by Laura Moore
“Take my station wagon,” his aunt offered. “You’ll have more room.”
“Thanks. You won’t be needing it?”
“Well, if I have to go anywhere, I’ll just borrow the Aston,” she informed him breezily.
“On second thought . . .” Alex backpedaled hastily.
Mrs. Miller heaved a heavy sigh. “Oh, very well. I’ll leave the Aston alone—although I’ve gotten very good at driving it, if I do say so myself.” Turning to Gen, she said, “Have you driven it yet, Genevieve?”
“Unfortunately, no. Though not for lack of trying,” she added with a small smile. “I imagine it’s a truly fine machine to drive.”
Mrs. Miller leaned forward and the candlelight caught the sparkle of excitement in her eyes. “Just wait till you feel it beneath your hands, Genevieve. All that power humming, responding.”
Alex doubled over, seized by a fit of strangled coughing. Gen waited for him to stop before leaning back against the cushions with a grin. “Mmm, I’ve got goose bumps already.”
“Right.” Alex shook his head with exasperation that Gen imagined was only partly feigned. “That’s it. I’m taking the Aston’s keys with me. You two are terrifying me.”
“Oh, Alex, really!” his aunt protested.
“Sorry, Mrs. Miller,” Gen said in commiseration. “It looks like we’re stuck with Hugo the Yugo.”
“At least you can’t try and break the sound barrier in that thing,” he said, unswayed.
“Killjoy,” she taunted, biting the inside of her cheek to keep a straight face.
“Sticks and stones,” he replied easily. Bending over the tray Gen had brought, he lifted the grappa bottle by its slender neck. “Aunt Grace, would you like a drop more?”
“No, thank you, dear. I’ll just finish what’s left in my glass. The Martin Sheen special is on in fifteen minutes.”
A comfortable silence settled over the porch as Alex unstoppered the bottle and poured himself some grappa. Snifter in hand, he walked over to the settee and sat down on the cushion next to Gen. The weight of his body caused hers to shift and her shoulder brushed his. All too aware of Mrs. Miller ensconced in the nearby chair, Gen straightened, her posture ramrod straight, and did her best to ignore Alex.
At least she tried to.
But then he casually lifted his arm and laid it along the back of the settee. His hand wasn’t touching her. But perversely, that made her all the more conscious of him.
She sat there, wanting him so, she thought she might expire if she couldn’t touch him. Hoping the night air would calm her, she drew in a deep breath, only to inhale the tantalizing scent of his cologne.
She was suddenly, intensely grateful for the porch’s subdued lighting, certain the rush of desire she felt was stamped on her face, as damning as the A on Hester Prynne. In the quiet calm her breathing sounded unnaturally harsh. Hastily she lifted her cup to her lips and pretended to sip her tepid tea.
Surreptitiously she stole a glance at Alex.
He was staring meditatively into the pool of clear liquid at the bottom of his glass, watching it slosh gently back and forth. Raising the glass to his lips, he downed it. Mesmerized she watched the muscles of his throat work as he swallowed the fiery alcohol, and felt an answering heat flow through her.
Gen closed her eyes, secretly savoring the sensation. Next to her, Alex shifted again. Reaching forward he set the glass on the coffee table, and his hand, the one resting on the back of the settee, grazed her naked shoulder. Lust, wild and electric, sizzled through her.
She barely stifled her gasp.
Luckily Mrs. Miller chose that moment to rise to her feet. “It’s upstairs for me. My program beckons. No, don’t get up, Alex,” she said when he made to stand politely. “You two stay here. It’s a lovely night for star gazing. Good night, Genevieve.”
“Good night,” Gen replied in a voice that sounded far too tremulous.
Neither Alex nor Gen spoke as Mrs. Miller walked away. It was as if both were concentrating on the sound of her footsteps on the porch, the drawn-out creak of the spring followed by the sound of the screen door slamming. There was a brief silence, then the deliberate tread of feet marching up the steps.
Gen and Alex had gone up and down those steps so many times now. . . . By the count of fourteen, their reaction was simultaneous. Explosive.
