He Kills Me, He Kills Me Not

by Willis, Becki

  He abandoned his wine glass in favor of holding her. Her back still to him, he moved closer, sliding his hands low around her waist, just above the flare of her hips. There was a gap between them, until she reached back and sought out his cheek. Her tender touch spoke more than words ever could, as she drew his face down against her head in a tender act of care.

  Swallowing hard, Lange pulled her close against him, pressing her into his hard, aching body, pulling her into his empty, aching heart. Turning his lips into the palm of her hand, he whispered unsteadily, “I’m happy tonight.”

  Ashli turned into his arms, knowing what it must have cost him to make such an honest admission. She took his handsome face into her hands and stared into his eyes, then reached up and initiated the kiss. He moaned as his mouth hungrily met hers.

  The kiss went on, and on. They moved closer, straining against one another as the kiss deepened. They were moving into the other’s soul, pressing their bodies and their hearts together beneath the glow of a lover’s moon. Lange wedged his leg between her thighs, longing to bury himself beneath the folds of silk, aching to become a part of this woman. He twisted his hips, grinding against her.

  His all-out assault on her senses made her legs unsteady. The high heeled shoes made it even worse. Her foot slipped, breaking their heated kiss.

  “These shoes are going to kill me yet,” she managed to laugh. She hardly noticed any pain associated with twisting her ankle; there were far more glorious feelings surging through her body right now, and they had her gasping for breath.

  “Then let’s get rid of them.” Lange fell down on one knee, where he proceeded to take her foot into his hand and sensually remove her shoe. She held onto his shoulders for support, having plenty of room over the broad planes to place her palms. He skimmed his hand along her ankle, sliding long fingers slowly beneath the strap, easing the leather down with gentle finesse. If he made removing a shoe such a sensual delight, Ashli could only imagine the magic he created with a bra. Already her breasts were heavy with longing, aching for his touch.

  When he finished with one shoe, he started on the other. She was considerably shorter without the high heels, but felt steadier on her feet. Until his hands started to move.

  Lange slid his hand up her leg, his palm gliding smoothly over the silky nylon. Her breath caught as his fingers moved higher, sparking flames throughout her entire body. By the time he reached the juncture of her thighs and palmed the moist heat gathered there, she was gripping his shoulders for dear life. Her legs were too weak to support her. When she threw her head back and moaned, he took it as encouragement to kiss her there.

  Jerking at the intimate touch and the instant surge of heat it produced, Ashli tried to protest. With such wicked pleasure overwhelming her senses, it took a moment for her to form a complaint. His breath was warm and delicious, even through the layers of nylon and silk. Desire pooled heavy and wet between her legs, and she knew if she was ever going to protest, it had to be now.

  “N-Not here,” she finally managed to pant. She tugged on his hair to get his attention. “Not here.”

  Lange was immediately on his feet, appalled he had gotten so carried away that he forgot where they were. He glanced around the veranda and the grounds beyond, making certain no one had witnessed their little show. Not only had he compromised her privacy by practically making love to her right there on the balcony, he had compromised her safety. What if her stalker was out there, watching? What would seeing them together do to an unsteady mind?

  That was the problem with getting involved, he reminded himself.

  But the real problem was that he had no intention of stopping. Not tonight.

  “You get the wine, I’ll bring the shoes,” he said simply. He waited for her to go in, checked their surroundings outside once more, then followed her into the house, closed the shutters, and locked the doors.

  “I’m sorry, Ashli,” he said sincerely. “That shouldn’t have happened. I got carried away and forgot where we were.”

  Ashli misread his apology. Slamming the wine glasses down so hard that wine sloshed over their sides, she didn’t care that it soaked into her antique trunk. Eyes blazing, she glared up at Lange. “Are we back to that again? Are you really going to stand there - after tonight, after everything we have been through these past few weeks! - and try and tell me we can’t get involved?”

  He loved the look of passion blazing in her eyes. He loved that she was mad, that she was angry enough to fight for what she wanted. He loved that he was what she wanted. He loved....

