by Alicia Scott
She put on the potatoes, prepared the steaks for broiling and readied a tossed salad while they cooked. At the last moment, she realized she didn’t have anything for dessert, then remembered the raspberries they’d picked. She also recalled the way he’d plucked the raspberry from her fingers with his teeth. And the way his mouth had felt on her breast.
She whipped up some fresh cream, layering it with the raspberries in a simple parfait, hoping the berries might bring back memories for Garret, as well. Her stomach began to tighten with anticipation, and her hands shook as she set the old, warped dining room table.
At the last moment, she lit two slender vanilla candles, lending the room a soft, mysterious glow and adding a final, delicate fragrance. She took another deep breath and pressed her hand against her stomach as she looked at her old dining room suddenly transformed into an intimate scene for two.
She could do this.
She would do this.
The timer went off in the kitchen, and she retrieved the steaks. She was just pulling them out of the oven when Garret walked into the kitchen.
“Are we ready?”
Probably not. “Yes.”
“Is there something I can do?”
Toss me over your shoulder, carry me upstairs and make me forget my own name. “Salad’s ready for the table.”
“Got it. Anything else?”
Kiss me. Please. “No, that’s all.”
He disappeared into the dining room, and she dragged in a deep lungful of air and resolutely squared her shoulders. She put the steaks and mashed potatoes on serving plates and marched into the dining room.
They sat down and, after a short, awkward silence, began passing the food between themselves. Garret didn’t say much as he forked the larger steak and placed it on his plate. He simply watched her intensely, while her nerves bunched tighter and tighter.
She didn’t eat during dinner. She moved the food around on her plate and watched him. The way he moved, the way he ate. The way his foot tapped restlessly throughout the whole meal. The way his partially unbuttoned shirt revealed the sprinkling of dark black hair waiting to be touched.
She’d run her fingers through that hair, flatten her palms against that chest. She’d press her lips against his throat and taste his salty, tangy skin.
He sat back at last, taking a long, finishing sip of iced tea. His gaze went to the candles and then to her plate of carefully cut and completely rearranged food. But still he didn’t say anything.
“I made dessert,” she whispered. His dark eyes rested on her flushed cheeks, and he nodded.
The plates trembled in her hands when she picked them up, but she managed not to drop anything. At the last minute, he stopped her with a hand on her arm. He looked her straight in the eye. “It’s okay,” he said quietly. “There’s no need to be so nervous.”
She nodded, but her hands shook harder at his words. In the kitchen, she dropped all the dishes in the sink and braced herself against the counter. She closed her eyes and took one last deep breath. This was what she wanted. With Garret. Garret, who filled her with fire.
She reached into the refrigerator and took out a single parfait. Then she walked back to the dining room. She froze in the archway, looking at the candlelight flicker over the high ceiling, her doll cabinet, her old, warped table.
She moved into the room, and each footstep seeming like a mile, walked over to where he sat. Her hands trembled on the parfait and her face was pale. But his dark gaze held her own and that gave her strength. Slowly, she swung one leg over his chair and sat down intimately on his lap.
For the first time, she allowed a small smile to tremble around the corners of her mouth. She held up the parfait, her hazel eyes shiny and beguiling by candlelight. “I brought you dessert,” she said quietly.
His eyes never left her face. “You’re beautiful,” he whispered. Carefully, his hands closed around her waist and shifted her just enough to let her know her effect on him. She gasped softly, and color flushed her cheeks. But she didn’t move away.
Instead, she dipped one finger into the parfait and scooped up a swirl of fresh cream and ripe raspberries. Then, delicately, she offered it to him. “Raspberries?” she asked.
He chuckled with delight. “My favorite,” he assured her, and closed his lips around her finger. He sucked slow and deep, his tongue swirling around her finger. She shivered, and his eyes glowed his encouragement.
She removed her finger from his mouth and dipped it once more into the cool parfait. This time, she popped her finger between her own pursed lips, licking the last of the cream from her fingertip with meaningful deliberation. Garret’s eyes flashed dark fire and narrowed intently.
