by Kay Hooper
It had never occurred to him that she might be a virgin; he’d seen men looking at her since she was sixteen, and given her sensual response to him, it seemed obvious that desire was something she had felt before. Even when her body resisted his slow entrance, the truth didn’t hit him at once.
“Easy,” he murmured, feeling a new tension tremble in her and seeing her eyes widen. He kissed her, holding her mouth with his hungrily as he bore down. He felt as well as heard the soft sound she made, and that was when he understood.
Chapter 4
“Michele? Baby?” Ian felt as if he’d been kicked in the stomach, shock and something else jolting through him. And with that came a rush of hunger so intense he groaned aloud with it, shuddering as he fought to leash the wild urges of his body. He knew he’d never forgive himself if he hurt or frightened her, and it was only that knowledge that enabled him to find a measure of control.
She was looking up at him, her haunting eyes glimmering with wetness, her lips trembling. Slowly, the hands clutching his shoulders slid up around his neck, and her body moved tentatively beneath him. Her breath caught. “Ian?” she whispered.
He lowered his head and kissed her deeply, again and again until a kitten-like sound escaped her and she moved restlessly under him. Slowly, with exquisite care, he pressed deeper into her trembling body.
Michele was astonished at the sensations, dimly shocked at the stark intimacy. She could feel her flesh stretching to admit him, and then an increasing pressure that brought a flash of pain. Even with that, she didn’t want him to stop, because deeper than the pain was an intolerable burning that cried out for his complete possession. She hadn’t realized a man could be so strong, the male force of him compelling her to accept whatever was necessary because satisfying the need he had aroused in her was all that mattered.
He was murmuring to her huskily, tender words of comfort, kissing away the tears that trickled down over her temples. Then she felt a sharper pain as something gave way inside her, and even as she cried out she was conscious of nothing but a fierce satisfaction. His heavy weight settled slowly, fully on her, and the last whisper of pain ebbed as she felt him throbbing inside her. It was an utterly alien sensation, and yet she had never felt anything more right.
“Michele?” He was braced on his forearms, his eyes darkened to sapphire as they searched her face, and his breathing was harsh and strained.
The hovering tension began spreading through her again, and her arms tightened around his neck. All the unfamiliar feelings tugged at her senses, and she made an unconscious sound of pleasure. “Don’t stop,” she whispered.
A hoarse groan rattled in Ian’s chest as he briefly considered the sheer impossibility of that. It would kill him to stop now, to withdraw from the hot velvety clasp of her body. Electric tremors shook his muscles, and the ache in his loins was a pounding torment. The strain of holding himself rigidly back for so long was like floodwaters battering a dam, and he knew he was a whisper away from going absolutely berserk.
He clamped his teeth together and began moving slowly inside her, aware on some dim level of his mind that he had never felt anything like this. The pleasure was unbelievable; his desire had reached a peak of sweet torment. His need for the woman whose slender body cradled his had gone beyond the point of madness; he felt consumed by it—and by her.
The soft sounds she made roused an almost primitive savagery in him, a fierce possessiveness as unfamiliar as it was powerful. She was his, he felt it with every fiber of his being. He wanted to bury himself in her, to fuse their bodies until nothing this side of death could ever separate them.
Michele felt that wild need take hold of her again, gripping her mind and senses so tightly that she could only give in to instinct. Her body knew how to match his rhythm, how to give itself totally to him and the fiery desire between them. The feelings rose in her like a tide, a force of nature she had no hope of fighting or controlling. She said his name over and over, barely aware that she was crying again, that she was straining to reach some unimaginable place. And then she was there with a suddenness that stole what was left of her breath, violent waves of shattering pleasure thundering over her as a soundless wail tore free inside her.
Ian held her strongly as she writhed under him, the internal shudders of her ecstasy caressing him with a stark pleasure that was agony. The final fragile thread of his control snapped, and he drove into her wildly, blind and deaf to everything except the woman in his arms and the exploding force of his release.
Michele felt herself floating for what seemed like a long time, her body limp and sated. She was gradually aware of her surroundings, of his heavy weight, of dim aftershocks somewhere deep inside her. He was still with her, and she loved the stark intimacy of that sensation. She loved the feeling of his hard body covering hers, the smooth strength of his hips against the insides of her thighs, the mat of hair on his chest sensual against her breasts. She loved the way the muscles of his back and shoulders felt under her probing touch.
She loved him.
It should have come as a shock, that realization, but instead it crept gently into her mind and settled there as if a place had been made for it long ago. She understood now why her need for him had been so great, why she had taken fire at his simplest touch and offered herself to him without hesitation. She loved him. He was the last man in the world she should have loved, and the odds against them were so great it was terrifying, but none of that mattered right now.
She loved him. And she let herself luxuriate in that strange and wonderful new feeling without counting the cost of it.
Ian pushed himself up on his elbows, his eyes still darkened as they gazed down at her. “I’m sorry I hurt you, baby,” he murmured huskily.
Michele had a vague memory of pain, but it didn’t seem important; like all pain, once gone it became only a word. She lifted her head to kiss him, then smiled.
