INTERRUPTED LULLABY

by Valery Parv

  She veiled her eyes with long lashes. "You and who's army?"

  He didn't bother answering, but lifted her bodily and set her down against the sofa cushions. The velvet covering brushed her naked back, sending thousands of messages of desire like tiny arrows scattering through her. She gasped as he ripped the tiny scrap of lace from her hips, dropping the pieces on the floor. "Hey, they cost a fortune."

  "I'll buy you more. Right now, they're in my way."

  It was how she liked him best, running the show—well, this show, anyway. She might be an independent woman, managing her own life in every other way, but she loved it when Zeke took control and loved her into submission. She began to melt inside at the thought of what was to come.

  When he stifled above her, she looked at him in confusion. "What is it?"

  "If we do this…"

  If? She could no more stop now than she could fly. It alarmed her to think that he could. "What?"

  "No regrets, no promises," he stated.

  It was the grown-up way to do things, and he was reminding her that it was her choice as much as his. There was only one possible answer. "No regrets," she agreed, wondering if she was being entirely truthful with herself. It was evidently true for Zeke and she was astounded by how much it bothered her. But not enough to send him away, when every part of her begged for his touch.

  In a flash, she accepted that her way hadn't worked. Why not try it his way, accepting only what he was willing to give on his own terms, without demanding forever? She only hoped she could live with the consequences.

  For now it was almost impossible to think of the future when her entire concentration focused on the present and what he was doing to her. "Oh, Zeke, love me please, it's been so long."

  His eyes flashed as he threw her own words back at her. "When I'm ready."

  He was ready, she saw with a thrill of excitement as he discarded his remaining clothes and threw them onto a chair. But he wasn't about to put her out of her misery just yet. There was more, much more, sweet torment to be endured first. She saw the promise of it in his eyes as he lowered himself to the couch, and shivers of delicious anticipation gripped her.

  The sofa was wide and deep and gave under his weight as she shifted to make room for him alongside her. Kneeling on one knee and keeping one foot on the floor for balance, he began to caress her with slow, eddying strokes that sent liquid fire racing through every part of her. Instinctively she arched toward him and he slid his arms under her to lift her against him.

  She linked her arms around his strong neck, feeling corded muscle under her fingers. His kisses rained over her face and neck, then he found her mouth and claimed it for his own.

  "I've waited a long time for this," he whispered.

  Her breathing came in short, almost painful gasps. If he didn't make love to her soon, she would explode. But she forced herself to match his pace, knowing the waiting would make the pleasure all the more rewarding, if she could only survive it. "Is it worth the wait?"

  "We'll soon see."

  He tugged a cushion under her head and slid another under her hips, then began the most torturous experience she had ever endured. Pleasure so extreme it verged on pain gripped her as he began to explore every inch of her. He wasn't content to look, but caressed every part of her, until she wanted to cry out with the volcanic needs he was building inside her.

  She knew her breasts and hips were lusher and rounder than he would remember. Motherhood had left its own marks but she wasn't entirely unhappy with them. She knew the extra curves looked more voluptuous, but had never felt more of a woman as Zeke paid homage to her in the most primeval way.

  When his attention shifted lower and lower, she felt tears bead her cheeks at the pure ecstasy of what he made her feel. She dug her fingers into the velvet as he traced lazy circles on the skin of her inner thighs, going deeper and deeper each time until he was a part of her. It was impossible to resist, not that she wanted to. Her muscles quivered and jerked until she felt a cry wrench from her and her back arch as she plunged into a raging river of sensation.

  "Definitely an improvement," he murmured.

  She fought her way back to reality with a supreme effort, conscious that her entire body ached with pleasure-pain. He sounded so in control of himself that she wondered if the sense of abandonment was all one-sided. Then she saw the dark torment in his hooded gaze and knew he was fighting a supreme battle with himself to give so much to her, without taking anything for himself yet.

