Warm Hearts

by Barbara Delinsky

  “Are you kidding? I’ve been involved with you for weeks.”

  Her head bobbed up. “Weeks?”

  Patiently, he returned her head to his chest a second time. “Weeks.”

  “But why didn’t I know?”

  “Maybe because you were too busy. Or because you weren’t looking for anything. Or because you’re a lady. I’m not.”

  She grinned against his warm skin. “True. But still, if someone was watching me for that long, I should have felt it.”

  “Actually, I had reason to start looking,” he confessed, and went on to explain about the two girls who had lived in the loft before her. “You are a pleasant turn.”

  She considered that. “I don’t think I’ve ever been a turn before.”

  “Forget turn. Think pleasant. Then again, that’s a gross understatement.”

  She grinned again. “If you say so.”

  “You don’t think so?” He was the one to lift his head this time. “Hell, you’re spectacular! You handled Elliot perfectly and didn’t miss a beat when I arrived.”

  “I missed a couple right at the start. I never expected to see you sauntering in that way.”

  “But you knew who I was.”

  She nodded, then dropped her chin to his chest. “How’s the toe?”

  “Don’t feel a thing.”

  “That could be good or bad.”

  “I’ll worry about it later.”

  Her lips twitched mischievously. “How did you really bang it?”

  “On the front door downstairs, when I was in such a hurry to rescue you from Elliot.” He narrowed one eye. “How did you know I didn’t run into a trash can?”

  “You wouldn’t run into a trash can,” she said. “Besides, I knew you hadn’t been running. You were in your apartment right up to the point when Elliot arrived, and within five minutes of that you were here.” She paused. “You do run, though, don’t you?”

  “Not as much as I should. Mostly I play racquetball.”

  “Ahh.”

  “Ahh what?”

  “I was right. Those nights when I’d see you come home looking all grubby with your shirt hanging wide open, I guessed that you were coming from a club.”

  “If I had any brains, I’d shower there. But I always figure it’ll be a waste of time, since I’ll be sweaty again by the time I get home.” Abruptly he looked stricken, almost comically so. Closing a hand over each of her arms, he tried to raise her. “Lord, I didn’t think! I haven’t showered tonight. How can you stand me?”

  She denied his attempt to hold her away by exerting that little bit more force and said in a soothing voice, “I haven’t complained, have I?”

  “Maybe you’re too polite.”

  “And maybe I have a head cold.” But they both knew it wasn’t so, which made her point. “Relax. I like the way you smell.”

  Given her obvious sincerity, he did relax. Rather, he tried, but the directness of her gaze did something to him. It seemed to enter through his eyes and move downward, squeezing his heart, buzzing his stomach, settling with a hot thud in his loins.

  “Ever think of getting an air conditioner?” he asked. It was the first thing he could think of to say, and even then his voice sounded odd.

  “Yes, and decided no.”

  “Me, too.”

  “How long have you had your loft?” she asked, feeling slightly muddled herself. The husky sound of his voice, the solidity of his long body, the same scent he’d worried about—all conspired to stoke the desire she’d thought sated. And when she looked at him—looked him directly in the eye—she was lost.

  “Two years.” His hand began to move on her back, palm light, long fingers gliding over silk-smooth skin. “I had another place before that, but it wasn’t half as nice.”

  “Me, too. I can walk to work now.”

  “What do you do?”

  She inhaled a deep breath and rubbed her nose against his chest, then found that so delightful that she repeated the move with her cheek. His skin was warm, lean over muscle, softened by hair. And he smelled … so … good.

  “Caroline?”

  She raised her head. “Hmm?”

  It was a minute before he remembered what he’d been asking. He had to clear his throat before any sound emerged. “Work. What do you do?”

  “I’m a family therapist.”

  He smiled somewhat distractedly and murmured, “A helping profession. I figured something like that.”

  “You did?”

  He nodded, but very slowly. He was enchanted by the way her brows went up, widening her eyes. And those eyes … good Lord, he could drown. “It’s the way you walk,” he said in a sandy voice.

