WHEN A MAN LOVES A WOMAN

by Bonnie K. Winn

  Carefully he placed the bandanna over her eyes and she found herself giggling, willingly falling under his spell, even as her senses were heightened by his touch. "Are we going to be the Lone Ranger and Tonto?"

  He snorted. "Some action hero you'd have been. The Lone Ranger wouldn't have gotten very far blindfolded. That was a mask he was wearing."

  She just giggled harder.

  "Okay, we're going to sit down now," Kenneth instructed, taking her arms and guiding her into a lotus position.

  "In the middle of the kitchen floor?" she questioned.

  He sighed mightily. "You're the one who questioned my originality."

  "Objection, Your Honor. Counsel was badgering the witness."

  "Objection overruled. The witness acted on her own recognizance."

  "Picky, picky…" she muttered.

  "I don't believe the court accepts that legal lingo," he replied. "Off with your head."

  "As long as the punishment fits the crime," she muttered, hearing the refrigerator door opening. She cocked her head. "What are you doing?"

  "That's for me to know and you to wonder."

  "You're not planning to dump ketchup on me, are you?" she asked, only half joking.

  "That's juvenile. Not original. Now open your mouth."

  She envisioned bugs, wriggling snakes and cold, wet, slimy things. Scooting back a bit, she shook her head and reached her hands toward the bandanna, ready to tug it off. "I don't want to."

  "Objection overruled. Now open."

  She opened her mouth to protest and felt the brush of his fingers, then the ripe, lush taste of strawberries. Entranced, she chewed, then sighed. "Okay … that wasn't so bad." The idea of him hand-feeding her was so sensual that she didn't dare admit more. The tingle that raced through her body had nothing to do with strawberries and everything to do with his touch.

  "You're too kind," he replied dryly.

  "We can't have counsel getting overconfident," she replied, savoring the lingering taste of the strawberries, the touch of his fingers as they hovered near her mouth.

  "Not much chance of that," he muttered. She heard a rustling of paper. "Okay, time to open."

  If it was wrapped in paper, she reasoned, it couldn't be a slimy bug. Could it? Bravely she opened her mouth about an eighth of an inch.

  "A little wider." His tone was dry.

  She inched her mouth open a bit more and was rewarded with a compact piece of chocolate. "Hershey's Kisses!" she announced triumphantly.

  "Very good. Now how about this?"

  Slightly more confident, she accepted his next offering. She chewed, thought she recognized the flavor… "Cheerios?" she finally asked.

  "You were hoping for something more exotic, I see. Hmm…"

  Immediately her vision of cold, slimy things returned. "No. Cheerios are okay." She gestured widely and emphatically with her hands. "No, actually, they're good. Yes. Cheerios are good … very good."

  "Give it up, Counselor. It's a good thing you're not on the witness stand."

  She sighed. "I'm done for, aren't I?"

  He clucked his tongue. "Your lack of faith is highly disappointing, Counselor."

  Cocking her ear, she heard the clink of glass and thanked her stars that the ketchup bottle was plastic.

  And when she opened her mouth at his request, she steeled herself for something awful.

  The next sensation was completely different, but after chewing tentatively, she realized it was a pickle. Crisp and cold, the pickle was delicious, especially after the bland taste of the cereal.

  "Haven't got a pastrami on rye to go with that, by any chance?" she asked.

  "This is more of a taster's buffet," he replied, a trace of amusement coating his words.

  It occurred to her that he had anticipated her reaction. "You're loving this, aren't you, Gerrard? I bet you were one of the boys who worked the spook house just so you could smear cold spaghetti and raw liver on all the girls."

  "I was wrong," he countered. "You do have quite an imagination." As he talked, the sound of microwave buttons clicked, the machine hummed and then buzzed as the cycle finished.

  Whatever was next, he'd warmed it up in the microwave. There wasn't much point in cooking bugs, she supposed.

  "This might be a bit messy," he warned just as she opened her mouth.

  Expecting something goopy and awful, she was startled by the piquant taste of warm Brie on rye toast points. "Oh, yummy," she managed to say after swallowing most of it.

  "I'm glad you approve," he replied dryly.

  "Oh, don't get all testy." She smoothed a hand over her blindfold. "The Cheerios were a little bland, but they were a surprise."

  He laughed, that husky, warmed-over sound that made her stomach turn flip-flops. "Maybe you'll like this better."

  Deciding that stalling would do no good, she obediently opened her mouth. Cold was the first sensation. "Ice cream," she muttered around the mouthful. Then she tasted something else. "Häagen-Dazs Chocolate Chocolate Chip!" she yelped. "My favorite!"