He took the parfait from her grasp and set it on the table. His large hands smoothed up her back, his thumbs brushing the sides of her breasts. She watched him with tawny eyes, her breath heavy with the anticipation. Then slowly, he drew the rubber band from her braid and freed the delicate, silky strands of her hair. With his thumb, he followed the curve of her cheek, the elegant column of her neck.
And then he drew her forward and kissed her softly on the lips. “Tell me, Suzanne,” he whispered against her skin, finding the indent of her lips with his tongue. “Tell me what you want.”
“Need,” she sighed, arching against his touch. He smiled, masculine and sure.
“So we’re back to need.” He kissed the other corner of her mouth, then the throbbing pulse at the base of her throat. “Then tell me what you need, sweetheart. I want to hear it from your lips.”
“Make…” She had to moisten her lips, the words catching in her throat. She looked at him again, her eyes already molten gold and heavy lidded. “Make love to me, Garret. Please.”
His lips consumed hers, his tongue plunging into her mouth, deep and slow and promising. He nipped her ear, her neck, then buried his face between her breasts, breathing in the warm, seductive scent of roses. Taking his time, he moved his head and tongued her nipple through the thin fabric of her dress.
She cried out at the electric touch, arching against him, her hands tightening fiercely on his shoulders.
He raised his head, his own eyes heavy and glittering with desire.
“Shall I take you upstairs?” he asked thickly.
She nodded, her arms tightening around him.
“No regrets?”
“No regrets,” she agreed.
He swung her up into his arms, rising from the table and heading for the stairs. “Remember that, sweetheart. Remember that.”
Chapter 8
Upstairs, Suzanne looked at the stark simplicity of her room, her virginal bed and childhood curtains, and knew a moment of uncertainty. But then Garret’s mouth was upon her own, his lips sure and knowing, his tongue delving and plunging with a master’s touch. He stoked fires deep down in her belly and ignited fantasies far more primal than an adolescent’s dream.
She squeezed her eyes shut and trusted herself to this man she’d selected more than fifteen years ago.
His large hands smoothed down her sides, his thumbs curving over her breasts, around her hips. She shifted from side to side with restlessness, feeling at once voluptuous and empty. She wanted more, needed more, from him.
Her hands combed through his hair impatiently, her palm rasping over the shadow of his beard. Suddenly, she kissed him fiercely, earning a low chuckle from his throat.
“Easy, sweetheart. We have all night.”
Her eyes narrowed at the smoothness of his words and she pressed the palm of her other hand against his rigid outline. His chuckle ended in a low moan, his hips arching against her touch, and she felt a measure of satisfaction. She didn’t want to burn alone.
His fingers skimmed down her back, quickly finding and releasing the tie at her waist. Holding her hands above her head, she let him strip her dress up and off to lie in a puddle on the floor. The warm night wrapped around her, soft and sultry like velvet. For a long, burning moment, his gaze simply dr
ank in her rounded form clad only in a thin pink slip, his dark eyes gleaming and honest with desire.
“You are so beautiful,” he whispered hoarsely. She blushed all the way to her toes and thought again of the fifteen pounds she’d really meant to lose. But the minute she tried to cover herself, he grabbed her hand.
“No. Don’t. Just trust me on this.”
She wanted to. She wanted to be beautiful to him. She wanted him to look at her and feel the same hot, maddening desire that flared in her own blood every time she looked at him. But he was a purely, primal creation, muscles as well-defined and rippling as those carved on Greek statues. She reached out a trembling hand and ran it down his clothed arm with wide, guileless eyes. In response, he slowly began unbuttoning his shirt.
Her eyes drifted up to find his own hungry ones, and the passion in his gaze was unmistakable. She reached forward and slid his open shirt from his shoulders. His hands closed around her waist and jerked her against him. With a sigh, she relented, wrapping her long arms around his shoulders and arching her neck for his kiss.