  Shaking that thought right out of his head, he stepped closer, trying to take her hand. Still angry, she shook out of his hold, stepping back. “No, Lange. I am sick and tired of your little games. One minute you want me, the next you don’t. I’m not playing anymore.”

  “I’m not playing, either.” He advanced toward her with a self-deprecating little laugh. “Come on, Ashli, we both know what a liar I am. No, we can’t be involved.” Pain flared in her eyes at his words. He moved close enough to brush his knuckles along the cheek, his voice softening. “But we are.”

  Her breath caught in her chest. “Then... why were you sorry?” she asked cautiously.

  “Because I forgot where we were. You have a stalker, a Peeping Tom on that very balcony, and instead of protecting you, all I could think about was making love to you.” He tucked a wayward curl behind her ear, his eyes fascinated by the strand of sunshine. With a sigh, he seemed to be thinking out loud, instead of speaking to her. Maybe her habits had rubbed off on him. “To be honest, it’s all I ever think about,” he murmured lowly. “I’ve fought it so hard, trying to deny this attraction between us, but God, I can’t even think straight around you.” He frowned, and shifted his eyes to hers. “Did I really just say all that out loud?”

  “You really did,” she said with a smile. “So... no more games?”

  His large thumb traced the curve of her gorgeous smile, the one that had a way of warming him from the inside out. “No more games,” he agreed.

  “You admit that there’s something between us?”

  “You really know how to kick a man when he’s down, don’t you?” he mumbled.

  “You didn’t answer my question. Do you want me, Lange?”

  Her question was blunt and direct, but he could see the fear in her eyes. Despite asking such a daring question, he saw the doubt clouding her blue eyes, he heard the breathless hope in her voice. A week ago, he might have denied the truth, he might have lied. Again. Tonight, there was too much honesty in her gaze, too much emotion in her voice. Too much at stake. Her brave handling of the situation demanded that he man up and be just as brave.

  “Yes, Ashli,” he answered, but he didn’t quite meet her eyes. He still studied the curve of her fascinating mouth. “Yes, I want you. I want you more than... more than I’ve ever wanted anyone or anything. It’s not smart. It’s not professional. It’s not logical, the way I want you. It doesn’t make a damn bit of sense. But it’s there, and it’s bigger than anything I’ve ever felt before.” He finally lifted his gaze to hers. “Are you happy now?”

  She smiled, as much with her twinkling blue eyes as with her delicious mouth. “Yes. Yes, Lange, I am happy now.” To his surprise, she pulled away. “Wait here,” she instructed, and left him standing in the living room as she disappeared up the stairs.

  He gaped after her, wondering what had just happened. He poured his heart out to her, and she just takes off? Had he finally gone too far? Maybe he had pushed her away one too many times. Maybe she wanted to get even. Maybe she wanted him to grovel.

  No, not Ashli. She wasn’t a tease, and she wasn’t vindictive. He growled in frustration, running his hands through his hair. Wondering if he should go after her or wait it out, he tugged off his tuxedo jacket and tie, throwing them both on the couch. He picked up a wine glass and had just finished draining its contents when he heard her small cry of pain.

  He took the stairs two at a
time, racing to the top to check on her. He shouldn’t have let her go up there alone. What if her stalker had been up there, waiting on her? What if...

  What if his every fantasy was coming true? He stepped into Ashli’s room and saw the flicker of a dozen lit candles, and the woman of his dreams standing among them, in a pink nightgown spun completely of fluff and fantasy. She was covered from neck to toe in an opulent filmy material, just one shade darker than transparent. The high necked robe, even with its ruffles, did little to conceal the negligee, or the woman, beneath. The gown itself was a vision of pink mist, a delicate fantasy of billowing clouds. Plunging deep and low before falling to her toes, the negligee hid more of her body in shadows than in actual fabric.

  Lange made a strangling noise in the back of his throat, a deep guttural sound that was neither word nor cry. He crossed the room in three long strides, stopping just inches from her.

  “I thought - I thought I heard you cry out,” he said, trying to peel his eyes from her body long enough to check out the room, but failing miserably. Once again, he couldn’t take his eyes off her.

