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Seduced and Betrayed

Page 14

by Candace Schuler


  "I hope to God you're ready for me," he murmured raggedly, reaching around her for the zipper on her skirt.

  But he needn't have worried. Ariel—cool, calm, collected Ariel—was already yanking at the plain gold buckle on his snakeskin belt. Clothes fell around them like leaves in a high wind. Her skirt. His shirt. Her bra. His pants. Shoes were kicked off, socks and stockings and underwear peeled down and cast aside without a thought for modesty or decorum.

  Naked, they came together, heat against heat, body against body, straining, eager, hot, sinking down onto the cream brocade sofa without regard for the costliness of the fabric beneath them. He kissed her neck and the soft curve of her shoulder. She kissed his chest and the hard curve of his biceps. And then he slipped his hand down, between her legs, unable to wait a moment longer, and found her. She was soft and wet, as swollen as if the foreplay had lasted long, maddening hours rather than just a few heated moments. She whimpered and shifted under him, tilting her pelvis up like an offering. He groaned and shifted on top of her, settling his hips between her thighs. There was a moment's fumbling intensity, a tentative probing, a gentle stretching, and then he was seated to the hilt.

  She moaned.

  And he moaned.

  And then they both began to move. It was hard and fast. Primitive. Basic. Powerful. Frantic. Muscles straining. Nerves screaming. Every feeling raw and exposed. They rolled off the sofa and onto the thickly carpeted floor, still holding tight, still thrusting against each other, still wild with the need to get closer. And then closer still.

  He couldn't thrust hard enough.

  She couldn't take him deep enough.

  And then they came suddenly, explosively, within seconds of each other, splintering apart like the crystal paperweight, shattering, thousands of shards of heat and emotion hurtling through them at breakneck speed.

  Ariel's whole body bowed under the strength of her climax. Her back arched, high and taut, the muscles in her neck and chest and abdomen strung tight with voluptuous tension. She dug her heels into the carpet, thrusting her pelvis upward in a mindless effort to force him deeper. She gave a high keening cry and sunk her manicured nails into his taut buttocks to hold him close.

  Zeke roared like a wounded beast as his orgasm claimed him. His upper body arched up and away from hers, the muscles of his arms and chest and shoulders bulging and straining with the exquisite pleasure of release. His hips pressed down, driving her deeper into the carpet. His fists clenched in the hot, silky strands of her hair. It seemed to go on... and on... and on, keeping both of them balanced on the very pinnacle of sublime, intemperate, torturous feeling, wringing every last drop of passion from them.

  And then Zeke collapsed against her, muttering hot, breathless hosannas to satisfaction and passion, and wrapped his arms around her, crushing her slender body to his sweating, heaving chest. And she slid her arms around his back, holding him tight as hot tears of spent passion trickled from the corners of her eyes.

  There was a moment's quiet as they held each other, the silence filled only with their soft panting breath and the rapid pounding of two hearts. And then Zeke raised his head from the curve of her neck and smiled down into her eyes.

  "I've always said it's better when you're in love," he whispered.

  Chapter 11

  For a moment it was as if she had been catapulted back in time. Suddenly, it was twenty-five years ago and she was eighteen and desperately in love, hearing those hoarsely whispered words for the very first time. Everything was so much the same as it had been then. The heat and hardness of his lean, naked body above hers. The trembling, unfamiliar weakness of her own. The warm, panting sweetness of utter completion. The big, hard hands tenderly brushing back the tendrils of hair from her damp face. The soft, caressing, awestruck look in his eyes as he smiled, oh so tenderly, into her eyes.

  For a moment—just a sweet, painful, exquisitely delicious moment—she let herself believe it completely. Let herself luxuriate in the fantasy that he truly meant his softly whispered words of love.

  And maybe he did.

  For the moment.

  But the moment wouldn't last.

  It hadn't then and it wouldn't now.

  No matter how much she wanted to believe it would.

  "It's never been this way with anyone else," Zeke whispered. His voice was fervent and sincere, tinged with the wonder of his feelings and the magic of the moment.

