She shook her head. “Richard—”
“I’m talking about what we shared in bed. Don’t tell me you don’t remember.”
If only she could forget! Sometimes she was almost able to convince herself that her mind had played tricks on her and that nothing could possibly be that wonderful. When they had made love, they had rearranged the solar system.
“Sex is not the only memory between us,” she said, her voice softer than she would have wished.
He lifted his hand and reached toward her. She automatically dodged, jerking her head back.
He smiled, waited a heartbeat, and took hold of one end of a satin ribbon. “But like the adults we are, we’ve put all that behind us, haven’t we?”
He was probing, and she should tell him that naturally she had put their past behind her. But there had been so many lies, and suddenly she was incapable of telling him one more—for now at any rate.
“Let’s make new memories,” he said very softly, fingering the satiny texture of the ribbon. "Right now.”
Her knees went weak, her throat dried.
He took a step back and waved his hand toward the bed. Without pushing, pulling, or forcing her in any way, and without any more words, he was asking her to come to bed with him. There were so many things she could do at this moment, and all of them flashed through her mind like a videotape on fast forward. But in the end, she knew she would do only one thing.
As if mesmerized she crossed the room. He went with her, and when he sat down on the side of the bed, she did too.
He noted her wariness, yet deep in her eyes, there was also a glittering of need that told him she wanted him as much as he wanted her. Her breasts lifted and pushed against the satin with every nervous breath she took. Lord, he needed to proceed so carefully with her. But how could he? Desire wound in his gut, sending signals of urgency to every part of his body. He allowed seconds to pass until he felt in command again. “Tell me something, Liana.”
She blinked with surprise. She had half expected him to grab her to him and pull her down onto the bed. “What is it you want to know?”
The phrasing of her response reminded him of another question, the one that had haunted him night and day since she had left him. Why in the hell didn’t you love me as I loved you?
He closed down that dark, tortured part of his mind where the question resided before it could break free and reach his lips. “I want to know—do I hurt you when I touch you?”
She tried to swallow and felt an unfamiliar rawness. “Every single time,” she whispered.
A look of genuine perplexity crossed his face. “How? I know I’m not always gentle, but—”
“Your touch bums right through my skin. Sometimes, hours after you’ve left, I can still feel the burning. ”
His expression changed, becoming understanding and satisfied. “Don’t be anxious. We'll take it easy, let you get used to the touching a little at a time. ’’ He reached up and slowly drew the ribbon from her hair. A cloud of pale hair came tumbling down and settled around her shoulders. Combing his fingers through the silky strands, he whispered, “I promise you something. By the end of this night, you won't remember what it’s like not to have my hands on you. And the burning will be so much a part of you, you’ll miss it if it’s not there.”
For a moment, she knew real fear. “That sounds like a threat.”
He wrapped his hand around her neck and slid his thumb up the center of her throat, then back down until it rested right over the larynx. Holding her gaze with his, he pressed slightly. "This is what I would do if I wanted to threaten you.”
She felt a portion of her air cut off; astonishingly she wasn’t afraid. She had to guess the reason was stubbornness on her part. She knew it couldn’t be trust.
Several seconds passed, then he eased the pressure and made a small circle over the area with the thumb, waiting until the fear disappeared and the need returned. “All right?”
She nodded.
With a smile, he dropped his gaze to the full sweetness of her mouth, then returned to the incredible teal of her eyes. He slid his hand down the center of her body to the valley between her breasts, then inside the robe and covered one full luscious mound. “This is what I would do if I wanted to make love to you.” His thumb flicked across the stiffened nipple, sending electrically charged sparks to all comers of her body. Leaning forward, he brushed a soft kiss across her mouth. “Guess which one I want to do.”
A soft moan escaped from between her parted lips.
At the defenseless spot where he previously had applied the pressure, he bent his head and licked, tasting the sweetness of her skin, breathing deeply of her natural perfume. As if he’d ingested an intoxicant, he grew light-headed.
Pulling away, he gazed at her. “Answer me, Liana,” he demanded gruffly. “Tell me which one I want to do.”
She shuddered; her words came with great effort. “I know you hate me.”
He pushed her robe off one shoulder, baring her breast to his hungry gaze. He was aching for her and going this slowly was killing him. But there were compensations, such as the sight of the tiny, delicate rose-colored nipple of her breast that seemed to be begging for his attention again. He took the nipple between his fingers and thumb and tugged. “Does that feel like hate?”
She quivered with pleasure and closed her eyes. “Richard ...”
He tugged again. “Does it?”
A fog of desire had closed in around her. Her hands shot out to his shoulders to steady herself. “No, it feels like . . . like wonderful.”
“Wonderful? I want it to feel like burning." He pushed her back on the bed and her robe fell open. Her nakedness was nearly his undoing. Her slim, ivory body was all he had remembered and then more. And he was about to have her. “Tell me when it feels like burning, Liana. ” His mouth came down onto the same tortured, throbbing nipple.