  “I burned myself,” she said in her whispery soft voice, “lighting a candle.” She held up a finger, slightly puffed and red at the tip.

  Lange reached out and took her hand, pulling the injured flesh to his mouth for a gentle caress with his tongue. She gasped, not from pain, but from the sensation of his tongue on her skin. She definitely wanted more of that, much more.

  He tugged on her waist, pulling her up against his hard, throbbing body. The thin material was little barrier to the warm woman beneath it. He nuzzled her ear, murmuring another sound that could have been an endearment, could have been a curse. When he nibbled his way down her neck, lacy ruffles teased his lips. He raised his head and pulled slightly away, just enough that his gaze could devour the length of her.

  “Tonight, when I saw you in that red dress,” he told her, his voice hoarse with emotion, “I thought no woman could ever look more tempting, more beautiful, more desirable. I thought I could never want you more than I did then.” His eyes lingered on the deep plunge of her gown’s neckline, so vaguely covered by the opaque robe. His voice dropped to a rough whisper. “I was wrong.”

  Three ribbons held the edges of her filmy robe together. Ashli reached up to untie the first one. Lange maneuvered the second, his hand unsteady at it freed the ribbons near her breast. The third and final ribbon offered the last chance of resistance, the last hint of restraint between them. They both knew that once the ribbon was released, their relationship would never be the same. They would become lovers, their entire world changed by the simple act of untying a ribbon.

  Ashli lifted blue eyes to his, staring deep into the inky depths of his soul. Air collected in his lungs when he saw her hesitate. She slowly wound the pink ribbons around her finger. Looking him straight in the eye, she firmly tugged the last ribbon free. Lange’s breath came out in a ragged release as he reached out and dispensed of the robe, pushing it from her shoulders.

  He concentrated on the task of unveiling her sumptuous body. As his hands slid over the near-sheer fabric, he could see her flesh quiver beneath his touch. Her nipples were hard and pointed, waiting for his touch, begging for his attention.

  He gave it fully, bending his dark head to press his tongue against the fabric. When wet, the material become completely transparent, a fact which Lange found completely fascinating. He stared at his discovery, experimenting with how circling his tongue around her breast made the wet patch larger and larger. He tried the same with the other side, finding the revelation there just as intriguing. Ashli thought she would go mad with his discovery, as he gently suckled and licked and moistened each breast.

  Her knees were weak, as thousands of sensations washed over her body. Ashli took a step back, drawing him with her toward the bed. They tumbled onto to without breaking apart. Lange finally pushed the gown from her shoulder, baring one mound of pure feminine delight. First he devoured her with his eyes, then with his mouth.

  Ashli’s own hands were busy, trying to dispose of his shirt. She worked a few of the buttons free, her hands trembling in their excitement, but the ones near the bottom were proving more stubborn. She tugged impatiently, pulling the shirt-tail from his pants, bunching his shirt up as her hands sought the planes of his stomach, the chiseled contours of his chest. Beneath her eager hands, his firm flesh quivered.

  “Ashli.” He murmured her name with need, burying his face into the crook of her neck. Her small, hot hands were wreaking havoc on his nerves, and already he was aching for her and the relief that only she could give. “Good God, Ashli, how I want you.”

  “I want you, too,” she confessed in a breathy whisper that turned his heart inside-out.

  He claimed her mouth in a kiss that was hot and steamy. His hand fondled her breast, bringing her nipple to an aching nub of awareness. As his lips trailed down her neck and to the valley between her breasts, his hand slid beneath the filmy veil of pink, until he touched the creamy white flesh of her inner thigh. Ashli trembled beneath his touch. She shifted to better accommodate him, but clouds of sheer pink were getting in the way.

  Lange growled in frustration, suddenly not so enchanted with the gown. Ashli laughed at his frustration, and slipped off the bed, motioning for him to do the same. He quickly shed his clothes, until he was standing before her in his full glory. If she thought he was an Adonis before, it was nothing compared to how perfect he looked now, totally naked and ready for her. Her eyes trained on him in appreciation, she pushed her gown down over her hips, until in pooled at her feet in a pink cloud.