  “It can’t be.”

  He nodded again and as slowly.

  “That’s crazy,” she whispered. She was propped up on a hand that covered that faint rise of his chest, and she’d discovered that the slightest movement not only ruffled his chest hair but brought his nipple to a peak against her palm.

  Brendan shifted her gently until she was more fully atop him. His hands formed Vs beneath her arms, supporting her upper torso. His eyes slid from her mouth to her neck, then slowly, helplessly, drifted lower. “Not crazy. You walk lightly and quietly—” he took an unsteady breath “—but there’s a gentleness in your stride and a gracefulness in your legs. And—” his eyes grew smoky “—patience. You exude patience, all round and creamy, tipped with rose—”

  “My legs?”

  “Your breasts.” With ease and fluidity, he raised her until one of those breasts met his mouth, which latched on and began a sucking motion that brought a sweet cry to her lips.

  “Caroline.” His voice was hoarse around her budding flesh. “Caroline what?”

  She sucked in her breath and managed a strangled “Cooper,” as he tongued her nipple.

  It was a minute before he spoke again, and then it was in the thickest of whispers. “I want you again, Caroline Cooper. Slower this time. I want to savor every … single … sweet … spot.” He punctuated each word with gentle nips that left her a writhing mass of awakened sensuality.

  They did go more slowly this time, and Brendan wasn’t the only one to savor the details. While he worshiped her breasts, she ran her fingers through the vibrant tangle of his hair. While she delineated the virile contours of his chest with her mouth, he familiarized himself with the ivory sheen of her shoulders and back. While he explored her legs and thighs with hands that trembled, her own, trembling, too, discovered the flatness of his belly and the smooth, soft skin by his groin.

  The time for fantasy had passed. Everything they touched and tasted and felt was real. They flowed around and about each other, seeming suspended in time and space, yet acutely aware of each slow caress. The sweat that covered their bodies was an erotic conduit; the heat in the room was forgotten, overshadowed by the heat of desire.

  But there was a price to be paid for slowness. Their limbs began to quake with the burden of harnessed desire. Sweet torture, pleasure and pain, contorted their features. Anguished cries tore from their throats.

  When he could stand no more, Brendan turned them so that they were on their sides facing each other. He slid a leg between hers, then a hand to fill the gap he’d opened.

  At the first such caress, Caroline tightened her arm around his neck. She needed to hold on; the world seemed to be falling away with sudden speed. She didn’t know if it was the newness of Brendan that was so exciting, or if her reaction to him was pure chemistry, or if there were deeper factors at work. She did know that his most gentle touch was frighteningly intense—and that she needed more. With a low whimper, she arched closer.

  “Is it good?” he whispered as he watched a myriad of expressions cross her face. By concentrating on those expressions and on the sheer act of speech, he was hoping to stave off his own hunger a bit.

  She nodded. Another whimper slipped out.

  “You’re very soft there.” His fingers slid lower. “And moist
here.”

  She whispered his name, nothing more, but the wonder that filled her eyes was all the encouragement he needed.

  He continued his low crooning. “Do you know what it does to a man to touch a woman here? Such a private place. And here.” His finger entered her with ease and was quickly joined by a second. “No, no, don’t shut your eyes.”

  “I can’t help it.…” Barely a whisper.

  “Look at me, Caroline.”

  Only with great effort did she manage to obey. She felt dizzy, on a drugless high that threatened to blow her mind. Her fingers bit into his shoulders, and her whisper was broken. “When you do that to me…”

  He repeated the slow inner stroking. “This?”

  She groaned. “It’s not enough.”

  “What do you want?”

  She lowered one hand and touched him.

  The effect was like fire. He jerked, took several quick, shaky breaths and knew that he couldn’t last much longer. Her fingers surrounded him, knowing just what to do. He was almost as moist as she and from the same cause. Still he spoke, albeit in a voice rough with strain. “Do you want me inside?”

