Love by Proxy

by Diana Palmer

  “I can understand that,” she admitted. Her eyes wandered over him, loving the bigness of him, the strength, even this very rare vulnerability. If only it wasn’t such a potentially tragic situation that was causing it.

  “I wish I could say something that would help,” she faltered. “I remember times like this. There aren’t adequate words, you know.”

  His eyes stared blankly into his coffee. “I hate like hell to feel helpless. There’s nothing I can do, nothing at all, except sit and wait.”

  “And you hate waiting,” she murmured dryly. “Yes, I know. But what you have to keep in mind is that she has competent doctors, and she’s in excellent health, and she has a will like forged steel. That’s a powerful combination.”

  “I keep telling myself that. But I can’t be sure. Neither can they.” He put the coffee cup down and took another large sip of whiskey.

  “That can’t be helping,” she said hesitantly.

  He laughed bitterly. “It’s this or a woman,” he murmured. He glanced at her. “And the only available one I know is taboo.”

  “Worth…” she began hesitantly.

  He touched her mouth with a long finger. “I don’t need a virgin sacrifice,” he whispered.

  “It wouldn’t be one,” she whispered back. Her eyes searched his. “I want you.”

  His breath drew in and went out very slowly. “Amy…”

  “I know I’m not beautiful,” she ground out. “I’m too thin, and my face has odd angles. But I’m twenty-eight, damn it, and I’ve been saving it all up for the right time and the right man.” Her eyes, tearful, searched his. “I know you’re not offering me commitment and happily ever after. I don’t even care. Tonight you need someone very badly, and I’d like to be that someone. You could think of me as a bad tasting medicine….” she faltered with a wobbly laugh.

  “Bad tasting,” he scoffed. He bent and kissed her very softly. “There isn’t one thing wrong with you, Amy Glenn, and I want you obsessively. But…”

  “Let me give you the little comfort I can,” she whispered. “I know all too well how long this night is going to be for you. I’ll lie in your arms and hold you and you can have me.”

  His lips parted on a rough breath. “Amy, the risk,” he began slowly.

  “There isn’t any risk,” she lied, easing his conscience. She put her mouth very slowly to his, loving him, wanting him. It would never be more than this, and perhaps it was wrong. But she’d live on this all her life. And this poor, tormented man would be able to face his crisis tomorrow a little more rested and at peace than he would otherwise. “Please,” she whispered at his lips.

  With a hard groan, he pulled her into his arms and returned the kiss wildly, hungrily, his heart slamming against his chest, his breath ragged. Seconds later, he picked her up and carried her to his room.

  She felt tingly all over as she looked at him, measuring the sheer size of him, all muscle, all man. She thought about lying with him in bed, with nothing between them, in the darkness, and her breath caught. Dark against light, hard muscle against soft skin…

  He laid her gently on his bed, with the single lamp by the bed burning softly, and he sat down beside her and looked at her for a long time. His fingers slid under her jeans to brush over her flat belly and she tensed. He looked up at her frozen face. “Like it?” he asked gently. He flattened his hand, and it was so big that it almost completely covered her stomach. His fingers brushed, teased, and his eyes never left her face. “You’re very soft.”

  “Your hand…is enormous,” she whispered.

  “Like my feet.” He laughed softly. His eyes fell to the T-shirt. He eased it over her head and tossed it aside, staring down at her lacy bra, and his fingers slid up. “Now this,” he said, teasing around the clasp, “is a man’s delight. A catch he can see and doesn’t have to feel for. It beats groping behind.”

  He lifted his eyes again to watch the reaction in her own as he gently dispensed with the clasp and then slowly, teasingly, peeled the bra away from her high, firm breasts. He looked down at them with an expression she couldn’t define, watching the tips harden under his intimate gaze.

  His fingers went to touch them, the backs of his hands rubbing the nipples, and her body tensed and shuddered as unexpected ripples of pleasure began to stir.

  His fingers bunched around the hard tip and tested its texture. “I’m not quite sober, Amy,” he murmured. “I should stop….”