They reached for each other, Alex hauling her to him as Gen’s hands tangled in his hair, dragging his mouth to hers.
They kissed as though starved for each other. Alex tasted like grappa, dangerous and potent. Her tongue dueled with his and she grew drunk with pleasure.
They touched, greedy to relearn curves and magic places. When Alex’s hands streaked over her to cup her breasts and fondle them through the thin cotton of her dress, she arched against him in a provocative plea.
His lips left hers as he gasped for breath, gazing at her with eyes that shone bright with desire. He made a sound that was half laugh, half groan. “Christ, that was quite possibly the longest fifteen minutes of my life. I love my aunt. I love Cassie and the twins. Hell, I probably even love Caleb, my brother-in-law. But right now I wish they’d all just disappear.”
“You do? Why?”
“I don’t want to share you. And they arrive tomorrow. After that, things will be as busy as a three-ring circus.”
Happiness flooded Gen. Knowing that Alex felt the same as she bolstered her previously failing courage, made the prospect of facing his family and associates much easier to bear. “A three-ring circus?” She smiled. “I’m sure it won’t be that bad.”
“Yeah, it will be. I was going quietly insane waiting for Aunt Grace to leave. God, you look beautiful in that dress. All evening long I’ve been thinking about touching you.” His gaze fastened on her lips. He brought his mouth to hers and with the tip of his tongue traced its lush contours. She moaned, parting for him, inviting him in.
Alex didn’t need a second invitation. With a low rumble of satisfaction, his tongue swept inside, rubbing against hers over and over again.
By the time their lips parted, his hands were roving over her possessively. Through half-lowered lids, he watched his hands move to the row of buttons at the front of her dress, freeing the material, opening it, exposing the gentle slopes of her breasts. The last button released, he pushed the narrow straps off her shoulders. The shiftlike dress slipped to her waist.
She shivered, but not from the cold. “Alex—”
At the sound of his name tumbling from her lips, he raised his head. His features were stark in the candlelight. “You’re so damned lovely,” he whispered hoarsely. “I’m dying here—God help me, I feel like I’ll die if I can’t touch you.” His hands slid down to encircle her waist. His grip tightened, drawing her underneath him.
“No! Wait!” The words came out a stifled cry as Gen felt herself fall back onto the cushions. “We can’t make love here on the porch! Your aunt—”
“Has the TV’s volume cranked so she won’t miss a word Martin Sheen utters,” he finished, following her down, his hands already slipping her bunched dress down her legs. They streaked back up the length of her inner leg, setting off tiny explosions of pleasure, and then slowed so his fingers could graze her panties. At his touch, everything tightened inside Gen. Her hips rose in wanton invitation.
“Yes, that’s it,” he encouraged. His fingers massaged her in slow, wicked circles till her hips danced beneath him.
Inflamed, Gen grappled with the button at his waistband and jerked the zipper down, freeing him. He sprang into her eager hands, hot as silk warmed by the sun, hard as tempered steel. She closed her fingers around him, moving up and down, testing and teasing.
“Oh, Jesus, Gen.” Alex groaned and shoved a hand into his pocket, withdrawing the small packet. With a frantic savagery, he ripped it open with his teeth. “Quickly,” he commanded, pressing the condom into her palm.
Driven by the same mad need as he, Gen smoothed the latex over him in one hur
ried pass. Then he was positioning her, spreading her legs wide, and lifting them around his lean hips. Poised to plunge into her welcoming heat, his eyes locked with hers. “Time to see the stars, love.”
And then he took her flying to meet them.
They abandoned the settee on the porch with reluctance, and only when the night air became too cold for them to ignore. Replete, with their rumpled clothes only partially refastened, Alex and Gen wandered arm in arm back to the studio. As they’d idly discussed their options, Gen had said that she didn’t want to risk disturbing Mrs. Miller by going up to Alex’s room. What she chose not to voice was her other reason for avoiding making love in his bedroom: she didn’t want the memory of Sydney coming between them.