  She gave a vigorous nod. Her lips formed his name, then went on to whisper, “Now!”

  “My tongue?”

  “Oh!” she cried. The image he evoked was too strong. With a loud indrawn breath, she stiffened, then began to pant with the force of the inner explosion he’d caused.

  But the image had worked on him, too, or maybe it was the feel of her hidden flesh pulsing, or the closeness of her body. Within seconds, he’d withdrawn his hand, rolled her over and surged inside. The last of her spasms was more than enough to send him into euphoria. But that was only the beginning, for no sooner had that climax passed than they worked together toward another, then another.

  It was a long time before either of them was able to breathe with any degree of steadiness, and a lot longer before either spoke. Between utter exhaustion, intense satisfaction and the enervating heat of the night, they couldn’t move. The silence seemed enough.

  “Powerful,” Brendan whispered at last. His breath couldn’t begin to ruffle her hair, which was dripping with sweat but no more so than his own, which clung to his forehead.

  Caroline made a sound that was part hum, part moan, entirely in agreement with his assessment.

  “In all my dreaming I never imagined it quite like this,” he added.

  “I never let myself go half as far.”

  “You dreamed, too?”

  She gave another agreeing hum.

  “Tell me what you dreamed.”

  “I dreamed that you were tall and dark and handsome,” she said, nestling more comfortably against him. “And you are.”

  “I could argue, but if you think so, that’s enough. What else?”

  “I thought your nose would be straight.”

  “Sorry.”

  “And that you’d be aristocratic.”

  “Oops.”

  “No problem. In my dream, you’d renounced all that decadence, so the end result is the same.”

  “That makes me feel better. What else?”

  “That you were in your late thirties. I was on the button there.”

  “I dreamed that you were twenty-eight.”

  She tipped her head against his arm and awarded him a grin. “I like that.”

  “Was I right?”

  “Nope.”

  “Twenty-seven?”

  “What a diplomat you are.”

  “Okay. How old?”

  “Thirty-one.”

  “You’re kidding.”

  “Nope.”

  “The body I just ravished has been around that long?”

  “Now, wait a minute. I’m not exactly Methuselah. And who are you to talk? You have seven years on me.”

  “Which is just about right, don’t you think?”

  She caught in a breath, then let it out in a soft “Yes.”

  He seemed very pleased with that. “Okay. Go on. What else did you dream?”

  “That you were a doctor or a teacher.” When he raised a hand, thumb down, she hastened to add, “But a lawyer’s okay. My sister’s a lawyer. I can take it.”

  “Thank heavens for that.”

  “What kind of law?”

  “Criminal work.”

  “À la Perry Mason?”

  “Not quite. I work for the Justice Department.”

  “Do you now?” she asked with enthusiasm. Mentally she shifted the white hat from the head of a doctor or teacher to that of a loyal government employee.

  “’Fraid so.”

  “Why afraid? I think it’s great.”

  “There are many who’d disagree,” he said, thinking of one in particular, then quickly pushing her from his mind. “There is a stereotype of government bureaucrats sitting at their desks shuffling papers.”

  “Is that what you do?”

  “I often sit at my desk, but the only shuffling of papers I do is to organize one file and move on to the next.”

  “What’s in the files?”

  “Investigation reports, witness statements, a million documents. I work full-time on domestic terrorism.”

  “Bombings?”

  “Those and kidnappings and scores of other crimes or would-be crimes.”

  She couldn’t quite hide a shiver. “Sounds frightening.”

  “In the sense of the crimes being real, it is. Would that I were out of a job.”

  In spite of the subject matter, she had to smile. She’d said something very similar to Ben when he’d been so blithely commenting on her work, and it warmed her no end to know that Brendan shared her feelings. That warming livened her curiosity.

  “I don’t usually think of terrorism in relation to this country.”