  But he had sounded sincere the last time, too, Ariel reminded herself. And awestruck. And earnest. And look what had happened. Resolutely, she steeled her heart against the hot, sweet rush of emotion that flooded her. Against the desperate desire to believe he really meant what he said. Because to believe again—and have that belief shattered again—would destroy her. Again.

  Zeke brushed his lips against her cheek, reverently, sweetly, kissing away the lingering traces of passion's tears. "In all these years, no one has ever made me feel the way you do," he whispered, his voice as soft and sweet and cherishing as his kisses. "Not once in twenty-five years."

  "Oh, Zeke," she murmured raggedly, unable to endure another word. "Don't." She clenched her fists against his back, fighting the soul-deep longing to succumb to the almost irresistible lure of his pretty, meaningless words of love. Words she was sure he had uttered a hundred times before, to a hundred different women. "Please don't."

  His body tensed, infinitesimally, above hers. "Don't?" he said softly, his lips still pressed against her cheek.

  "Don't say what you think I want to hear. I don't want to hear it," she lied. Not unless you really mean it. "I don't need to hear it."

  "Don't need to hear what?"

  "The pretty words. The sweet lies. The—"

  "Lies?" He lifted his head to look down at her. "You think I'm lying to you?"

  "I know you don't think of it as lying. And maybe it isn't, exactly." It was, she supposed, just another part of his roguish charm, a way of making a woman feel special and wanted, his way of saying thank you for pleasures exchanged. "But it isn't the truth, either. It's just—" She closed her eyes, unable to bear another moment of looking into his, afraid the puzzled sincerity in his gaze would make her believe against her own better judgment. "It's just the mood. The heat of the moment. You don't really mean it," she whispered achingly. "It's just the sex talking."

  He pushed himself up on his hands to stare down at her. "Just sex?" he said, incredulous and insulted. "You think this is just about sex?"

  She opened her eyes and looked up at him. "Isn't it?" she challenged softly.

  Zeke stared down at her for a long moment, his biceps bulging as he braced himself above her, his penis still sheathed in her body, his hot, dark gaze roving over her face, taking in the blatant distrust and doubt in her expression. She really didn't believe him! How could she not? How could she lie there beneath him, with their bodies still intimately joined, still damp and heated with the wild passion of their loving, their hearts still pounding with the emotional upheaval of what had happened between them, and think he was lying to her about his feelings?

  "I love you, Ariel," he said fiercely, willing her to believe it, to accept it. "I've never said that to another woman. Ever."

  But she only lay there, looking up at him with tear-bright, disbelieving eyes, and said nothing.

  With a strangled oath, he pushed himself up and off her, grabbing her by the upper arms and dragging her to her knees as he reared back on his. He wanted to shake her until her teeth rattled. How could she not believe him? How could she not see the truth of how he felt about her? How could she—

  But she had done it before. Twenty-five years ago she had heard his words of love and not believed them. Refused to believe them.

  "Why?" he demanded, suddenly furious. And suddenly, deeply hurt. No woman had ever made him feel that way before, either, as if his guts were being ripped out while he watched. No woman except Ariel. He shook her once, hard. "Tell me why, dammit!"

  But she clamped h
er lips together and lowered her lashes, refusing to speak.

  Her refusal to talk only fueled his fury, reminding him of the day in her mother's office, when he'd been callously informed he was about to become a father and a bridegroom. She had refused to speak to him then, too, making him feel guilty and ashamed for something that should have been beautiful.

  "Is it because it's only sex for you?" he demanded, wanting to hurt her as much as she had hurt him. Then and now. "Is that it? A little tumble with the ex-husband to see if he's still got what it takes to make America's sweetheart howl like a bitch in heat?"

  She shook her head, still unable to speak through the lump in her throat. Her lips began to tremble, despite the way she had them clamped together. A tear leaked out from under her tightly closed lashes.

  Zeke watched the tear trickle down her cheek and felt like an emotional terrorist. "Oh, God, Ariel, don't," he murmured, aghast at what he'd done. "Don't cry, sweetheart. I'm sorry. I didn't mean that. You know I didn't."

