by Janet Dailey
She walked over to him. "Cole." She waited for him to look at her. "Do you love me?"
His gaze locked with hers for an eternity of seconds. Then his arm hooked itself around her waist and pulled her to him as he lowered his mouth onto hers in a deep and loving kiss that had a hint of roughness to it. She remembered the familiar rightness of being in his arms, but she hadn't guessed at the powerful range of feelings it could evoke.
He dragged his mouth from her lips and rubbed it across her cheek. "You turn me inside out. You have from the first day we met," he murmured against her skin, his hot, moist breath fanning out to offer its own stimulating caress.
"When was that?" She closed her eyes, reveling in the feel of his mouth moving along her temple, into her hair, and behind an ear.
"Roughly a year ago—at a party Frazier gave at Antoine's after I came on board as the company's new CEO."
He still remembered vividly the first time he'd seen her. At that moment she'd been for him the only living thing in the room, her face softly lighted and softly shadowed, her shoulders straight and graceful, her presence creating its beauty and its imperative call. Frazier had introduced them, and he'd taken her hand, the fragrance of her nearness arousing all his male interest in a reaction that was both quick and reluctant. The glimmer of gold in her eyes had seemed to sparkle just for him, but he hadn't been fool enough to believe it . . . then.
"And you fell for me right off, I suppose." She raked her fingers through his hair, flexing them almost like a cat as her parted lips grazed along his jawline.
"Are you kidding? I swore I wouldn't get within ten feet of you." It was a vow that common sense told him he should have kept.
"What happened?"
"About six months ago I got within ten feet of you, and all hell broke loose." He meant that literally. Trouble had erupted almost from the moment they'd gotten together—and grown steadily in the interim. But it was moments like this, when he held her warm and cushioning body close to him and tasted the fiery flavor of her kiss, that he could almost convince himself he didn't give a damn.
"Now that is the first thing you've said that I believe," she murmured, seeking and finding his lips.
For her this was like the first time, because she couldn't remember the other. That he had been her lover she did not doubt. Her body knew him, and her heart knew him, even if her mind couldn't recall him. This was the man she loved.
Yet the sensations of being loved by him were all brand-new. She couldn't get enough of the feel of his hands on her back—kneading and caressing in their foray down her spine to her hips—or the taste of his tongue in her mouth, thrusting and mating with her own. His chestnut-dark hair was thick and full beneath her fingers, smooth but a little on the coarse side, slightly rough, like the rest of him.
Wanting more, she strained to get closer to him, her back arching, her hips pressing, her body aching to be absorbed by him. Frustrated, she bit at his lip, inadvertently drawing blood. She heard him stifle a faint sound of pain and rained the spot with light kisses of apology as she brought her hands down, encountering the muscular wall of his chest, rising and falling with the heaviness of his breathing. She tried to run her hands over his chest to the wide points of his shoulders, but his jacket got in the way and his shirt barred contact with the flesh beneath it.
Impatiently she tugged at the loosened knot of his tie. But Cole's hand took her place, yanking it the rest of the way loose and stripping the tie away. When she pushed at his coat, he shrugged out of it. While their lips continued to consume each other with desperate greedy kisses, she set to work on his shirt buttons. But the third one defied her efforts, a thread of the buttonhole catching it and refusing to let it go. Gripping both edges of his shirt front, she pulled them apart, and the rest of the buttons snapped off one after the other. Her hands moved freely onto his bared chest, all hard, bronzed flesh over sinewy muscle, smooth and hot to the touch, like satin over sunbaked steel. But it wasn't enough to feel it; she wanted to taste it, too. She pulled away from his kiss and brought her lips down to the pulsing vein in his neck. She felt the faint tremor that shuddered through him.
"Someday, Remy—" His low voice vibrated against her hair, husky with disturbance, as his fingers curled around the collar of her jacket. "Someday you're going to pay for all the shirts you've ruined."