  This was a new side of Zeke and the discovery moved her beyond words. He touched a finger to the dew beading her lashes. "What's this? Am I hurting you?"

  "Never," she said on a strangled breath. "They're only tears of joy."

  "Then I'll brace myself for a flood because we've barely begun," he promised. He traced a line along her body. "You were always beautiful, but now…"

  She regarded him in surprise. "It isn't often that words fail you."

  "It doesn't matter. There are other senses besides speech."

  "Like touch." He began to caress her and fresh waves of sensation radiated through her.

  "And scent." He buried his face in her hair, breathing in the fragrant strands. Her own sharp intake of breath filed her with the musky male scent of him, mingled with sweat and a trace of something spicy he'd used earlier in the day. She hadn't realized that scent alone could be such a powerful aphrodisiac.

  "And sight." He pulled back so he could drink in the sight of her lying beneath him. He didn't need to remind her that looking could be exciting. Watching desire infuse Zeke's expression, and knowing she had put it there, made her feel weak and powerful all at once.

  "You're forgetting taste," she said on a sigh of delight. Holding his face in her hands, she began to touch her tongue to his face, darting to his mouth and away before he could capture her in a kiss. He tasted of salt and skin and myriad man flavors that seared her taste buds. "Mmm, nice."

  His gaze flashed an answering challenge. "If it's taste you want, I'm happy to accommodate you."

  True to his word, he flattened his palm over her stomach and began to taste his fill. When his questing tongue encircled each nipple, she felt like molten lava and her head thrashed from side to side. Was it possible to die of pleasure?

  "Now this is nice." Just when she thought he had completed his taste exploration of her body and it was safe to breathe again, he slid lower so he could drink from the essence of her femaleness. When she started to moan he said, "It's all right, just let me. Let me."

  She didn't know how to do anything else. As of this moment he owned her body and it was his to do with as he chose. He seemed to know what she needed better than she did herself, so she gave herself up to the dizzying mindlessness of the moment, distantly recognizing that she was giving herself to him more truly now than she had ever done before.

  Zeke sensed it, too, and marveled at the change. Knowing that she had given birth, he had expected physical changes in her, but not this other. Not the complete trust he sensed her placing in him now. It was as if she had let him make love to her before, but without really surrendering her essential self. The control thing had been a game between them. Whatever they pretended, she had never truly ceded control to him. But she did so now and it thrilled and humbled him to see it happen. It made him gentler, more aware of how easily he could hurt her when she was this open and vulnerable to him.

  Straining to maintain his own control, he gave her everything in his power, rewarded by her moans of delight and little moves of resistance that weren't really resistance at all.

  It was time, he felt as the thin cord of his control stretched to breaking point. "Hold on to me," he urged as he swung his leg across her quaking body and eased himself carefully into her. Her arms closed around him.

  He didn't know what else he had expected to be different since the baby, but he hadn't expected to be sheathed as deliciously tightly or hotly as this. It took every ounce of remaining control not to plun
ge himself aggressively into her, in a sort of triumphal homecoming.

  He felt the sweat bead his brow with the effort of holding himself back, but he forced himself to take it as slowly as he could, tantalizing her until her cries and whimpers told him she was ready. Only then did he give in to his own need for satiation, plunging into her with all his power, carrying her with him to higher and higher planes of sensation.

  "I love you," Tara moaned through clenched teeth, her fingers digging into his back as she arched against him.

  Even in the throes of passion, he felt himself tensing automatically as her words threatened to tangle him in a web of commitment and obligation he rejected instinctively. But it was too late to stop the tidal wave now as it rolled relentlessly onward, before finally crashing to the shore.

  * * *

  It was as if they had never been apart, Tara thought in astonishment. During the long year of waiting—and she faced facts, that's what it had been—she had often speculated on how it would be if he came back. Now he had, and it was better than she could have imagined.