The burning started, searing into her, taking all the air in her lungs and her common sense with it. Heaven help her, she thought. She loved him—this man with the steel gray eyes and the hardened heart. For now she didn’t want to think about the past that had been or the regrets that would come. She wanted only, mindlessly, to feel.
Her fingers stroked up into his hair. “I need you inside me.”
A growling sound came from deep in his throat and he skimmed his hand over the flat plane of her stomach, through the pale, blond curls, and into the sweet warmth of her. “You mean like that?” he asked hoarsely right before he deepened the kiss, thrusting his tongue into the depths of her mouth.
Without waiting for an answer, he began to stroke her with his fingers, finding the place that sent streams of fire spiraling into her. She feared for her sanity. She’d been deprived for so long, and now the pleasure was almost too intense to bear.
“Is this what you want?” he asked huskily. “Is this what you meant?”
Pressure built; heat wound tighter and tighter inside her. His fingers caressed and invaded, creating sensations that she could not describe. And all the while he murmured words of encouragement, although she really couldn’t say what they were exactly. Suddenly her body jerked, then her back arched off the bed, and she cried out.
He continued the stroking, never once pausing, but he quickly shifted and pressed his mouth to her taut stomach. And a savage shudder racked him as, with his lips, he felt the contractions of her release within her womb.
When she subsided, he undressed, then lifted and settled her against the pillows. He stretched out beside her and gently brushed a haze of hair from her face. “You never answered my question. Did I give you what you wanted?”
She turned her head and looked at him. His whole body was taut; the power of his desire evident in his hard masculinity. For the first time she smiled. “No. I want you inside me.” She trailed her hand across his thigh to close her hand around him.
Her action took him by surprise, and a surge of desire made him momentarily weak. He closed his eyes
and dropped his head back onto the pillow.
She rotated onto her side and nuzzled his throat with her mouth. “It’s been so long since I’ve felt you filling me until I couldn’t take any more of you. It’s a feeling of being whole and full and complete.” She looked down at her hand, reveling in the feel and the power of him. She gently squeezed. “I want you, Richard. You. ”
With a loud, ragged groan, he rolled quickly between her legs and rose up on his elbows to look down at her. The teal color of her eyes had darkened almost to black. Her lips were reddened and swollen. He lifted slightly so that he could view her breasts. Stiffened points rose from the swollen mounds. With great precision, he lowered his chest on top of hers until he had positioned his nipples against hers.
She gasped. “Richard, please ...”
Her plea lanced straight into him and pierced the most primitive part of him. He’d thought of this moment for so long; he wanted to draw the lovemaking out, to savor each of the little sounds she made, each of her pleas. But his body was betraying him and soon he would be the one begging. Every muscle he possessed had tightened until he was gripped by an agony of passion from head to toe.
Flexing his hips, he pressed against the already pulsating feminine nub. Hot pleasure scored through her. She caught her breath, her mouth slightly open.
His jaw clenched at the sight, and he remembered the feel of her womb’s contractions against his mouth. He felt as if he were dying. “I guess I’m going to have to give you what you want, aren’t I?”
She wrapped her legs around his back and cupped his buttocks with her hands. “Yes, Richard. Yes.”
He drew back, then surged into her with a hard, powerful thrust.
After so long. After so long. The refrain hammered in his brain.
Once positioned in her, he tried to pause, to clear his mind. But thought-shattering sensations made it impossible. Then she lifted her hips to take him deeper. What small intellect that had remained fled, and an elemental wildness took over. He plunged into her, fast, rhythmically, desperate to put out the fire in his gut.
Yet he wanted her with him every step of the way as he took them both into the inferno, and so from somewhere he found a control he hadn’t known he possessed. He was determined to teach her a new definition of burning, and when she stiffened and cried out, he knew he had succeeded.
Then he let himself go, and much to his surprise, learned the definition for himself.
Six
Liana lay quietly, watching the draperies shift in the night breeze, pale and ghostlike. She was alone. Richard had made love to her twice, and then without a word, he had left.
But every aspect of the hours he had spent here in this bed with her was etched indelibly into her mind and heart. Their lovemaking had made all her memories pale. When they had come together tonight, the world had combusted and everything around them had gone up in flames. And they had been in the center of the conflagration, holding each other tightly, straining together, crying out their shared ecstasy.
Yet here she was alone.
It seemed she was destined to live with only memories.
Had she really been so stupid as to hope for something more? The answer came swiftly. Yes, she had. Without her being conscious of it, hope had begun to grow at the moment she realized she still loved him.
She admired what he had accomplished professionally. Her heart ached for the pain she knew she had made him suffer. Her desire for him knew no bounds. If he felt even a particle of what she felt . . .
No. To hope, even unconsciously, had been a mistake. She should have known better.
She squeezed her eyes shut, seeking resolve. If she had learned one thing over the years, it was that second-guessing her actions did no good, and in this instance, she had done enough rehashing.
She had to think with her head, not her heart.
She understood what had happened all those years ago in Paris; she didn’t understand what had happened here tonight. But she accepted that nothing that had occurred between her and Richard, either in Paris or here at SwanSea, could be undone.