  "I hate this," she murmured brokenly, reaching up with one hand to dash at the tears on her cheek. "God, I hate this."

  Zeke went very still. "What do you hate?"

  "Crying. Losing control. Falling apart." She opened her eyes, finally, when she had her tears under control, and looked at him. "Feeling so damned needy and desperate. I've been doing just fine for years. I've had Cameron and my work. A nice tidy social life. I've had everything under perfect control. And then you come back into my life and..." She made a helpless, fluttering gesture with her hands, and her eyes, as she stared at him, were full of accusation."...and, just like that, I fall in love with you all over again, and everything goes straight to hell."

  "Ariel," he said, a wide, beatific smile blooming on his handsome face. He looked as if he'd just won an Oscar and the California lottery combined.

  "No, don't." She put her hands against his chest, stopping him when he would have pulled her back into his arms. "Don't."

  "But you love me. You just said so. And I love you."

  "Love isn't enough. It wasn't then, and it isn't now."

  "Maybe not then," he agreed, hearing only what he wanted to hear. "Back then we were just a couple of stupid kids who let our insecurities get in the way of what we had. But it will be different this time," he assured her jubilantly, feeling as if he could take on the world single-handedly and win, "because we're different."

  Ariel shook her head, refusing to let herself be swept up in his emotions. "I don't want to be in love with you, Zeke." She pulled back, shrugging out from under the hands that gripped her upper arms. "Don't you understand? I won't let myself be in love with you. Not again."

  "You already are in love with me."

  "Then I'll get over it."

  "Will you?"

  "Yes. Yes, dammit, I will!" She reached around behind her as she spoke, searching through the haphazardly strewn clothing for something to cover herself with. His forest green silk shirt came to hand first and she dragged it onto her lap. "I can't go through it again, Zeke," she said, her head down as she struggled to turn it right-side out. "I can't take another betrayal. I won't. It hurts too much."

  "You weren't the only one who was hurt," he said quietly. "Or betrayed."

  She looked up, her eyes widening at the injustice of that. The shirt was forgotten, the struggle with the tangled sleeves abandoned. "I didn't betray you. Not once. Not ever."

  "You chose your mother and your career over me."

  Her fists clenched in the pile of silk on her lap and she dragged it up, holding it to her bare breasts like a shield. "Only after I found you in bed with another woman," she said fiercely.

  He remembered the sequence of events a bit differently but decided to let it pass in favor of more important issues. "I thought we'd already established my innocence on that point. I didn't have sex with that woman. I didn't even know her."

  "With how many others, then?" she burst out, unable to hold the words back. They'd been roiling around in the back of her mind for twenty-five long years.

  He stared at her for a long moment. "There were no others," he said, finally. "Not from the first day I met you on the set. There was only you."

  "And the script girl, and the hairdressers, and the makeup artist's assistant, and the waitresses in the studio cafeteria and—"

  "What the hell are you talking about?"

  "You! I'm talking about you and your harem."

  "My harem?"

  "Your legions of adoring women. The ones who hang on your every word, who swoon at your slightest glance. The waitresses, the secretaries, the production assistants, your leading ladies. That professional femme fatale who stopped by the table at dinner this evening. The lovely Laure Montigny, whose sleeping habits you're all too familiar with. Holly Neals. Kathy Billings," she said, naming his second ex-wife and the actress who'd sued him—unsuccessfully—for palimony. "That Italian countess who was living in your New York apartment last year. The councilwoman who almost lost the election because of rumors that the two of you were using her office for more than meetings about censorship. The lingerie model who told the tabloids all about your taste in women's underwear. The stunt woman who—"

  "Well, I'll be damned," Zeke interrupted, flabbergasted by her heated recital of his past relationships. Or his past relationships according to the tabloids, anyway. He'd have been dead of exhaustion if he'd actually been with that many women. He didn't know whether to be flattered or annoyed that she'd kept such close track of his alleged affairs. "You're jealous."