  In his dizzying exploration of the senses he had overlooked one. Hearing. She gloried in it now as she lay beside him, listening to the soft susurrus of his breathing, such a warm, reassuring sound against a backdrop of familiar city murmurings. She also heard, or felt, the drum of her own heartbeat, steadier when compared with the frantic beat Zeke had inspired. Just thinking of how wonderful it had been, the beat quickened again.

  Careful not to disturb him, she eased onto her side and looked at him. He lay facing her with his eyes closed. Unable to resist, she ran a hand down his hard, muscular flank and felt a quiver of response.

  His eyes opened. "Keep doing that and we'll be here all day."

  "Does it matter?"

  "I'm a working stiff," he reminded her, not sounding especially concerned.

  She grinned. "So soon?"

  He tried to look stern but his eyes danced. "I'm not so old that I need a decent interval to recover."

  The need to make up for all the time they'd lost made her reckless. "Prove it."

  "Minx." He kissed her face, her throat, her eyelids. "Do you have any idea what you do to me?"

  If it was a fraction of what he did to her, pity help him. She shook her head. "You'll have to show me, I'm a slow learner."

  "It didn't feel like it a little while ago."

  "That was then, this is now."

  She saw him fight with himself and tried to mask her disappointment when he shook his head. "I have to go."

  "It's Saturday." When they were together—she forced herself not to think "the first time" although she felt it threatening to creep in—he had often worked on weekends. "You don't have to go to the paper right this second, do you?"

  "I should." His elusive contact at the hospital had promised to call him between four and five. But he couldn't make himself stir. The call would be rerouted to his cell phone so there was no need to worry about missing it. But he didn't want Tara to overhear the call. Good news or bad, he wanted to break it to her in his own way. "What about you?"

  "I'm attending a charity auction for Model Children tonight. You can come with me if you want to."

  She said it casually, but felt her breath freeze as she waited for his reply. After a heartbeat, he said, "I may do that."

  "It's black tie."

  "I'll drag the tux out of mothballs just for you."

  His words sent a thrill of response washing through her, even as she warned herself not to read too much into them. So he had a free evening, so what? It wasn't going to rekindle what they'd lost. Nothing could do that, not even sublime sex.

  She remembered something else and levered herself onto one elbow so she could see his face. "Why did you come to see me today?"

  He walked his fingers down her hip and she shivered. "For this."

  She knew him well enough to recognize an evasion when she heard it. "No, really."

  "Really." He kissed her eyelids closed and pulled her against him. His body felt cool and deliciously hard against her softness. She felt him harden even more as she snuggled against him. "If there was another reason, you drove it right out of my head."

  He was doing the same to her, she thought dizzily. The sofa was wide but not wide enough for her to roll away from him and she didn't especially want to. There was a world of comfort in his arms. A world of delicious sensation, too. Arousal began to spiral through her all over again and she reached up, seeking his mouth.

  He touched a finger to her lips. "You must know how much I want you," he insisted, "but I'm having a hard enough time convincing myself to get up from this couch as it is. You bewitch me, Tara."

  "And you, me." She had been sure she would never let him make love to her again but it had taken so little to destroy her resolve. One touch, one kiss, and she was his again. In horror, she remembered murmuring something as he took her to the brink of ecstasy. Had she really said she loved him? It was the last thing Zeke would want to hear.

  Maybe he hadn't. Or had dismissed it as the throes of passion talking. Why had she said such a stupid thing when she knew his background made him reject such declarations? "Zeke…" she began diffidently.

  He pressed the finger to her lips again, silencing her. "No regrets, no promises," he reminded her. "Can't we simply enjoy what we have without complicating things?"

  She knew what he meant by "complicating things" and had willingly agreed to his terms, so she had no one but herself to blame if she couldn't live with her bargain. "I know, but…"

  He silenced her by covering her mouth with his, his kiss so deep and satisfying that she felt herself slipping over the edge again. He pulled back slowly, giving her time to recover. "Thank you," he said gruffly.