His belt dug against the soft skin of her belly, but she didn’t care. She just wanted his tongue, plunging and probing her mouth with luscious promise. She reveled in the taste of raspberries and fresh cream mixing with the dark, masculine taste that was purely Garret’s alone. She felt his hands in her hair, his shadowed cheeks burning against her own, his iron chest flattening her breasts.
One hand scooped down to her knees, and he lifted her up a second time, carrying her over to the bed.
He set her down carefully on the mattress as if she was something precious and dear. She allowed herself to feel that way because this was the moment when she could be all the things she never would be by the light of day. So when his eyes caressed her figure once more, sliding down the sleek length of her pink slip, she didn’t try to cover herself. She simply watched him with trusting eyes and took pleasure in the desire tightening his jaw.
He bent over her and kissed her lips lightly. Then he trailed his lips lower, finding the sweet curve of her neck as she sighed and arched up. His head drifted lower still, his tongue making languorous circles as he dipped between her breasts and inhaled the soft, delicate scent of roses.
He pushed down the slender straps of her slip with large hands just beginning to tremble. She lifted her hips willingly, and the slip slid off the side of the bed to the floor. Taking a deep breath, she reached up and unfastened his belt buckle with shaking fingers. The belt slithered down and landed with a soft thud.
Her hands rested on the waistband of his jeans; she could feel his heat just inches from her fingers. But at the last minute, she just couldn’t. He was so large and so powerful, and she knew it was going to hurt just as she knew that the pain was also part of the experience. She closed her eyes, a tremor running through her, and wished he would kiss her again so she’d feel only the hunger and none of the dread for what had to come.
As if he was reading her mind, his warm palm cupped her cotton-covered breast and his thumb rasped across her nipple. She gasped, her muscles instantly melting and arching against the sensation. His thumb moved again, sending bolts of desire firing down into her belly. Then he lowered his head and took the turgid nipple into his mouth.
She moaned helplessly, tangling her hands into his silky black hair and pressing him closer. He pulled down her bra, finding and suckling her exposed nipple with exquisite hunger. Then he raised a hand to her mouth, and as he suddenly sucked hard, she sank her teeth into his thumb.
The bed sagged as he abruptly rolled onto it, then carried her up and onto his chest. His tongue plunged into her mouth, its exploration no longer gentle and probing, but fierce and explicit about his desire. His hips arched and rocked against her scantily clad core, making her gasp and moan. She ran her fingers down his arm, raking him lightly with her nails, and was rewarded with a devilish groan.
“You like to play tough, huh?” he teased gruffly. His eyes narrowing, he nipped at her neck, taking the tender skin between his teeth and sucking delicately. She arched her back and shivered against him.
Her bra disappeared, freeing her breasts so he could cup and roll them in his hands, bring the nipples to his lips and suckle them fiercely, then feel her hips twist and churn with restless anticipation. Then, to be sure, he slid a hand into her panties and cupped her intimately.
She whimpered low in her throat and his blood boiled.
Slowly, almost leisurely, he slid a single finger into her warm, wet core. She went wild against him, writhing at his touch, gasping against his throat. She had never wanted anything as much as she wanted this, never thought she could feel such fierceness.
His finger moved slow and steady inside her, and the tension built and built until her teeth sank into her lower lip and her neck strained with the gasping need.
“Give me a second, sweetheart,” Garret groaned, his voice so thick she barely recognized it.
He rolled from her in one swift motion, rising up until she almost cried out her loss. But then as she watched, he stood before her and unfastened his jeans, pulling the uncomfortable fabric from his lean, sculpted legs until he stood before her, naked and powerful. With a low, muttered oath, he wrestled with the pocket of his jeans, finally producing his wallet and withdrawing a condom. Her eyes widening, she watched him roll it on, her body still trembling, her mind finally registering what was about to happen.
For long seconds, she simply stared and willed herself to swallow.