Openmouthed, she ran the tip of her tongue over the ridge of his shoulder, licking the hot saltiness of his skin, then lifted her head, tilting her face to him. "Make me pay, Cole," she whispered the dare, her eyes gleaming as she gazed into the darkening smoke of his. "Make me pay now."
Accepting her bold challenge, he pulled the front of her jacket apart and dragged it off her shoulders, momentarily forcing her arms to her sides before she could slip free of the sleeves. With the same impatience she had shown toward him, he ripped her blouse open, sending buttons flying into the air. Not content with that, he pushed the blouse off her, dragging the thin straps of her lace teddy with it and exposing the golden cream of her shoulders. Her blouse had barely touched the floor when his fingers took hold of the front of her teddy, indifferent to the expensive lace, and pulled it down, his large hands immediately cupping and covering her small but highly sensitive breasts.
She gasped softly at the sudden swirl of raw pleasure that swept her up, but his mouth came down to smother the sound and steal the rest of her breath. She wrapped her arms tightly around his neck and forced him closer, parting her lips to invite the mating plunge of his tongue. As his hands slipped to the sides of her waist, she arched against him, flattening her breasts against the muscled wall of his chest, needing to feel the heat that came from flesh against flesh.
She wanted him. She wanted all of him, with a fierceness that staggered her completely. What kind of passion was this that erupted so violently? The desire for him had been there all along, thrumming just below the surface. Now it had burst wide open, making her feel incredibly strong and incredibly weak at the same time.
His hands tightened on her waist and effortlessly lifted her, the iron band of his arm circling below her hips to hold her tightly against him, her feet dangling inches from the floor. He carried her that way, with their mouths locked in a kiss, to one of the suite's bedrooms. Remy didn't know which one and didn't care as she kicked her shoes off along the way.
In the room he stopped short of the bed and let her body slide slowly down his chest until her feet touched the floor. Immediately his hands were at the waistband of her slacks, seeking its fastener. Catching his urgency, she hurriedly began to finish undressing him.
Within minutes their clothes were a puddle on the bedroom floor and she lay naked beside his nude male body. At last she had time to explore at her leisure. Levering herself up on one elbow, she rolled her lips off his mouth, briefly grazing them across his square chin, then turned her head to admire that expanse of bare chest and shoulders.
There was a power and a discipline inherent in his muscled form that pulled at her and challenged her to touch him. She pressed her mouth onto the solid curve of his shoulder, then let her lips follow its ridge to the strong column of his neck before wandering down to tactilely explore the hollow at the base of his throat, conscious all the while of the caressing play of his hands over her back and ribs, stroking, teasing, stimulating, and encouraging her. Moving lower, she rubbed her mouth over the square flatness of his breast, then paused to lick at the excitingly small nub of his nipple. She heard the rumble of approval come from deep inside his chest, and she smiled. She slid her hand lower, across the flatness of his stomach, its muscles tensing at her touch, and into the silken curl of hairs at the very bottom of it. When her fingers curved around him, he groaned a muffled curse.
An instant later his fingers tunneled into her hair at the sides and grabbed a handful. She gasped a protest as he hauled her up and twisted her onto her back, letting go of her hair and catching her arms, spreading them above her head and pinning her wrists to the bed, his weight
holding her down.
"No," he said against her lips, catching the lower one and lightly nipping at it with his teeth. "I've been away from you too long, Remy. And I'll be damned if this is going to be over before it's begun."
He again caught her bottom lip between his teeth and tightly nipped at it. She groaned at the action that both teased and aroused. Then she felt satisfying pressure of his mouth on hers once more as he kissed her long and deep, drawing from her feelings she hadn't known existed. She was going soft inside and she knew it as he kissed his way over every inch of her face, then paused to sensually chew at an earlobe. When he nibbled his way down her neck, delicious shivers tingled over her.
His arms continued to pin hers to the bed, but she lay there a willing captive, trapped by the urgent need to absorb this myriad of sensations. When his tongue licked at a taut nipple, a curling started deep in the pit of her stomach. She moaned at the ache it produced and finally realized that he was doing to her all the things she had done to him. And it was wonderful. Wonderful.