  “No!” she choked. Her body was aching. She felt her legs move restlessly, and wondered at her inability to control them. “Please!”

  His eyes darkened, and she could see desire glazing in them. His hand moved again, to her waist. He held it there while he bent, and his mouth hovered just over her breast. “Are you going to be a noisy lover, Amy?” he whispered, laughing softly. “Let’s see.”

  And his mouth opened, enveloping her, moist and warm. She stiffened and cried out hoarsely at the wild thrust of sensation he aroused with that tender suction. She felt his teeth and then his tongue, and finally his whole mouth as his hands stabbed in at her waist and propelled her upward to ease his path.

  His mouth slid down her, nipping at her waist, her stomach. He tore the jeans and briefs out of his way, and his mouth nudged against her inner thighs while she moaned deep in her throat and began to move on the coverlet with involuntary sensual writhings.

  He did things to her body that she’d only read about before. He touched her in places and ways that brought tears to her eyes. Her hands clawed into the pillow at her head and she wondered if she was going to survive it. The pleasure was building, growing, buffeting her.

  Her eyes opened when he lifted his head to look at her, and she knew they were misty and dazed and tear-filled. Her full mouth felt swollen. It was parted, her neck arched, her body trembling and damp, her long hair in a glorious tangle around her head.

  His eyes went over her, lingering on the restless, helpless movement of her legs.

  Sitting up, he moved his hands to his opened shirt. He stripped it off, baring his broad, hair-covered chest. Slowly, sinuously, holding her fascinated gaze, he removed every stitch of his clothing and let her watch him. Her eyes went over him like hands, rapt with curiosity and appreciation of the rippling muscle and blatant, perfect masculinity of his deeply tanned chest, flat stomach, narrow hips and powerful thighs. He was exactly as she’d imagined he would be undressed, the image of a statue she’d seen and blushed at in a museum. But he wasn’t a statue. He was real. And even as she watched, he eased down beside her on the coverlet and she felt the warmth of his skin.

  He kissed her swollen mouth softly, tenderly, while his hands found her breasts and traced them in a silence that blazed with rough breathing and wild heartbeats. His fingers moved down to her flat stomach and explored it, eased to her thighs, savoring the silky skin. And all the while, his mouth invaded hers, doing such intimate things to it that she felt the heat all the way to her toes.

  He took a long time, lightly teasing her body, touching and arousing it to such a fever pitch that she began to cry from the spiraling tension.

  His mouth went down to her breasts again, to her belly, her thighs, and she began to move restlessly, helpless movements that signaled the loss of control.

  And then she felt his weight, beside her, above her, felt the powerful warm muscles and abrasive hair of his chest, his flat stomach, his thighs, and she looked up into dark, stormy eyes.

  “Please,” she whispered, her voice breaking into a thousand pieces, her eyes wet, her hands reaching up, trembling as they caught his shoulders. “Please.”

  His hands slid under her head, his eyes filling hers, so close that she could see the tiny lines around them.

  “Please,” she whimpered, arching, blatantly aroused, aching all over with a need she’d never felt before.

  “Gently, sweet,” he murmured. His hand touched her thighs, positioning, stilling. He eased down very slowly, watching her face so that he’d know inst
antly if he was hurting her.

  But it was easy. A little hesitation, a little tightening. But he had her so aroused that she never felt pain. She wanted anything, everything, pain would only augment the wildness, the savagery, of the desire she felt for him. Her eyes blazed with it, her nails bit into his shoulders, her teeth clenched.

  “I want…you,” she whispered hoarsely, her eyes telling him, her body begging for his. “Worth. Worth…!”

  He moved down, smiling through his own desire as his body registered the ease of its passage, her hunger for him startling in its intensity. She was shuddering all over, her eyes as wild as her body, and she excited him beyond bearing. A virgin, but so passionate that he lost control as her movements intensified and overwhelmed him.

  She matched him, move for move, her eyes wide, her body taut and fit, measuring itself to his, withdrawing, advancing, in a duel that made him laugh deep in his throat, that made him feel suddenly savagely male.

