As his gaze continued to boldly assess her, Charly felt a quiver run through her. Admiration burned in his smoldering green eyes, and his arms, pure muscle and sinew, tensed. A light dusting of hair covered his chest. He said nothing, but she could see his hand on the towel, holding it as if it were some lifeline.
He was beautiful, in that indefinable masculine way. His body, his face, seemed carved from smooth, hard wood. His eyes were alive with flames that licked her nakedness in an almost physical caress. Her hand trembled as he made no move toward her. Why didn't he do something? She'd made this first, all-important gesture, hadn't she? Was there something wrong with her?
This had seemed like a good idea at the time, but now, standing before him, she felt awkward, naked in more ways than one, and more than a little foolish. Maybe she had misinterpreted things again, jumping the gun because of a distorted sense of reality.
Her heart hammered in her chest, and she was filled with a cowardly urge to bolt. "Say something." she whispered hoarsely.
His gaze snapped to hers. Untamed desire flared in his eyes, exposing his need more clearly than words ever could. She gasped, and every molecule of her being responded. He wanted her, all right, as much as she wanted him. But the awkwardness hadn't disappeared; if anything, it had intensified. Her legs had suddenly turned to water, and she couldn't seem to make them obey her command to walk to him.
"You're beautiful." His voice was raw. but still he didn't move. "Perfection as I'd never dreamed it."
She swallowed convulsively, amusement curving her mouth. "Corny, Mr. Smith."
He smiled his slow smile and stepped toward her. "A good dose of corny is the cure for armor plating."
"I see." Her breathing became shallow as he neared. "Dragon-slaying, Sir Knight?"
"No. It's too late for that."
His eyes never left hers as he reached out one hand. She tensed, expecting . . . she didn't know what. His finger trailed down her cheek, her neck, and farther. When he touched the curve of her breast, she sucked in her breath as sensation washed over her, but he didn't stop there. Gently, tantalizingly, his fingertip encountered the bud of her nipple and circled around it, over it, before moving to her ribs.
Charly's eyes fluttered closed, and she surprised herself with the tiny moan that rose in her throat. Never before had she felt helpless against her own desires. His gentle assault breached her defenses. A rush of dampness pooled at the juncture of her legs as his other hand joined the sensual journey, and her knees trembled. This time his palms caressed her face, his thumbs moved over the bridge of her nose, her eyelids, her mouth. He traced the delicate curve of her ears, the bold jut of her shoulder, then down her ribs to her waist. He caressed her hips, her buttocks, and gently pulled her to him.
His impatience had vanished with her shy request, but not his hunger. He fought that fiercely as he felt his stiffened manhood nestle against her belly, her full breasts press against his chest. He wouldn't let this go too far, he promised himself. He would just touch her, just worship her body, but he would resist his fulfillment as long as possible. If she wanted to stop, he would.
A tremor ran over her skin, and he knew he was right to go slowly. Though she had brashly declared she was experienced, had Impulsively walked into his room naked, Charly had a vulnerability that spoke more strongly than her words. He didn't merely want her body. He wanted the part of her that was as yet unprobed. He wanted to assault her senses, to brand her soul with his, to show her tenderness as well as passion. And if that meant calling a halt to this madness, then so be it, he decided.
But not yet.
His mouth grazed hers lightly, his tongue ran over her lips, but he didn't linger there. He pressed a kiss to the firm corner of her mouth, trailed over her jaw to the erotic spot beneath her ear. Her whimper of pleasure almost undid all of his good intentions, but he ignored the fire in his gut.
"Touch me," he whispered.
Her hands crept up his back, tentatively stroking his skin. The hesitant exploration sent a shock wave through his body. His manhood throbbed between them, but he resisted its message. He had only begun.
He held her against him as he nibbled the chord of her neck. Sucking gently, he caressed her spine. She arched against him and her head tilted back. Accepting the invitation, he licked the skin at the base of her throat, then moved to her other ear and pulled the lobe into his mouth. Her nails lightly raked his back.