She arched her back, pushing her breast at him and trying to make him take more of it. When he did, a raw sound of satisfaction came from her throat. Cole stole a glance at her, watching her head roll from side to side, her eyes closed and her lips apart. At last he could stand it no more. He had to touch her. He released one of her wrists and slid his hand down her arm and onto her body.
She was deceptively small and delicate, everything perfectly proportioned, from the narrowness of her rib cage and hips to the petite roundness of her breasts. But he knew the strength and power packaged in her delectable form. Not so much a physical strength as the mental one that came from a strong and indomitable will, a will that gave her boldness and the supreme confidence to be exactly what and who she was. And the power in her— she had the power to make him hunger, to make him ache, to make him vulnerable.
Yet none of that mattered to him as he played with her breasts—with his hands, his mouth, and his tongue. He listened to her sighs, her whimpers, and her moans, expressions of the sexuality that lived within her.
As he ran his hand up her leg to cup the soft swell of her bottom, she shuddered. "How could
I have forgotten the way this feels?" she whispered achingly. "How could I, Cole?"
He didn't have an answer for that, but he drew himself up and murmured against a corner of her lips, "Does it matter? Does it matter now?"
"No," she groaned, and she turned to his mouth, carelessly commanding, "Love me, Cole."
He kissed her and she was all motion beneath him, her hands, her lips, her body exhorting and demanding satisfaction. He knew she didn't understand the urgency that pushed at both of them. She didn't realize this might be their last time together. But he did.
At this moment and in this place, she belonged to him and he was hers. That was the only certainty. It wasn't enough, but it was all he had, and he seized it.
She sighed his name against his neck, then raked her teeth across his shoulder. "Don't make me wait anymore, Cole. Take me now."
He couldn't resist her—not then and not now. He felt her shudder as he shifted onto her and spread her legs apart. Her breath caught on his name when he entered her. She was hot; she was tight; she was moist. Robbed of all thought by her, he could only feel as she wrapped her legs around him, her hips driving him even as he sought to drive her. The pressure built like the approach of a summer storm, all light, wind, and heat. Then the fury of it was upon them, and release came in a torrent that buffeted both of them and left them wrapped tight in each other's arms.
7
Nestled in the crook of his arm, Remy snuggled closer and rubbed her cheek against his chest. She wondered at this dichotomous reaction of hers that had her feeling both supremely content and oddly energized.
She tilted her head back to look at Cole, then couldn't resist reaching up to trace the sharp outline of his jaw with her fingertips. "Is it always like that with us?"
"Not always." There was a sexy laziness to the smile he gave her. "Sometimes it's even better."
Mockingly skeptical, she retorted, "That is impossible."
He caught her hand and pressed her fingers to his lips, a faintly mischievous glint in his gray eyes. "You're probably right."
His response surprised a laugh from her, the admission so contrary to the typically male boast of sexual prowess that she'd expected to hear. "You amaze me."
His look turned faintly serious. "Try not to forget that." There was a brief silence in which neither of them stirred, and then Cole said, "We'd better get up, Remy."
She made a soft protesting sound. "Not yet. I'm too comfortable."
His arm tightened slightly around her, offering a silent agreement that they would remain as they were awhile longer. She closed her eyes and breathed in the musky scent of their passion, still lingering ever so faintly in the air. She wished she could hold on to this moment, never have to stir, never have to remember. She frowned at the latter thought. Why wouldn't she want to remember?
She tensed, something flashing in her mind. It had to do with Cole. She was sure of it, in that same strange way she had been sure they were lovers without being able to actually remember any part of their affair.
She lay there mentally straining to recall what it was that she should remember about him, trying to make that indistinct impression of trouble become a memory. She couldn't. It had slipped away from her.
Sighing in frustration, she was swept by a surging restlessness, her previous contentment gone. "I think we'd better—" As she started to rise, his hand slid limply off her hip. She turned and discovered he was sound asleep.