  She felt puzzlement invade her expression. "For what?"

  "For being you. For giving me so much. I don't deserve you, Tara."

  "This isn't about who deserves what. It's about two people who have something to give each other. It's very, very mutual," she said.

  "Exactly my point," he said on a small sigh.

  She wanted to hit him. By playing devil's advocate, he had forced her to admit that she had gained as much from the experience as he had. Therefore there was no obligation on either side, and no commitment. It dawned on her that by "no promises" he had meant exactly what he said. She shouldn't be surprised. He had made no secret of preferring to live for the day. That much, at least, hadn't changed.

  "Have I hurt you?" he asked. "It's the last thing I wanted to do."

  "You haven't," she assured him. If anything, she had hurt herself, fantasizing about something that could never be. "Remember my friend Whitney Lee?"

  He looked baffled at the apparent digression. "The psychologist up on the Gold Coast?"

  She nodded. "Whitney has a sign in her office that says nobody can make you feel anything without your consent."

  "It's true, of course."

  Was it? She wasn't sure that the range of sensations Zeke had made her feel were truly consensual. She had agreed to let him make love to her, but his total mastery of her mind and body had taken her beyond simple permission into completely uncharted territory. Could she truly say he had made her feel so glorious? Or had she let herself be borne aloft on the strength of her own needs and desires?

  She couldn't hold Zeke entirely responsible for sweeping her off her feet when she was such a willing accomplice. Yet she knew she wasn't in complete control of herself around him, either. Taking responsibility for one's own life was hell, she decided, banishing doubt into a far corner of her mind. Maybe he was right. Living for the moment was a lot simpler.

  "Do you want to take the first shower?" he asked.

  What she wanted was to stay right where she was, in the warm circle of his arms, but he was already levering himself off the couch. He stretched his full length, his fingers brushing the blades of the ceiling fan, and her heart almost stopped at the sight of his naked magnificence. "I think I'd better," she
agreed, wondering if she should make it a cold one. No reason it shouldn't work as well for a woman as it supposedly did for a man.

  He brushed her forehead with his lips. "This is just like old times."

  Alarmingly so, she thought, suddenly fearful. She made an effort to scramble to her feet and pulled in a steadying breath. "I'll have that shower now."

  "Do you still keep some champagne on hand?" he asked. "I didn't think to bring any with me."

  "There's a bottle in the refrigerator," she said, relieved to hear that this had been as spontaneous for Zeke as for her.

  "I'll pour it while you shower." Watching her head for the bathroom, gathering up clothes as she went, Zeke marveled at what they had just shared. He knew there was a risk that she would read more into it than there was, but he had done all he could to warn her. It didn't always help. Women were the worst creatures for mixing up lust and love. And he had no doubt this was simple, old-fashioned lust on both their parts. He wouldn't let it be anything else.

  Without bothering to dress, he went to the kitchen and found the champagne in her refrigerator. Surveying the shelves, he was reminded of how organized she was. Crisp fruit and vegetables in their proper places, tubs of yoghurt. He lifted the lid. So that was what it looked like without a coating of green mold.

  In his refrigerator, what passed for lettuce was usually limp and unappetizing and if you were smart, you sniffed the milk before using it. It was a vivid reminder of their differences. He took things as they came while Tara craved an orderly life that started with great sex but rapidly streaked ahead into marriage and family territory.

  No chance. He set the champagne bottle down and rummaged in a drawer for an opener, pleased to see she still used the one he had given her after watching her trying to twist the cork off a bottle. She'd gotten there in the end but he hated to think of her lovely hands being so abused.

  He could have opened the bottle the macho way, barehanded, but liked the feel of the metal grip in his palm, knowing she had held it last. Of course she may have given it to another man to use. It was a pretty high-handed assumption that there had been no one opening champagne with her since him. Zeke found he didn't much care for the idea.