He groaned as heat spiraled through him. Pulling away, he cupped her face in his hands and rested his forehead against hers. "Noble or not," he said roughly, "I’ll understand if you back out. If you want, I can stop this now."
Dazed, passion-filled blue eyes met his. "I can't," she whispered. Her hands tangled In his hair, and she pulled his mouth to hers. "I don't want to."
The bold thrust of her tongue drove all objections from his mind. He buried his fingers in her wild chestnut mane and gave in to the hunger he had kept at bay. He parried her, then explored the moist recesses of her mouth, not sipping at the heady flavor anymore but drinking deeply of her, demanding response.
She melted against him, her head spinning. When he broke the kiss, she moaned low in her throat, and he slipped his arm beneath her and lifted her as if she were a doll. Stunned, she opened her mouth to protest, but he hushed her most effectively, lingering over the kiss before laying her gently on the bed.
For long moments he gazed at her possessively, avariciously, devouring her with his eyes as he fought a nearly overpowering urge to bury himself in her immediately. Her athletic perfection went beyond even his wildest dreams. But he wanted more than mere possession, and that demanded a pace that he wasn't certain he would be able to maintain. Tasting her with nibbles and sips just wasn't enough.
"I'm cold," she murmured, her eyes wide as she returned his visual exploration. A shiver whispered down his spine, and he knew he wouldn't be able to go as slowly as he'd hoped. Not this time.
He stretched out beside her, but instead of resuming the kiss, he buried his face in her hair. Tremors rippled over her skin as his tongue circled the muscles of her neck. He ran his hand over her belly, stroking her, inflaming her to a pitch she never imagined existed. When she tried to turn into him. he firmly pressed her back.
"No." he groaned, sending a quiver through her. "Unless you want this over before it's begun."
And she couldn't find the strength to try again when his fingers swiftly found her firm breast. Sensation washed over her in wave after wave as he rolled the hardened nipple with his fingertips. But he didn't stop there. With a masculine growl he took it into his mouth and suckled deeply. His hand slid to the apex of her thighs, rubbing her with a flat palm.
She moaned as the moist heat of his mouth, the pressure of his hand, the tugging at her most secret depths, devastated her body. Some dim part of her mind heard his low voice, moaning words of encouragement against her breast, and they took her higher than she had ever been.
"That's it, love," he muttered. "Let it go."
A knot of heat wound inside of her, tighter and tighter until it exploded in a firestorm of ecstasy. She cried out in pleasure.
Slowly, while she drifted down, he withdrew his mouth and hand. He levered himself over her, his mouth brushing hers lightly, again and again, and she found that the heat hadn't vanished. His teasing kisses brought it back tenfold. His stiff manhood pressed against her, the rough hair of his chest inflamed her sensitized breasts. Sudden, overwhelming fire burned within her. A great emptiness opened inside, and she knew only one way to fill it, the only man who could. Holding him tightly, she took his mouth fiercely with hers and parted her thighs.
A single thrust brought him quickly into her hot depths, and he groaned her name as she arched against him. She welcomed him eagerly, wrapping her legs around him as she matched his pace, then, when that wasn't enough, she quickened it. She gave as much as she took, and when their voices caroled together in rapture, they were as one.
Their f
everish movement slowed, their heaving, passion-slicked bodies calmed, their labored breathing evened, and Charly felt the most incredible sense of peace she had ever known. J.D. raised his head, and smiling tenderly, he kissed her. Gently, reverently, his mouth grazed hers again. His lips touched her cheek, her nose, then both eyelids.
"Hello," he murmured.
Serene, she smiled. "Hi," she whispered.
He brushed a strand of damp hair from her brow. "Welcome back."
Her smile wavered. She had been somewhere, a place she'd never been before. He'd taken her deep into herself, and somehow out again with his seductive endearments, his electric touch. The realization shocked her.
"Charly," he whispered, his gaze intense, "I—"
"Don't." She reached up to swiftly cover his mouth with her hand as surprise flared in his eyes. "Please don't say anything."