  “Most people don’t. Maybe that’s because the most brutal acts of terrorism are still committed abroad. I’d like to think that the way this country’s run has something to do with that. We’re more vulnerable abroad, because we don’t have the same controls there that we do here.”

  “Controls and democracy—a strange pairing.”

  “Not really. The Declaration of Independence pledges to protect the rights of our citizens to life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness. Certain controls are necessary to protect those rights. The occasional traveler may complain about the security measures in airports, particularly when he’s stopped and searched for whatever set off an alarm, but, by far, the majority of us understand that our own safety is at stake. We appreciate the measures taken to secure it.”

  Caroline had been watching him as he talked and was fascinated. He was articulate, never slipping into the legalese some lawyers hid behind. He was also sincere. Honesty radiated from his eyes, and the relaxation of his mouth reflected his ease with his thoughts.

  “Don’t look at me that way,” he whispered. “It turns me on.”

  She blinked once, unaware of what she’d been doing. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to do that. It’s just that you have such strong conviction. It’s written all over your face.”

  What was written all over her face was admiration, but it wasn’t the kind that an empty-headed woman showed for a man snowing her with rhetoric. It was grounded in respect, and that was what was having such an effect on Brendan. It surprised him, actually. He’d never attributed sexual urges to respect. Of course, he realized they were indirectly related; if he respected the woman he was with, the sex was better. But the fact that the look on Caroline’s face excited him had deeper implications, ones he wasn’t quite ready—or able—to consider just then.

  “I think I need a cool shower,” he said.

  “Is there danger involved?”

  “In a cool shower?”

  “In what you do. If you’re dealing with terrorists, you have to be putting your own life on the line.”

  The concern he heard in her voice was adding to his woes. Concern … a sexual turn-on? He’d never have believed it before, but the proof wa
s growing quickly. He tried to drag up an image of the most dangerous, the most despicable, the most offensive of terrorists. “I don’t deal with them directly, not often.”

  “Do you try cases?” she asked, raising herself to see him better. The movement shifted her legs between his, brought her tummy warmly against his hip and her breasts against his ribs.

  “On occasion.” He cleared his throat. “Caroline, I do need a shower. How about we take one?” He felt he could handle showering with her better than he could handle lying naked with her. It would be all too easy to make love to her again, when what he really wanted was to talk, which they wouldn’t do if they stayed as they were.

  Caroline, who’d been totally immersed in thoughts of his work, wasn’t quite sure what to make of his sudden wish for a shower. Though the room was still hot, the sweat had dried somewhat on their bodies. She wondered if he was looking for an excuse to get away. Some men wanted to be left alone after sex. He’d seemed perfectly comfortable to lie with her up until now, but maybe restlessness had caught up to him.

  Her expression dropped, torn between apology and disappointment. “Am I asking too many questions? You’re probably bombarded with the same ones over and over again. I’m sorry. It must get a little tedious … but I’d really like to hear more. I haven’t known many lawyers. My sister is in corporate work, which is completely different—”

  He stilled her babbling with a single, firm finger against her lips. “No, you’re not asking too many questions. I’m glad you’re interested, and I’ll tell you everything you want to know later, but I’m gettin’ pretty hard with you snuggling against me like this. I don’t want you to think I have a one-track mind, because I really don’t. It’s just that my hard part doesn’t want to listen to my softer parts. In short,” he said, catching a breath, “if we don’t get off this rug right now, you’ll have raw buns tomorrow.”

  Caroline’s cheeks grew red and she said, “Oh,” so sheepishly that he gave her a fierce hug.

  “Come on,” he growled. “Let’s shower. I want to know if your water pressure is as lousy as mine.”

  It was, but that took little pleasure from the time they spent under the spray. They were completely at ease with each other, talking gently as they soaped, shampooed and rinsed themselves.

  Brendan was pleased that Caroline showed neither coyness nor modesty. As he’d dreamed, she was comfortable with herself as a woman, and the idea that she was comfortable enough with him to relax in such an intimate, if nonsexual, activity was gratifying.