“Cain,” she whispered. “You’re right. We’ve waited long enough. Come up here with me.”
She speared her fingers through his hair, tugging on his head, wanting to feel his mouth on hers, wanting him to climb out of the pool and lie with her on the cushion.
Instead, he slipped her legs over his shoulders. She made a startled sound and opened her mouth to ask a question. Her thoughts splintered into pure sensation as she felt his mouth caress her with an intimacy she had never imagined.
A firestorm of sensations raced through her, turning her blood to molten gold. She could say nothing, do nothing, not even breathe. Her body was wholly his.
The flower hidden within her bloomed in a hot satin rush. She moved helplessly against him, aware of nothing but his hungry mouth. Each movement of his lips and tongue and teeth told her that she was exquisite, perfect, a gift from mountain gods who understood what this man wanted in a woman.
Shivering, crying, she twisted between his hands, burning for him, burning him in turn. She didn’t know the exact instant when he came out of the water and buried himself within her. She only knew that when the night came apart around her again and again, he was there to cling to, he was there to drink the cries from her lips; that he filled her to overflowing.
Then he crushed her to his own body. Ecstasy ripped through him, tearing him apart with a pleasure so intense it was like pain.
Gradually Shelley became aware of the moonlight and night around her. Cain’s breath was warm against her cheek and the weight of him was unbelievably sweet on her body.
She ran her hands over his shoulders and back and hips in long, slow sweeps, wordlessly enjoying his warmth and resilience. She could hardly believe that he was real, that she was real, that a man and a woman could give each other such extraordinary pleasure.
His lips brushed over her closed eyes, her cheeks, her softly smiling mouth.
“What are you thinking?” he asked.
“This is a dream.” She traced his flawless mouth with the warm tip of her tongue. “You’re a dream. Don’t wake me. I’ll die if I wake up.”
“I’ve already died.”
He kissed her with a tenderness that made her throat ache with emotion. Then he moved as though to separate their bodies. She tightened reflexively, holding him within her.
“Don’t go,” she said huskily. “It feels so right to have you like this.”
He whispered her name and his love against her lips. Then he gently began to leave her.
“I’m crushing you,” he said when she moved again to keep him inside her. “You can barely breathe.”
“I don’t care.”
“I do. I have so many things I want to share with you tonight, tomorrow, all the nights and days in the world.”
He kissed her, then nibbled at the ticklish spot he had discovered behind her ear. He laughed softly when she squirmed against him.
“I can’t do much with you if I mash you flat, now, can I?” he asked reasonably.
He nipped her stomach lightly, then circled her navel with his tongue.
“What did you have in mind doing with me?” she asked with a lazy smile.
He stood and pulled her up with him.
“Water sports, among other things,” he said.
“Water sports?”
His agreement was muffled against her neck. He licked up the perspiration drying on her skin.
“Like swimming and water polo?” she asked.
“Like showers and baths and Jacuzzis and pools and lakes and rivers and oceans.”
She looked at him and thought about a whole world of possibilities. It was a dazzling prospect.
“Didn’t you know?” he whispered. “Mink are incredible in the water. Nothing else on earth like them.”
“You’re thinking of otters.”
“No, I’m thinking of one very special mink.”
Cain’s eyes gleamed down at Shelley. He peeled off the wet blouse and bra that still clung to her.
“Come with me, mink. It’s time you learned the fine art of back-scrubbing.”
“And then what?”
He lifted her across his chest.
“Then I’ll dry your hair and your soft, lovely body. I’ll carry you to bed. And then I’ll kiss every bit of you.”
“When do I get to kiss every bit of you?”
His whole body tightened as he read the sensual curiosity and anticipation in her eyes. He bit her full lower lip with exquisite care.
“Any time, love. Any time at all.”
Chapter Eighteen
“Did you say that there aren’t enough minerals for a full-scale mining operation?” Shelley asked, holding the phone tightly to her ear.
“Not in these conditions,” Cain answered. “The Yukon is hell on equipment.”
She strained to hear his voice. It sounded rough and thin, as though the words were being dragged through dry cereal. The rasping, echoing quality reminded her of every minute of the ten days he had been gone.
“But the Canadian government hasn’t given up,” he said. “They want me to expand the survey.”
Her heart sank. “Now?”
“Next summer, when the snow melts and the sun never sets. Only a fool looks for ore in the dark under snowdrifts as big as a house.”
Shelley waited for a burst of static to pass.
“That must be something to see,” she said.
“The snow?”
“All that daylight. Hour after hour after hour, day after day after day.”
“I’ll be glad to see the sun, period. It looks . . .”
There was a crackle and a hiss. Then the connection cleared enough that she would pick up every word.
“ . . . winter. This storm came early and is staying late. We haven’t had a window worth mentioning for days.”
“Will you be able to fly out?”
“We’ve been trying. It’s looking better, but I can’t say when I’ll get to L.A.”
The hollowness that settled in Shelley’s stomach at the thought of not seeing Cain tonight surprised her. She had been counting on it more than she knew.