He pulled back, frowning. "What's wrong?"
"I just—" She blinked back sudden tears. "Nothing's wrong, J.D. Just don't go all corny on me again, okay?"
His expression softened. "All right. For now." He rolled off her and cradled her in his arms. "Don't be afraid of me, Charly. Or the way you feel."
"I'm not afraid," she whispered stubbornly into his chest. Then, to say something, she added, "You're a wonderful lover. I'm glad I decided to come over."
He hesitated, but murmured, "So am I, beloved. So am I."
Charly lay in the warm circle of his arms as he slowly drifted into sleep. It felt so good, so right to be there, as if she had finally come home. With him she felt fragile, feminine, cherished. And that frightened her as nothing else ever had.
She eased out of his embrace and caught her breath as he stirred and muttered something, but he didn't awaken. She picked up her coat and eased into it, shivering as the cold lining touched her passion-heated skin, then slid her feet into her shoes. Tears filled her eyes as she gazed down at the man sprawled over the bed. "Coward," she whispered fiercely, but not to him.
Her hand reached out, but she closed it into a fist. With a deep breath she turned away.
No matter how he made her feel, she had to keep this on her terms. He threatened her existence. And she couldn't afford to get used to him. She was stronger than that.
She opened the door and slipped into the hall.
Something prodded J.D. awake, something terrible. The most precious thing on earth had been snatched from his grasp.
Then the evening replayed itself in his mind, and he sighed. It was only a dream. He smiled and reached out his hand. The bed was empty.
His eyes flew open and he scanned the room. Her coat was gone. "Charly?" he called softly, but heard nothing. He leapt from the bed to check the bathroom, but it, too, was empty.
Instinct took him to the window. The moisture hung heavy in the night, but the chill he felt had nothing to do with the fog. He glanced down toward the beach. At the edge of the water, shrouded in mist and moonlight, a tall figure stood staring out to sea. Alone, her shoulders thrown back defiantly, she tossed her head and let her glorious hair stream behind her.
J.D. touched the cool pane with his fingertips. "Stubborn, stubborn woman," he whispered. "What are you afraid of? Everyone has fears. Why won't you let me share yours?"
As if hearing his words, she turned and looked up at his window. He could almost see her face, the delicacy and the strength, the softness and the stubbornness, the humor and the sorrow.
"Come back," he murmured, willing her to return. "Let me hold you. Let me love you the way you deserve to be loved."
But she walked away, her form quickly swallowed by the swirling haze.
His heart twisted in his chest, his throat tightened, yet determination rose inside him. "Oh, love," he whispered. "I can't let you go. Not now." His mouth curved. "Just wait until tomorrow, Dragon Lady. You can't get rid of me that easily."
And with that vow, he returned to his lonely bed.
Eight
Charly shot upright, her chest heaving in the wake of the nightmare. The bright morning sunlight flooded her bedroom and she winced, shielding her eyes with her hand. With a groan she settled back against her pillows. She'd dreamed someone had taken a jackhammer to her head, probably J.D. after her callous desertion last night. She should have awakened him, told him she was leaving, talked to him. But she hadn't had the courage, hadn't even completely understood her reasons for hushing the words he'd almost spoken. Panic, confusion, and guilt plagued her and had kept her tossing and turning all night long.
The pounding came again, echoing through her skull. No imaginary foe, this, but a disgustingly early riser at her door. She began a colorful diatribe, but switched to less offensive words as she jerked her robe up from the cluttered rust carpet and slid into her battered slippers. If it was one of her students again, she would sear his or her ears with the inadvisability of awakening her at the crack of dawn, but she would do it without resorting to the cuss bucket.
She hastily belted her robe tight as she ran downstairs, then she flung open the door.
"Good morning," J.D. said brightly, and pushed past her, a paper bag in his arms. "I brought fresh strawberries, croissants, melon, and prosciutto."
She gaped at him as he strode into her kitchen. Numbly, she followed, wondering if he was insane or simply masochistic to awaken her so early.