  He caught her wrists and slammed them down beside her head, and watched her smile, too, as he set the rhythm and slowly increased it. He could see the fierce pleasure he was giving her in the thrashing of her head, the tenseness of her face, the tiny cries that tore out of her.

  He’d meant to be gentle, but it was asking too much. With a sound much like a growl, he closed his eyes and lost himself in her, feeling the ripple, the sudden terrifying tension that built in waves until it suddenly snapped and the world went black around him as he arched up and his voice broke.

  She was crying. He caught his breath and looked at her face, his body tense, still shuddering in the aftermath.

  His body relaxed heavily on hers, and then he saw his hands gripping her wrists and was afraid that he’d hurt her. He released her, and gentle fingers turned her face back to his.

  “Amy,” he whispered softly.

  Her eyes opened, wide and as blue as heaven.

  “Did I hurt you, little one?” He frowned, touching her swollen lips gently. “I didn’t mean to be so rough.”

  “Hurt me?” she managed breathlessly. “I…Worth,” she said hesitantly, “was I…is it normal to feel it, like that, the first time?”

  He felt as if the breath had been knocked out of him. “Did it happen?” he asked gently, and she averted her eyes, coloring delicately, and he laughed. “My God. The first time…”

  “Maybe it’s because I went so long without a man,” she faltered, glancing up at him.

  “Don’t start thinking there’s something wrong with you,” he said gently. He brushed the damp hair away from her eyes, feeling lazy with pleasure as he felt her warm, soft body completely under him, silky skin against his own. “I took a long time, Amy. I made you half crazy before I took you, that’s all. And you were lucky,” he added dryly.

  “It was only for a second,” she said softly, searching his eyes. “But it was like dying, and so exquisite.”

  “The little death,” he said. “Yes. For me, too. Sweet madness. Oblivion.” He bent and kissed her softly. “Sleep with me.”

  “I thought I already had,” she mused.

  “That was loving,” he whispered. “Sleep in my arms. And when I’m rested, and you’re rested, we’ll make love again.”

  Odd that he should call it that, she thought drowsily, when she was sure it was only a physical release for him, only sex. It had been everything for her. A wild kind of union, a joining of souls, a spiritual fusion. She watched him move beside her and the cover was gone, the bed rumpled. She sat up and looked at him, blatantly, watching him grin at her fascination.

  “And you said you couldn’t do it in the light,” he reminded her with a dry smile.

  “I didn’t realize what we were doing,” she confessed. “I never imagined it would feel like that. And you watched me….” She blushed.

  “I had to,” he told her. “I needed to know at the beginning if I was hurting you. I was afraid you might not tell me.”

  “Oh.” Her eyes fell to his chest. “I’ve been afraid of that all my life, afraid that it would be so painful….” She laughed softly. “And I didn’t even realize it was happening until it was all over.”

  “Yes, I noticed,” he teased. “My God, I’ve never had anyone like you,” he whispered, the smile fading as he looked at her. “I did things with you and to you that I’ve never done before. And you laughed, and your eyes were as wild as a storm, and when I held you down you matched me, took me as surely as I took you.” His breath caught in his throat as he looked at her, let his eyes feed on her exquisite nudity. “I expected you to cringe and then grin and bear it. And instead, you devoured me, bewitched me. I don’t think I’ll live long enough to forget tonight.”

  “I’m glad,” she whispered. Her eyes adored him. “Because I’ll never forget it, either.”

  “No regrets?” he asked seriously.

  She shook her head. “No regrets.”

  “Thank God. If I’m drunk, Amy, I don’t want to be sober again.” His hands caressed her, fascinated with her softness. he breathed slowly, but it wasn’t helping. Already, it was happening again.

  Her eyes brightened with a new knowledge, a new confidence. She eased down, shifting so that her body was over his. “Teach me how,” she whispered, and put her mouth over his.

  He made a rough, harsh sound in his throat and his hands reached for her hips.

  The morning came suddenly and too soon, and Amy opened her eyes feeling a new stiffness, an odd new kind of discomfort. Her eyes went instantly to the pillow beside her and her lips parted. There was only a dent in the pillow, but Worth was gone. Worth. She caught her breath. Worth!