He was huge. Powerful, formidable, made of granite. He was going to rip her in half. How could he not? Unconsciously, she crushed the folds of the quilt in her hands.
Slowly, she forced her gaze up and met his hungry, passionate stare. This was Garret, the man who’d never liked to see girls cry. The man who’d taken on Tank Nemeth just for her. This was Garret.
She held out her arms.
His knee settled between her legs, and she opened them accordingly, accepting what was to come as her choice and her will. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders, closing her eyes as her panties slid to the floor. Her body stiffened, and at any minute, she expected to feel a horrible, renting pain. His fingers brushed through her curls and her hips jerked unconsciously. Then his thumb rubbed against her, and warmth flooded through her once more.
He made small, soothing circles that forced low, needful moans from her throat. The mattress shifted, and this time she wrapped her legs around his waist and offered herself completely to him. He kissed her deeply, and just as his tongue mated with her mouth, he plunged into her.
He knew instantly he’d done something wrong. Her whole body went rigid, her teeth sinking into his shoulder. She wasn’t just tight, she was tight. All of a sudden, he knew. Damn, he’d expected her to be fairly inexperienced, but a virgin? A thirty-two-year-old virgin?
“Suzanne,” he groaned, feeling at once helpless and on fire. His desire-soaked mind sought desperately what to do, while his body moved without his consent, seeking satisfaction, needing coupling. She shifted uncomfortably beneath him, and that only made matters worse. “Suzanne,” he urged, his voice thick, his throat choked, “don’t move, okay? Just don’t move.”
“No,” she told him simply, and experimentally rotated her hips. Pain rocketed through her, but it wasn’t as bad as before. Now, it was merely uncomfortable. She felt Garret shudder above her with the force of his need and held on to him all the more tightly. Once more, she moved.
He groaned, losing the war and hating himself for his defeat. He tried to be slow and gentle; he tried to make something of it for her. But her body was so tender and his passion so fierce. He buried his face in her neck, breathing in the scent of roses, and felt the satisfaction rip through him like a raging river.
He poured into her and felt her hands soothe down his back.
“It’s all right,” she whispered. “It’s all right.”
Afterward, he rolled off her and lay on his back, while she curled at his s
ide, her legs coming together instinctively. She could still hear his ragged breath, still feel the ache between her legs, but more than all that, she was aware of the tension that still radiated between them. Suddenly, with a muttered curse, Garret shot off the bed and strode angrily across the hardwood floor.
She watched him-go without saying a word, but her eyes began to burn.
Moments later, however, he returned. The condom was gone, and now he held a wet washcloth in his hand. Without asking, he sat down beside her and slowly eased her legs apart. He pressed the warm washcloth against her and she flinched from the immediate sting.
“You should have told me,” he said flatly. She risked a glance to find all the warmth gone from his eyes. Instead, the black depths registered a tight anger.
“It doesn’t matter,” she said simply. He eased the washcloth down the inside of her thighs and her cheeks flushed.
“The hell it doesn’t,” he informed her curtly. “If I’d known, I could’ve—”
“Could’ve what, Garret? Could have turned away? Could have said no?”
He glared at her darkly. “Could have made it better.”
She shrugged, having to look away. He was sitting naked by her side as casually as if he was suited up for tea. He had a washcloth pressed against the most intimate part of her body while the rest of her sprawled naked across her bed. And they were arguing. It wasn’t how she’d imagined the “moment after” to be.
Maybe she should have told him, but there were things she just didn’t want him to know, little pieces of herself she needed to hold back. That way, when he left in the end, the pain wouldn’t be so bad. If she’d told him, perhaps he wouldn’t have made love to her. If she’d told him, perhaps he would have thought it was something special. And she would never admit that to him.
“It’s done now,” she said at last, forcing herself to meet his eyes. “It’s okay. I knew it would hurt. It’s just the way it is for a woman.”
He looked at her for a long moment, his eyes unreadable, but his jaw still rigid.