“I’ll wait for you at the airport,” she said.
“It could be dawn before we get this bird back to L.A.”
“I don’t mind.”
“I do. I don’t want you sleeping in a chair at the airport because the weather closed in again up here.”
“But—”
“I’ll just go straight to my place and crash. I haven’t slept much in the last ten days.”
Neither had she, but she didn’t want to say it aloud. He would ask what was wrong. Nothing was, except that she missed him until she couldn’t sleep.
“I . . . hope you get out,” she said.
“Are you all right?”
“Fine.”
Neither of them believed it.
“Damn this weather!” he said savagely. “I love you. I should be with you right now. I miss talking to you, holding you, hearing you laugh.”
She smiled even though he was thousands of miles away and couldn’t see.
“I was looking forward to curling up with you,” she said. “I wanted to tell you about the tangle Nudge and Squeeze and Billy got into and my new client who collects stationery from every high-class bordello in the world, and the sound of wind in the chaparral under the moon, and . . . lots of things.” She laughed oddly. “I sound like an idiot.”
“You sound like you’ve missed me.”
She swallowed. “I have.”
“My silver lining in an otherwise damned black cloud.”
“You sound so tired,” she said. “Will you be able to sleep on the plane?”
“Depends.”
“On the weather?”
“On who wins the toss. Miller sprained his hand, so I’m backup pilot.”
Static didn’t conceal the sound of Shelley’s sharp breath or the protest she made.
“Don’t worry, mink, if I’m not up to flyin
g, I’ll ground myself. I didn’t live this long by being a fool.”
“Be careful,” she said urgently. “I—I—miss you. So much.”
“I love you.”
The connection broke.
She looked at the dead phone and swallowed hard, fighting a wave of loneliness.
Why do I feel like crying? He’ll be home soon. If not tonight, then tomorrow.
He’ll come home to me.
Blindly she hung up. Feeling adrift, she paced through The Gilded Lily, her home away from home. Usually the shop reached out and folded her into a hundred small tasks and fifteen matters too urgent to be ignored.
Usually, but not today.
There was work all around her, but she didn’t see it. She walked right past a stack of new catalogs that had just come in, their glossy pages brilliant with the lure of the rare and the original. File folders of new clients and works-in-progress lay scattered across her desk, needing the kind of attention only she could give.
She looked away from them. Her restless glance fell on a new shipment from Shanghai. Bits of packing material and dust still clung to porcelain and jade bowls. The elegant pieces begged to be cleaned, appreciated, and displayed.
When Shelley had placed the order six weeks ago, she had been impatient to have the bowls arrive, to feel their luminous curves and cool weight against her palms. Yet when the items had actually arrived this morning, it had been a struggle for her to work up enough interest to open the box, check that the contents agreed with the shipping manifest, that the manifest agreed with her original order, and that nothing was damaged.
Some other day I’ll appreciate them.
Some other day I’ll get excited about Mr. Masterson’s unique ocean cottage and Ms. Luther’s delight in shadow and texture.
Some other day, but not today.
Today all I want is Cain.
Absently she ran her hands over the soothing, sensual lines of the sculpture called “I Love You, Too.” She tried to list all the things that she had to do, but could think only of the man who wasn’t there.
What it would be like to canoe down rivers and across lakes that had no name, to chip rock samples from river cliffs that had never known the touch of man, to smell the fragrance of cedar and see the mysterious aurora whisper across the face of an unknown sky?
Will he find another landscape of the soul in the Yukon? Will he bring it back to me with words, share it in the peace of his voice and the dear depths of his eyes?
Does he miss me one-tenth as much as I miss him? Will he stay with me this time, or will he go as he so often has gone in the last six weeks? A day here and two days there. A week. An eternity of loneliness.
Traveling man.
After a time Shelley loosened her grip on the sculpture’s smooth body.
He’ll come back. He said he would.
In the past six weeks she had learned that Cain Remington was an honorable man. A man who kept his promises.
He hadn’t pressed her to marry him, to say that she loved him, despite the fact that she was certain he wanted to. Instead, he had simply, thoroughly, showed her that she could trust and enjoy him.
They went to auctions together, sat together on the couch, and looked through catalog after catalog. They laughed at some of the bizarre things people bought and put in their houses. They discussed what might or might not fit into his home.
Yet whenever it came to the point of actually deciding on something to go into Cain’s penthouse, he changed the subject or distracted her with a touch or a smile or another story out of his past, another landscape of his soul.
She hadn’t pressed him for cooperation on remaking his home. She was as aware of his deadline for her answer as he was.
And she was afraid.
You’ll gild my home and then we’ll talk again.
For the first time in her life, Shelley didn’t want to complete a job.
When the streams of workmen and plaster dust descended on his condo, Cain had packed his suitcases and appeared on her doorstep. She had let him in with a smile and a hug. She loved the idea of having Cain living in her home.
Without a word she had bypassed the guest room and led him to her own bed. There, beneath the silver radiance pouring through the skylight, they discovered many paths to fulfillment. There they fell asleep with their bodies intertwined. There they awoke in a warm tangle of soft kisses and softer words.