  She sat up, and as the covers fell away, she saw her body, with new marks on it, unmistakable marks, and she realized instantly what had happened. She’d slept with him. Not just once, either. Her face went red and she bit her lip. Now what? Everything had changed, and as he’d said himself, there was no going back. She glanced at the clock and was shocked to find that it was already ten o’clock. The surgery would still be going on. She leaped out of bed, grabbed her discarded clothing, dragged it on and hurried to her own room, careful to scout the hall first.

  She showered and dressed in a simple white shirtwaist dress and high heels, left her hair long because she didn’t want to waste time putting it up and ran out the front door without stopping for coffee or even a slice of toast.

  The servants would know where she’d slept. She didn’t know how she was going to face them. Or Worth. Or his grandmother, if Jeanette lived. Jeanette had to live, she prayed. She had to, for Worth’s sake. Did he regret what had happened? She hoped not. Whatever happened now, at least she had the memory of him. She’d cherish it, right or wrong, for the rest of her life.

  Eight

  Worth was alone in one of the waiting rooms in the cardiac intensive care unit. He was smoking like a furnace, and Amelia’s eyes went over him like loving hands, lingering on the broad chest in an expensive mauve knit shirt and his muscular thighs in tailored tan slacks. He looked more handsome than ever, and she knew now what was under his clothing. Her face colored at the memories.

  He looked up and saw her. She expected that he might smile at her, or hold out his hand. He did neither. His eyes were haunted as they looked at her, and all she saw in them was regret.

  She went to him slowly, trying not to look too crushed by what she saw. She sat down beside him, tucking the skirt of her white dress close around her. Not for the world would she let him know how she’d hoped that the night before had been a beginning. Now she knew it had only been a momentary weakness, caused by too much liquor, too much worry, and by her own eager abandon. She wouldn’t think about that, she told herself. It wasn’t the time.

  “Has there been any news?” she asked softly.

  He shook his head and took another draw from the cigarette. “It’s a long operation. Several hours.” He glanced down at her searchingly. He started to say something and then shrugged. “I got here just in time to see Grandmothe
r off.” He smiled faintly. “She was awake and alert and anxious to get on with it. She said to tell you not to go looking for work elsewhere. She’s not about to die and leave you jobless.”

  She laughed and then felt tears sting her eyes. That sounded like her indomitable employer. She lowered her gaze to her clasped hands.

  He muttered something under his breath. “Amy, I suppose I should apologize for seducing you.”

  She glanced up at him and back down again. “I offered,” she reminded him. “There had to be a first time, didn’t there?” she asked evasively. “I’m twenty-eight, after all. It might be my first and last time, you know. I…don’t feel that way with most men.”

  Her eyes searched his, sad eyes, because it had been only one night and she had hundreds ahead of her that wouldn’t begin and end with him.

  He didn’t look convinced, though, and there was a dark scowl on his face.

  “It’s done,” she said, crossing her legs. “Regrets won’t help now.”

  His face hardened when she said that, but she was staring toward the hall and didn’t see that he’d misunderstood what she said.

  She had to get her mind off it. She stared at the doorway but it only reminded her why they were sitting there, and she frowned. Bypass surgery wasn’t so dangerous these days, but Jeanette was old. And for a long time, it would be touch and go. She wormed her hand closer into his with a sigh. He was smoking madly, and she knew it was nerves. She hadn’t expected that he could be nervous, but perhaps it was a mask, like the one she donned when she was afraid or worried. He seemed invincible, but Jeanette was his Achilles’ heel. What would happen to him if she died?

  Two hours passed, and finally a Red Cross volunteer came in, smiling.

  “Mr. Carson?” she said as Worth stood up. “I thought you’d like to know your grandmother came through the surgery beautifully. She’s off the respirator and breathing nicely on her own. They’ll be moving her into the recovery room shortly. If you watch, you’ll see her go by.”

  Worth laughed softly. “Well, well, and I was sitting here worrying myself prematurely gray.”