She knew he didn’t love her. Maybe taking her to bed had been his own particular brand of revenge. Maybe now that he had his revenge, he would leave her alone.
She paused, realizing how dispassionate she sounded. She should be pleased, but she knew the truth. She might be eleven years older, eleven years wiser, but she was still as head over heels in love with Richard as she had been in Paris.
The sun would be rising in a few hours, and she had no idea what the day would bring. There was one thing she did know, however. Whatever happened, she did not regret tonight.
Richard lay sprawled across his bed. His sweat-soaked clothes were stuck to his skin; beneath his skin, pain ran like a raging river. A war was going on inside him, a war in which he was fighting himself. A war in which no matter the outcome, he couldn’t win.
He swore aloud and rolled over onto his back. Nerve endings were screaming for him to rush back to Liana and bury himself in her as far as he could. But pride and an unyielding stubbornness kept him where he was. It was important to him that he had been the one to do the leaving tonight.
And after all, he told himself, he had had her. He didn’t need her again.
He had already won one crucial battle—he had been able to force himself to pull away from the soft sweetness of her body and come back to this lonely room. True, every step he’d taken away from her had been like walking barefoot across broken glass, but the point was he had done it. If he went back to her now, it would be a defeat.
All he had to do was make it through the rest of the night without her, and then he would be all right.
There was just one thing: how in the hell was he supposed to do it?
And if somehow he managed to accomplish it, how would he get through tomorrow?
With a groan he rolled off the bed and went in search of his running shoes. A long, hard run until dawn would do the trick.
A premature darkness had come over SwanSea. Clouds that ranged in color from pewter to slate scudded across the sky, pushed by winds that carried the sure promise of a storm.
As Liana ran through the sculpture garden, the rose silk of her cape billowed out behind her, revealing the gray chiffon of the designer gown beneath.
“Double back, Liana,” Clay called, snapping picture after picture. “Good, now go on to that next sculpture.”
Off to the side, Richard watched broodingly as Liana stopped at a bronze form of Diana. The tall, leggy goddess had been sculpted with her garment flying out behind her as she paused midflight to look over her shoulder at a pursuer only she could see. Without being told, Liana emulated the goddess’s pose. With her pearl gray gown and the rose cape swirling around her, Liana held the edges of the cape’s hood and looked fearfully over her shoulder as if someone were chasing her.
This was the first time Richard had watched her work for any length of time, and he was struck by how demanding, both physically and mentally, her work was. He knew for a fact how little sleep she had gotten, yet there was no sign of how tired she had to be. She was able to strike the most difficult, awkward pose and make it look natural.
Amazing, he thought, recalling how hot and wildly responsive she had been the night before. Today she was as cool and as composed as the bronze statue she stood beside. She was exquisite in the long cape and gown, but last night, naked and flushed with passion, she had come to life and her beauty had transcended anything he had believed possible.
“Good, Liana, good,” Clay said. “Now open the cape a little more so we can see the dress. Okay, lift the skirt slightly. More. More. Give me another angle, tilt your head. Good.”
A pulse in Richard’s temple throbbed. Clay’s instructions to Liana were getting to him. Even if the man was her photographer, he had no right to order her around as he did. How could she stand it? She seemed to have all the patience in the world, whereas just the constant click and whir of the cameras we
re irritating him, grating against already raw nerves.
“Good,” Clay called. “Now look this way.”
She did and her gaze encountered Sarah, kneeling as usual beside Clay, watching her intently. Sara smiled at her. For some reason, the act broke Liana’s concentration, and the mood and attitude she had been adopting evaporated.
Clay cursed.
“Sorry,” Liana said automatically.
Sara rose gracefully to her feet and walked over to her. “It was my fault. You were just doing so great, I couldn’t help myself.”
Liana’s reply to the young girl lodged in her throat as she looked over Sara’s shoulder and saw Richard for the first time.
“Liana? Forgive me?”
“Don’t worry about it,” she murmured.
“Get into your next gown, Liana,” Clay said. “I want to use this pre-storm atmosphere as long as I can.”
“In a minute.”
“In a min—?” He broke off as he followed her gaze to Richard. He frowned, then shrugged. “Okay, go ahead. I need to check my film and change cameras anyway. But only a minute. Sara, Steve, let’s talk about the next series of shots.”
Richard crossed the distance that separated them, took Liana’s hand, and led her behind the changing tent where they were out of sight from the others.
Liana shivered. Violent, galvanic air surrounded them, but the weather had nothing to do with the electric current that seemed to arc about Richard. He carried his own energy field, and faced with such a force, she could only wait.
He stared at her for a long moment with eyes as dark as the clouds above them. Finally he flicked the wide ribbons that tied the cape closed at her neck. “You look as if you just stepped out of a tum-of-the-century scene.”
“That was the idea. A romantic look for a romantic setting. ”
“Romantic.” He repeated the word thoughtfully. “You’re certainly the right model for the job. Wearing that gown and cape, you have the perfect blend of femininity, fragility, and melting sensuality. But romance, Liana, is an ideal that doesn’t exist.”
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