  "No," Ariel said despondently, knowing all along that he would misunderstand. "No, I'm not jealous. I'm afraid."

  "Afraid? Afraid of what?"

  "Of you and your insatiable need for women."

  "I don't need women," he said in exasperation. "I need one woman. You."

  "And I need security. I need to know that the man I love will be faithful, that I can trust him. I can't trust you." She looked him straight in the eyes as she spoke the next words. "I never could."

  It took him a minute to tamp down the roiling surge of anger her words engendered. "I never cheated on you, Ariel," he said, when he could speak calmly. "Not once. Not that summer while we were making Wild Hearts. Not during the entire time we were married."

  Her eyes widened, disbelief and hope warring in their fathomless blue depths.

  "You were my wife, pregnant with my child, and I'd made a vow to be faithful." He smiled ruefully and reached out, gently tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear, the way he had years ago, when it used to hang down to her waist. "I kept hoping you'd change your mind and decide to make it a real marriage, and I didn't want anything to stand in the way of that possibility, especially not another woman who couldn't even begin to mean to me what you did. What you still do."

  "But you were forced to marry me."

  "No one forced me to do anything, except leave you right after the wedding pictures were taken. I'd already asked you to marry me, remember? There was no force involved."

  "But the lawyers..." She frowned, trying to remember the exact sequence of events in that chaotic, painful time of her life. "My mother said she had to threaten you with lawyers. That you wouldn't have gone through with it otherwise."

  "And you believed her?"

  "Yes, I believed her."

  "Even though you knew she despised me and the fact that we'd had a relationship?"

  "She was my mother. My only living relative. And I was eighteen years old, scared and pregnant, and I thought you'd betrayed me."

  He was silent a moment, absorbing that, accepting the truth of it. "I didn't," he said simply, honesty shining out of his dark eyes like a beacon. "You've got to believe that, Ariel. I never betrayed you."

  "I do believe it. Here," she said, lifting one hand to lightly touch her temple. "But in here—" she dropped her hand to her chest, pressing it over the silk shirt she held clutched in front of her heart "—I'm still afraid."

  "Because you still
don't trust me to be faithful?"

  "Because I don't trust... us," she said, avoiding the exact, bald-faced truth in favor of a lesser, more tactful reality. "I don't trust all the roller coaster emotions. I don't like the feeling of being out of control, of not knowing what's going to happen next. It's all happened too fast for me. Way too fast."

  Zeke smiled at that, the curve of his lips rueful. "It's been twenty-five years in the making, sweetheart."

  Ariel shook her head. "Those were two other people, in a whole other time. You and I just met a few short weeks ago. In that time we've barely exchanged two dozen civil words to each other and, yet, here we are..." She lifted one hand, palm up, indicating the strewn clothes, and the two of them. "...naked on the living room floor."

  "And that scares you?"

  "Yes," she said fervently. "Doesn't it scare you?"

  He thought about it for a moment. "Yeah," he said slowly. "Come to think of it, it does. A little. What do you think we could do to make it a little less frightening?"

  "We could slow down," Ariel said. "We could take the time to get to know each other... I won't say 'again' because we really didn't know each other before. We could-"

  "Go steady?" Zeke suggested, feeling suddenly lighthearted. She wasn't proposing an end, as he'd been half-afraid she would, but a beginning.

  "How about if we start by dating first?" she suggested.

  "All right," he agreed promptly, making her smile. "Have lunch with me tomorrow."

  "I thought you were planning on having lunch with Laure Montigny?" she said, before she could stop herself.

  "Those plans were tentative. And strictly business." He reached out and lifted her chin with his curled finger, forcing her to look at him. "Despite what the tabloids have said, the only thing between Laure and me is friendship. And the only reason I happen to know she likes to sleep late is because of the movie we did a couple of years ago for Louis Malle. She used to bitch like hell whenever she had to do a scene before noon. So..." He let the back of his finger trail down the front of her throat before dropping his hand. "...lunch tomorrow?"

 

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