He felt his heart lurch, the curve of her lips and the misty depths of her eyes getting to him in some mysterious way he couldn’t even name. “You should have told me,” he said, hearing the rasp of his voice.
“Why?” she asked softly. “Would you have stopped?”
He half closed his eyes. “I couldn’t have stopped if the roof had caved in on us,” he told her. “Lord, Michele, you had me so crazy I hardly knew what I was doing.”
“You did just fine,” she assured him solemnly.
He couldn’t help but smile, his worry about having hurt her fading in the knowledge of her obvious pleasure and contentment. He kissed her gently, then began to ease away.
Her legs tightened. “Don’t go. I like you there.”
“I like me here, too. But I’m too heavy for you.”
She shook her head slightly, her arms remaining securely around his neck. “No, you aren’t.” Her eyes were closing, and her voice was fading a bit. “Stay with me.”
Ian knew she was drifting off to sleep, the culmination of days of tension and their fierce lovemaking having the inevitable effect on her. He was exhausted himself, but had no intention of giving way to sleep while she bore his weight. Despite her assurances, he knew he was too heavy to lie for long on her petite body.
So he kept his upper body braced on his arms and waited for sleep to envelop her completely. During those moments, he gazed down at her, very conscious of the fact that his desire had been merely blunted. Even now, as physically weary as he was, he could feel faint stirrings, tremors in his flesh, that told him another wave of need was not far off.
She seemed almost fragile as she cradled him in sleep, her slender, small-boned frame an exquisite but delicate vessel for the fiery passions that had blazed inside her with such unexpected and mesmerizing force. In her innocence, she’d been obviously surprised at the sensations of joining, yet totally involved in what was happening between them. Her capacity to give and receive pleasure was heart-stopping in its uninhibited simplicity.
Ian brushed a strand of silky black hair
away from her temple, feeling his pulse quicken and the stirrings in his loins intensify. She was so beautiful, so wildly exciting.
The enormity of what they’d done swept over him, even though he tried to push the realization out of his mind. Carefully, he eased away from her, and when she murmured in sleepy protest gathered her into his arms. She immediately cuddled closer to his side, her peaceful sigh warm against his skin.
His own longing for sleep had vanished, chased away by the renewal of desire or by his disquieting thoughts. From the beginning, he had refused to look further than the present, intent on exploring what lay between them, defining it, forcing her to accept the reality of it. He had called it passion, but he knew it was more.
He also knew, only too well, that what could flourish in paradise would be brutally attacked in the real world. And the men who would attack it, his father and Michele’s especially, were experts in the destructive art of warfare. They’d give no quarter, either of them, no mercy even to their children.
Ian’s arms tightened around Michele as, finally and completely, he faced the truth of what they were up against. It wasn’t words now; it wasn’t some far off “what if,” an abstract battle that would be fought only if their rational minds weighed the risks and counted the struggle worthwhile. The time for deciding had long passed—if it had existed at all.
Maybe they’d never had a choice.
—
Michele was only vaguely aware of discomfort at first. She felt hot and sticky, and the brightness seeping behind her closed eyelids was annoying. Her internal clock told her it was the middle of the afternoon, and she wondered dimly why she was trying to sleep at such a ridiculous time of day. She shifted restlessly and abruptly felt trapped by something hard.
Her first impulse was to escape, but even as she lifted her head, she remembered where she was. And whom she was with. She opened her eyes, blinking at the brightness; the sunlight was really pouring in now, and no breeze found its way through the open balcony door to disturb the hot stillness.
Ian was looking at her gravely, both his arms holding her securely. “Hi.”
I am lying naked, she thought, wondering if she was supposed to feel shocked by that. I am lying naked on a fully made bed in the sunlight with a naked man.
She felt her lips twitch and smothered an absurd impulse to giggle. “Hi. Is it my imagination, or is it awfully hot in here?”
“It’s awfully hot. The air conditioner isn’t on.” His arms tightened briefly around her, and then he slid from the bed, totally unconcerned by his nudity, and picked her up.
“I can walk,” she noted idly, wondering if she could.
He kissed her, then turned toward the bathroom, ignoring her mild objection. He carried her into the small room, opened the shower stall and set her on her feet inside, then joined her and closed the door behind them.
Michele was feeling a bit unnerved by the sheer size of him in the small cubicle, and she was completely unprepared for the sudden blast of cool water over her heated skin. “Damn!” she gasped, pushing soaked hair out of her face and wondering when her braid had come undone.
Ian chuckled and kissed her briefly. “We need to cool off,” he said blandly.
“You could have warned me before you turned on the water,” she said, but it was only a murmur. Too overwhelmed by desire before, she hadn’t really looked at his body; she couldn’t help but look now, and what she saw fascinated her. She’d known he was big, but naked and enclosed with her in the shower stall his size and raw strength were compelling. He had the hard muscles of a construction worker rather than an architect, rippling under taut bronze skin. The thick mat of blond hair on his broad chest arrowed downward over his flat stomach, and as her gaze followed that path her mouth went dry.
“I think you had your eyes closed before,” he said, the words light, his voice deep.