The contractor was finished with Cain’s penthouse now. For weeks it had been ready for her to add her special touches. Painted and tiled, carpeted and polished, the basic lily waited to be gilded.
Shelley had moved heaven and earth, performed minor miracles and threatened loss of business, paid special handling fees and outright bribes; and the furniture Cain wanted had been delivered last week.
Each piece was unique, made to her exact specifications of size and color, fabric and wood. Forest green and tawny brown, sand and teak, rare accents of teal blue like the hidden flash of a wilderness lake; shades and tones of individual colors overlapped from room to room, giving the effect of walking through a civilized but not domesticated landscape.
I should have finished the penthouse weeks ago.
But each time she had tried to pin down exactly what her very special client wanted in the way of gilding, he had phone calls to make or Billy was coming over or Cain was too tired to look at catalogs, or he was too hungry or sleepy or big or small or not there at all.
Shelley knew why he was ducking the small decisions.
She was ducking the big one.
In all the ecstasy, in all the peace, in all the laughter and easy silence, she had said nothing about marrying him, living with him, loving him. She had simply taken the joy as it came and tried not to let his absence rip holes in her life.
Yet it did.
“Shelley?” Brian asked.
Startled, she looked around. “Yes?”
“What’s going on?”
“Nothing. Why?”
“I’ve been calling you from the back room, but you didn’t answer. I thought you’d gone home.”
The combination of irritation and concern in his voice told her she had been stroking “I Love You, Too” for a long time, lost in her own thoughts, her own fears. Abruptly she stepped away from the sculpture’s silent, seductive promise.
“Sorry,” she said briskly. “I was thinking about one of the jobs I’m working on.”
“Remington’s house?”
She hesitated, knowing that Brian resented Cain. “Yes.”
“Any problems?”
“No, not at all. Why?”
His shrewd blue eyes narrowed. “It’s unusual for you to take so long on a project.”
“Cain is an unusual man.”
“Shelley Wilde, Queen of Understatement.” Brian’s tone was mocking, but his smile was almost sympathetic.
“What does that mean?”
“Any man who can have you walking around in a daze is a hell of a lot more than ‘unusual.’ He’s a candidate for a full page in the Guinness Book of World Records. If Remington gave a postdoctoral seminar on how to screw a woman senseless, I’d be the first to sign up.”
“It wouldn’t work,” she said tightly.
“Not to worry.” He held up his hands in mock surrender. “I gave up on seducing you a long time ago. I’ll stick to women who appreciate handsome, civilized blonds who are dynamite in bed. Did Mrs. Kaolin’s jade come in with that last shipment?”
“Speaking of women who appreciate handsome, et cetera,” Shelley said sardonically.
“You should try it.”
She gave him a long, level look, seeing him as a man for the first time in years. His smile reminded her of a newly fallen angel—white, shining, and already more than a bit corrupt. He was measuring her with eyes that had known a thousand women and would know a thousand more.
“I thought you gave up,” she said.
“Maybe I changed my mind.”
“
I didn’t.”
“Something sure as hell changed. You’re different, babe. I get the feeling you’ve learned a lot about screwing since Remington got in your pants.”
“Start looking for another business partner.”
Brian looked surprised. “Hey, all I meant was—”
“—since I’m Cain’s lover, I must be available to every other man who comes along,” she finished coolly. “I understand how a man like you would think that. For you, women are toilet paper. The color and texture might change from roll to roll, but otherwise it’s business as usual.”
“None of my women have complained.”
“Toilet paper isn’t noted for its wit. The white jade belongs to Mrs. Kaolin.”
“And you belong to Cain Remington. No problem. Message received. What about the woodcuts for Mr. Ming?”
“They haven’t arrived yet,” she said through her teeth.
“I’ll check on them. Take the rest of the day off, partner. You look like you need it.”
Whistling, Brian headed toward his office.
She looked around the room as though she was a stranger who had wandered in off the street. She felt odd, dislocated, almost dizzy. Her familiar world was slowly, relentlessly tilting on its end and she was sliding into the unknown.
How had Cain put it? Stranger in a strange land.
The sculpture beckoned irresistibly. She took a deep breath and hung on to the wood with both hands. The cool, smooth curves calmed her.
After a time Shelley knew what she had to do.
“If Billy phones,” she called to Brian, “tell him Cain’s flight was delayed by a storm. We’ll pick Billy up tomorrow after school.”
Brian stuck his head out of his office. “Thanks for reminding me. That’s why I was looking for you.”
“Billy?”
“Yeah. He called about fifteen minutes ago. His dad arrived today. Something about getting married here rather than in France, and he’d pick up Squeeze as soon as he could. Does that make sense?”
She smiled, hearing Billy’s delight in the garbled message.
“It makes perfect sense. He’s going to have a family. A real family.”
Once again she looked around the room, feeling like an outsider. She took a deep breath and tried to shake off the uprooted feeling.
“Do you need the small van today?” she asked, her voice strained.
Where the Heart Is Page 23
