had been forever.

  She had never given herself before, to any man.

  Ecstasy swept through him in a searing silver rain.

  “My God,” he groaned, “I wonder which one of us is dreaming now.”

  The only answer was her heat closing over him, retreating, then advancing again, more deeply with each motion.