“I’ll go wherever you want, sweetheart,” Alex had murmured agreeably. “It doesn’t matter to me. As long as I get to have my arms around you.” As if underscoring his words, his arms had tightened about her as he’d pressed a kiss on her still-damp temple. “I’m never going to think of this porch in quite the same way,” he’d mused, a smile in his voice.
Neither would she, Gen thought, and after they’d made love again in the studio, she knew, too, that she’d never forget a single one of his hushed endearments or his slow, devastating caresses as he rocked her into sweet ecstasy.
Afterward, they dozed, limbs entwined, and awakened to find their passion newly roused. Shifting, sliding, their parts became one again as together they found what they were seeking.
Exhaustion finally claimed them and they slept. At some point a sound penetrated Gen’s slumber: Murphy’s nails clicking as he walked over to his water bowl, lapped at it with his tongue, and then returned to his dog bed. She stirred enough to note that Alex and she had changed positions in the night. Alex’s warm body was curled around her, spoonlike, his arms holding her even as he slept. His deep, even breathing fanned the back of her neck. She smiled as she recalled the dream she’d been having, a lovely dream in which warm breezes played over her skin. Now she knew where all that heavenly warmth came from. She wriggled backward for a snugger fit, loving the slight tickling sensation of his groin rubbing her bottom, sighing with pleasure when Alex mumbled something in her hair and pulled her even closer.
For several moments she lay awake, luxuriating in the happiness she’d found. So many firsts today, she thought, this one the latest in a string of profound discoveries. She’d never shared a bed before, and yet there was no awkwardness lying here with Alex, only a sense of rightness. Gen shut her eyes. Matching her breathing to his, she slipped back into sleep with a smile on her face.
It felt as if only minutes had passed when the telephone’s ring jarred her awake. The studio was still dark. By the second ring panic had seized her. No one would be calling her now unless there was some kind of emergency. Granny Jane? Her grandmother’s name was the first to spring into her mind. Oh, God, no, please no, she thought, terrified, already scooting toward the edge of the futon and grabbing the phone off the floor.
“Hello?” she whispered, her voice hoarse with sleep and fear.
“Hello, Genevieve, it’s me.”
“Jiri?” she said in blank astonishment. She sank back down onto the bed, instinctively adjusting her body as Alex’s arm slipped around her, pulling her back, his hand cupping her breast.
“Yes. Genevieve, I have big news—”
With equal parts relief and annoyance, Gen interrupted him. “Jiri, it’s only”—she paused and lifted Alex’s arm to peer at the illuminated dial of his watch, then carefully lowered it so his hand lay over her breast once more—“quarter of five in the morning!”
Jiri made a sound like a verbal shrug. “I have meeting in one half hour and you get up soon anyhow. Listen, Genevieve, like I said, great news. They give me retrospective in Berlin next year.”
Behind her, Alex shifted, pressing his groin into her. His hand began lazily massaging her breast.
“Mmm, that’s wonderful,” she said, a great deal more warmth infusing her voice.
On the other end, Jiri laughed heartily. “Yes. Only you understand how I feel. Berlin, a triumph! But, Genevieve, there’s more. I have special surprise for you—I miss you. I miss you so much I plan special trip just to see you and tell you the surprise. I come to New York week after next.”
Jiri’s words registered only vaguely. The feel of Alex’s penis jutting against her buttocks was too distracting to concentrate on a phone conversation. Still, she knew Jiri was pleased. With an effort she managed a cheery, “That’s great. Call me when you get to New York, ’bye.” She let the phone fall from her fingers.
“That was Jiri?” Alex’s teeth grazed the line of her shoulder.
“Yes,” she answered faintly, arching sinuously against him as she sighed with pleasure. Her sigh became a gasp as Alex flexed his hips, sliding his erection between her thighs. His hand traveled over her hips, then farther down till his fingers found her. He parted her slick lips, opening her, and she trembled for him.
“What did he want?” his voice breathed in her ear.
“Want?”
“Jiri.” His teeth closed about her, nipping her neck lightly, as a stallion would his mare.
She whimpered in need and frustration. Why were they talking about this when he was doing such wonderful things to her body? “He’s got a retrospective in Berlin,” she gasped. “He wanted to share the news.”