She felt heat from a new source rise in her cheeks, but there was also a sharp stab of excitement at the knowledge that he was becoming aroused by her scrutiny. “I must have,” she admitted, meeting his darkened eyes a little shyly.
He smiled, then pulled her toward him a step, gently turned her so that her back was to him, and reached for a small bottle of shampoo to begin washing her hair.
Michele purred with pleasure. His long fingers felt wonderful moving over her scalp; at first the touch was soothing, but slowly tension spread through her. She could feel her heart thud hard, her breathing grow shallow. Obeying his touch, she turned again as he rinsed the lather from her hair.
His face was still, eyes very intent on her. He reached up to angle the stream of water slightly away from them, then picked up a bar of soap from the corner ledge of the stall and very slowly began washing her body.
Michele was still surprised that she felt no self-consciousness or embarrassment. It had to be due to Ian—the way he looked at her body, the way he touched her, made her feel beautiful and desired, made her feel proud that he found such pleasure in her. His hands stroked over her breasts gently, tracing their shape, brushing lightly over the tight nipples in a touch that brought fire to her sensitive skin. Then, with agonizing slowness, he slid a soapy hand down over her belly and between her thighs.
She gasped and reached for his shoulders to steady herself as her legs went weak and shaky, all her consciousness focused totally on what he was doing. The faint soreness she’d hardly been aware of became a different kind of ache, one she could barely endure. Hunger filled her; throbbing heat radiated outward from the core of her. His fingers probed gently, sending hot shivers of desire singing through her veins until she whimpered with the force of it.
Ian made a rough sound and then slowly withdrew his hand, sliding it over her hip and around to shape the curve of her buttock. “Easy,” he muttered, his face taut, and seemed to be telling himself that as well as her.
“Why?”
His eyes flared at the urgent protest of her voice, and he swallowed hard. “I don’t want to hurt you again. You’ll be sore, baby, you need time.”
The only pain Michele was aware of was the burning ache she knew he could satisfy. Consumed by the sudden need to touch him, she took the soap and began sliding it over his hairy chest until she worked up a lather, then dropped the bar back onto the ledge. She explored slowly, touching him the way she wanted to, delighting in the feel of him. Her fingers brushed the hard nubs of his nipples, and when he shuddered she felt her own excitement spiral wildly.
“Michele…”
The taut warning had no power to stop her, and even the unexpected sensuality of her own nature was little more than a dim and unimportant shock. His stomach was flat and hard, his hips smooth, his thighs powerful. She could see the effect her touch was having on him, and it was both reassuring and unbelievably thrilling to know that he could no more resist her than she could resist him.
With curiosity as well as need driving her, she felt compelled to learn every part of his body. She had taken him inside her, and yet she hadn’t touched him, not like this, and the urge to go on touching him was overpowering. Barely aware of his harsh breathing, she moved her slippery hands back up his thighs and very gently closed her fingers around him. She felt him jerk slightly and heard the rough groan that rumbled in his chest, and his response only spurred her on. His flesh was hard in her hand, pulsing with living need, and everything inside her seemed to dissolve into a hot liquid pool of desire as she touched him.
“Lord,” Ian muttered hoarsely, pulling her into his arms. The force of his sudden movement put them under the shower spray, and the water streamed over them as he covered her wet mouth hungrily with his. He wanted her so desperately that he didn’t have the will to get them out of the stall; even the few steps necessary were totally beyond him. Touching her had strained his control to the limits; her delicate hands on him were more than he could stand.
Her arms went up around his neck and she pressed her wet body to him, whimpers of intolerable desire tangling in her throat. S
he was on the raw edge of tension, so ready for him that waiting even a moment was impossible. She felt the cool tile of the wall at her back, and her legs parted as his hands slid down to her bottom.
She felt herself being lifted, felt a blunt pressure against her aching flesh, and then the burning sweetness of his invasion. Her legs locked around him strongly as she drew him even deeper into her softness, and the tension inside her snapped with a violence that made her moan into his mouth. His deep thrusts held her at the searing peak of pleasure, her body shuddering under the assault on her senses.
Ian was hardly aware of the sounds escaping his tight throat or of anything except the shattering sensations. She was writhing against him, her silky flesh so tight and hot around him, the waves of her pleasure caressing him with a sweet agony that pushed him wildly over the brink into a heart-stopping release.
Michele felt so utterly drained that she could only bury her face against his throat as her legs finally slid down his. She could feel his heart thudding against her, and when their bodies slowly disengaged she sighed with a mixture of satisfaction and regret.
“Lord, Michele,” Ian said huskily, tangling his fingers in her wet hair and pulling her head back gently so he could kiss her. His lips brushed hers warmly.
She smiled at him, then said idly, “We’re in the shower.”
“And we could have broken our necks.”
“Maybe we’d better get out, then.”
The reasonable comment struck him as amusing. After the acrobatics of moments ago, he doubted they were in danger by just standing in the stall. But he obediently turned off the water and opened the door.
A few moments later, wrapped in one towel and drying her hair with another, Michele sat on the edge of the bed and gazed down at their clothing scattered on the floor. “I don’t have anything to wear,” she said, “except for a bathing suit and a caftan without any buttons. Did you do that?”