  “You are perfection,” Lange whispered hoarsely, staring at her naked body. Her alabaster skin glowed softly in the candlelight, taking on a rosy hue. He gazed at her breasts, so full and ripe and ready for his touch, and he marveled at her tiny waist, her softly curved hips. His breathing quickened as his eyes fell to her secret haven of femininity, a secret soon to be shared.

  They came together with a sigh, their lips and their hands curious and seeking.

  “This is your last chance,” Lange whispered. “If this doesn’t feel right, stop me now.”

  “Oh, this feels right.” She brought his hand to her breast and held it there, encouraging him to caress her. With the other hand, she reached out for him, reveling in the way he quivered at her touch. “This feels very, very right.” It was like touching silk and steel, all at one time. She stood on tiptoe to kiss him, her hands still stroking him as she pressed her naked softness into the lean strength of his body. “This feels perfect.”

  With a strangled sound of need and pleasure, Lange swept her into his arms and onto the bed. He buried his hands in her hair, fanning out the strands of white sunshine before working his way downward. He touched all of her, working magic with his nimble fingers and his hot, hungry mouth.

  Gasping with pleasure, Ashli rode out the first waves of passion. “Now, Lange,” she croaked hoarsely. “Make love to me. Now.”

  Lange took only a moment to slip on protection, then he poised himself above her. Still, he hesitated. “I can’t make you promises, Ashli.”

  “Neither can I. I can’t even promise tomorrow.” When he started to protest, she touched her fingers to his lips, and slipped them inside. She ran her fingertips along the inner rim of his lips, and his tongue swirled around them, pulling them into his mouth as he suckled them. “But we have tonight, Lange,” she whispered. “Give me tonight.”

  She arched her body beneath him, offering herself. It was a gift no mortal man could refuse. He pushed inside her, burying himself in velvet, losing himself to the wonders of her body. As they moved together in harmony, Lange felt the old, familiar emptiness inside him began to fill. The craving he had always known, the hunger for that elusive sense of belonging, ebbed.

  He saw the wide-eyed wonder that filled her eyes and racked her body with amazement; he saw her eyes close to ride out a tidal wave of pleasure. His own body rushed after h
ers in a maelstrom of raging passion, and as Lange buried his very heart and soul deep within her, he had the most incredible sense of coming home.

  Ashli, he realized. Ashli was his home.

  Ashli was where he belonged.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Sunlight danced through the bedroom blinds, coaxing Ashli into the brilliance of the day. She stretched lazily beneath the covers without opening her eyes. Her body was deliciously sore in the most curious places, but the sweet discomfort left her amazingly revitalized and full of life. And hope.

  As memories of the previous night swept through her heart, she stretched her hand out to the other side of the bed. She wasn’t surprised to find it empty, but it stung knowing Lange hadn’t bothered with goodbye. She pulled the vacated pillow to her and took a deep breath. The spicy scent of his cologne was still trapped in its fibers.

  Hugging the pillow close, she smiled. Last night had been the best night of her life. Professionally, she had achieved the height of local fame. Personally, she had broken through the hard shell of indifference Lange surrounded himself with. Physically, she had soared to heights she never knew existed.

  Lange had given her a part of himself last night. Not just his body, although he shared that with her quite generously; three times, in fact. Her blood warmed just with the memory. More than that, he had given her a piece of his soul, and, she dared believe, at least a small piece of his heart.

  The tantalizing aroma of coffee wafted through the air and snagged her attention, just before she heard footsteps on the stairs. He hadn’t left, after all.

  “I knew coffee would do the trick,” he said dryly. “You’ve been dead to the world. The phone rang, I took a shower, I dropped a book. You never even stirred, until I made coffee.”

  Ashli sat up in bed, tucking the sheet around her naked breasts as she reached for the cup. She had no idea how the sight of her, naked and smiling, her hair mussed and her makeup either missing or smeared, made his heart do a summersault within his chest. She took several sips before she asked, “Who called?”