His fingers were inside her now, sliding in and out while his thumb rubbed her clitoris, exerting just enough pressure to drive her wild. Her inner muscles clenched about him as shocks of pleasure rocked her.
“That’s all?” he murmured.
“All? Yes!” Teetering on the edge of her orgasm, she cried, “Alex, would you please stop”—half sobbing when his hand stilled—“no, I mean talking!” With a desperate whimper she moved against his hand. “Please, Alex, I need you inside me, loving me.”
“Always,” he promised huskily, kissing the hollow behind her ear. “Now, lift your leg over mine, sweetheart, and you’ll get your wish.”
NINETEEN
You’re sure Jiri didn’t say when he’d be com“Ying to New York?” Alex asked Gen later that morning as they sat at the kitchen table.
Gen glanced up from the shopping list she was writing in time to see Alex tear his slice of toast in two and slip one half to a drooling Murphy. She sighed and gave a rueful shake of her head. Obviously if she wanted to maintain any control over these two males, she’d better lay down some ground rules—but for now she was too content to bother.
Picking up her cup of coffee she sipped the strong brew, her gaze lingering on Alex’s face. Lord, the man was gorgeous, she thought. His hair was already dry from the outdoor shower they’d shared, its ends curling at the edge of his collar. Her fingers itched to run through it, feel its silky texture. The shirt he’d chosen was a deep azure blue that turned his eyes an almost exact match. He’d left the top two buttons undone, exposing the tanned column of his neck. She knew exactly how his skin would taste.
“So?” Alex prompted. He was looking at her with his eyebrows raised in amusement. Obviously he’d been waiting for her to reply to whatever he’d said, and she’d been gazing at him as though struck dumb by love.
Love? Did she love Alex? No, no, she reassured herself hurriedly. It was too soon, too fast, and besides, she wasn’t ready for that kind of complication in her life. But Gen readily admitted that she was very, very happy. Happier than she’d ever been in her life. The pleasure she derived from watching him, listening to him, simply being with him was bone deep and incomparably wonderful.
“Are you sure you put coffee in that cup, Monaghan?” Alex’s voice broke into her thoughts. “ ’Cause you seem a little dreamy-eyed.” He nodded at the mug she held suspended in midair.
“What?” She looked at the object in question. “Oh, coffee. Right.” She took a sip, swallowed, and said, “Now what were you saying?”
He shook his head. “Jiri,” he repeated with exagge
rated care. “When did he say he was coming?”
“Soon, I guess. Next week. Maybe it was the week after.” She shrugged.
“Did he say why he was coming?” Alex asked.
“He’s been offered a retrospective, which means he’s probably coming to New York to meet with his dealer and the gallery that represents him. They’ll have to go over his entire list and make sure they know where all his works are currently. You know, for loans and stuff.” She took another sip of the bracing coffee. “Why are you so interested in Jiri?”
“Merely curious.” Alex gave a casual shrug. “And he didn’t say anything else?”
She put down the coffee cup and regarded him curiously. She couldn’t understand this fascination with Jiri’s comings and goings.
Could he actually be jealous? No, that would be ridiculous, she thought, discarding the idea immediately. What could Alex possibly be jealous about, especially after their lovemaking?
She cocked her head, a smile playing over her mouth. “You know, it’s funny,” she drawled, “but everything Jiri said at the crack of dawn this morning is a bit fuzzy in my mind. I wonder why.” She pretended to think. “Oh, yes, maybe it has something to do with the fact that I was a wee bit distracted during the conversation.”
“Only a wee bit?” A knowing and very cocky grin spread over Alex’s face. “Gen, you wound me.”
“Yeah, well, I’m pretty sore too,” she returned lightly.
Alex’s grin vanished. In a flash he was around the table and crouching by her side. He took her hands in his. “Damn,” he swore softly. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. I should have been more careful with you.”
Her heart squeezed tight at the worry in his voice.
Who could blame her if she were to fall head over heels in love with him? a little voice inside her asked. His obvious concern was so, well, darned adorable.