Then again, she silently admitted, maybe he understood her better than she did herself, because a part of her was turning somersaults with joy. As she entered the kitchen he was emptying the contents of the bag onto the counter. The wind had blown his dark hair so that the tilted tips of his ears showed clearly, and she resisted the most incredible urge to run her tongue into those little dips, as she had last night. His fine features, his muscular frame beneath the casual shirt and jeans, all had imprinted themselves firmly on her senses. The memory of their loving left her itching to touch him.
But she couldn't. With firm resolve she banished those memories to the deep recesses of her mind where they belonged.
"I'm going to make the coffee this time," he told her firmly, holding up a tiny container. "German. Since you like it like mud, you might as well drink good mud."
"J.D.—"
"The croissants are still warm." He broke off a piece and stuffed it in her mouth.
The flaky pastry melted on her tongue. "J.D.," she began again.
"Don't talk with your mouth full."
She swallowed. "I don't eat break—"
He followed the roll with a strawberry, cutting her off. While her jaws worked to chew the huge berry, he grinned and began to slice the cantaloupe. "I’ll have to remember this. If I ever want you quiet again, I’ll just feed you."
Juice dribbled down her chin, and she snatched a paper towel to catch the trickle. Frustrated, she spoke anyway, her voice muffled. "Wha' are you doin' here?"
"I had to find out if you'd respect me in the morning." he said blandly.
She shivered in apprehension. She did respect him. That was the problem. "About last ni’—"
He held up a piece of melon in a threatening manner, and she stopped the words with a gulp.
He gave her a smug smile. "That's better. Is your brother due in this morning?" She shook her head. "This afternoon?" She nodded. "Then you have time to eat." He took her by the shoulders. "Now. why don't you run upstairs and change into something a little less"—his darkened gaze raked over her, and her skin tingled—"a little less alluring."
She started to laugh. "You've been cloistered too long."
"Sir Galahad was in the cloister," he murmured, his voice husky. "You've got your knights mixed up. Lord, how could anyone look so sexy in a fuzzy robe and slippers . . . that wild tangle of hair ..."
Her breath caught as his head lowered to hers. She paced backward, her eyes wide.
His intensity changed to an exaggerated leer. "Frightened, little girl?"
She shook her head. "I haven't brushed my teeth yet."
"Dragon breath?" he asked solemnly
.
"Buzzard killing," she agreed with a nod.
"I’ll risk it," he whispered, and kissed her softly on the mouth. "Good morning, beloved."
She gulped. "Morning."
He frowned and leaned down. His tongue trailed the length of her jaw. Her heartbeat went into overdrive.
"Missed some juice," he said as he raised his head. "I think they're a bit overripe."
"I—" Her mouth worked but she couldn't seem to speak. "You— "
"And after breakfast you can teach me to play the game you’ve taught so well for so long."
She blanched. "J.D., I—"
"Football," he said firmly, and was rewarded with a startled laugh.
"Football?" She giggled, relief washing over her.
"Football. You know, pigskins? Rushing?"
“Tight ends?"
“That's the one. Now"—he kissed her again, hoping to keep her off balance before her mind could kick in with doubts again—"go brush your teeth." When she didn't move, he turned her by the shoulders and playfully swatted her bottom. "Go."
Charly took two steps, then stopped and glanced back, prepared to protest. He brandished a croissant, his brow raised in silent challenge. Bemused, she decided not to test his resolve and left the room.
Later, dressed in a Stanford jersy and jeans, Charly refused his breakfast and drank only the excellent coffee. She matched his light mood, determined not to show how much he'd disturbed her peace of mind. She wrinkled her nose. "How can you eat at this ungodly hour?"
He shrugged. "I guess I worked up an appetite last night."
The reminder hit home, and she neatly sidestepped it by lowering her eyes.
When he was finished, she grabbed a football and led the way to the beach. They tossed it between them for a while, Charly gauging his arm. which was excellent. With J.D. once again acting like an unthreatening friend, she began to relax.
The Dragon's Revenge Page 9