Smiling, she laid a hand on his shoulder to awaken him, but the sight of his harshly masculine features composed in the peace and innocence of sleep stopped her. Deciding it couldn't hurt anything to let him sleep a little longer, she withdrew her hand and slipped quietly from the bed.
She crossed silently to the bedroom's private bath and closed the door behind her. She showered quickly, then donned the terry robe the hotel had thoughtfully provided and slicked the wetness of her hair away from her face with her hands. Cautiously she opened the door to the bedroom and peeked around it. Cole was lying in exactly the same place and position.
She walked noiselessly over to the mound of clothes on the floor and began picking them up, remembering the haste with which they'd been stripped away. Separating the garments, she laid them out in neat His and Hers piles, then went into the sitting room to find the rest of them.
When she saw the phone on the secretaire, she hesitated and glanced toward the bedroom. On impulse she picked up the phone and dialed room service, ordering the coffee Cole had wanted when they arrived. She felt pleased with herself, knowing that when he awakened, she'd be able to serve him coffee in bed. She liked the idea of pampering him a little.
In no hurry, she gathered the clothes from the sitting-room floor and carried them into the bedroom. She laid Cole's on his stack, then took her own into the other bedroom, where the bellman had left her luggage. She opened the largest case and began sifting through her clothes, trying to decide what to wear.
The ringing of the bell to the suite's outer door interrupted her. She turned with a faint start, not expecting room service to be so prompt. Running silently on bare feet, she hurried to the door before the waiter could ring the bell again and waken Cole. She unlocked it with one hand and opened it with the other, automatically swinging it wide.
A man in a navy-blue suit stood outside, a stone-gray raincoat draped over one arm and a slim black leather briefcase clutched in the opposite hand. The tense, worried look on his face vanished, and relief sailed through his expression.
"Remy. It is you. Thank God." Issuing the fervent declaration, he stepped into the room and hastily set his briefcase on the floor, tossing his coat on top of it and never once taking his eyes off her.
As she stared at him, another image of that same face sprang into her mind—an image frozen in
a hearty laugh, his brown eyes crinkling at the corners, a wayward lock of tobacco-brown hair falling onto his forehead.
"Gabe." She recognized her brother, and flashes of childhood memories started coming back to her—memories of Gabe pushing her in an old rope swing, racing his horse against hers along the levee, and teasing her unmercifully about her first date. Gabe, always laughing, always reckless, always carefree. No glint of mischief danced in the brown eyes of the much more mature version of her brother that stood before her now, but the ready grin was there, this time ringed with gladness and relief. When he opened his arms to her, Remy went straight to them, letting him catch her up close and hugging him back.
"I can't believe this," she said, remembering him as he briefly rocked her from side to side, then set her away from him as if needing to look at her again.
"I would have been here sooner, but—Cole had taken the corporate jet to Marseilles, and I had to catch a commercial flight. Then there was a delay for mechanical trouble, and—" He stopped and sighed heavily, happily. "You don't know how good it is to see you, Remy. Don't ever pull a disappearing act like that one again. I thought we were going to have to turn the world upside down to find you."
"It isn't something I want to go through again either."
"When I saw the photo, I knew it had to be you," he said, then chided, "You do realize that had to be the worst picture ever taken of you. I mean, the bandages around your head, the bruises . . . what happened?"
"I don't know—correct that, I don't remember."
"Then this business about the amnesia—it's true?" His expression turned serious, almost grim. Suddenly he wasn't the same—he wasn't the young, smiling Gabe she'd known. "You don't remember anything?"
"No. Just you. As a matter of fact, you're the first thing I have remembered." She paused and took hold of his hands, conscious of the strong bond she felt with him, then lifted her glance to study this new, older face of her brother. "You've changed from the Gabe I remember, though. You're not the teasing, laughing, full-of-the-devil teenage brother anymore. You've grown up and become a responsible adult." Smiling, she reached up and gave the lapel of his navy suit coat a flick. "You've even gone conservative on me."