  After the warm Brie, the contrast of the cold ice cream sent her taste buds into a frenzy.

  "I take it this meets with your approval," he commented, sounding amused.

  "Not unless you hand over the rest of the carton it came in," she retorted. "Then no one gets hurt."

  "What? No undying curiosity about what else I might have in your refrigerator?"

  Then it hit her. How had he gotten everything into her apartment … her refrigerator? His hands had been empty when he'd arrived. And the T-shirt and jeans that hugged his form wouldn't have room to hide a sack full of food. She tore off the bandanna, ready to rip into him.

  And stared at her apartment key that he held out with a grin. Once again he was a step ahead.

  "But … how?"

  "Friends in the right places," he replied smugly.

  Friends… The only person he knew that she knew was Dani. This would be the case of the century. She, the key lawyer, so taken with the opposition that she ignored her work. Her able-bodied assistant talked into handing over the apartment key. Barbara nearly groaned aloud. They might as well divulge their entire strategy right now.

  "Don't blame Dani," he said, correctly guessing her thoughts. "I made it sound like we might have another flower fiasco otherwise."

  "Which bodes well for our side," she muttered, thinking perhaps she ought to call in reinforcements from her firm. Male ones who weren't susceptible to Gerrard's charm.

  "You obviously need more chocolate," he announced, glancing at the counter full of food. "Keeps you from getting cranky."

  He unwrapped a piece of candy, gently placed one hand over her eyes, then slid a piece of chocolate between her lips.

  She chewed for a moment, aware of the pressure of his touch, the waves of sensation it caused. Forgotten was the food, the way he'd gotten into her apartment. Instead, she could feel the intimate touch of his hands, her own trembling response.

  "Kiss?" she guessed, hearing the thready tone in her voice, knowing she referred to more than the Hershey's chocolate.

  "If you say so." Then his lips closed over hers. It was a collision, an explosion, a brilliantly engineered feat of genius.

  Digging her fingers into his shoulders, she felt the strength, the purpose, the complexity of the man.

  Like underwater divers gasping for air, they moved toward one another, struggling to breathe again. Each sensual move they'd just played out loomed like a blatant reminder of what they really craved.

  Picking up her fingers, he kissed each one, then took them into his mouth to suckle. She wondered if she could burst just from the wanting.

  "Kisses," he murmured, adorning each knuckle with one, his voice making it clear that he wasn't referring to the chocolate variety either.

  He turned her hand over, grazing the delicate skin near her wrist. "Sweet, sour … warm … never cold."

  Each provocative, sensual thought that accompanied their tasting sessio
n burst into full bloom. The heat that had been building between them, the passion they'd had to keep banked, now flared.

  Ignited.

  Blazed out of control.

  Aware of the hard lines of his body, as uncompromising as the cold tiles beneath them, she yearned toward his touch, even as she acknowledged that it was a disastrous course. How would she ever explain this to the partners in her firm? "Sorry, lost the case because I compromised my ethical and professional obligations"?

  Then his hands drifted over her rib cage, to the valley of her waist, and she was lost. Lost to a touch that inflamed like no other. Well, perhaps one other, but that was gone forever and Kenneth was here and now.

  And his touch captured her, a combination of gentleness and strength. There was no questioning or hesitation in his exploration, but rather, it was a studied course of rediscovery, each movement sure and smooth.

  Then he was rising, pulling her along with him. Pressed against him, hipbones abrading hipbones, she felt the full evidence of his arousal, the answering cradling warmth of her response.

  Her breasts met the muscled planes of his chest and she felt his hand circle her waist as though wishing he could bind her even closer to him. She knew she had to make a decision. On one hand was a professional lifetime of building her career. On the other was the emptiness she felt, the regret for not saying yes once before.

  She cleared the cobwebs of indecision from her voice, but the words still sounded husky. "You got a good sense of direction, Gerrard?"

  His eyes narrowed and she watched his nostrils flare, the beat of his pulse at his throat accelerate. Slowly he nodded.

  "Then I imagine you can find my bedroom."

  He swept her up into his arms before the words scarcely left her mouth. The gesture made her feel light, wickedly free and wildly feminine.

  Lacing her hands together behind his neck, she reveled in his easy strength as he carried her confidently into the bedroom, not wavering or searching, but plotting a direct path.

  Moonlight spilled in the huge floor-to-ceiling windows. The drapes hadn't been pulled for the evening yet and the gauzy sheers lent a mysterious air to her normally staid room.

  "Just as I expected," he whispered against her neck. "So like you."

  "What if I'm not what you expect?" she whispered back. What if he found her plain and unexciting once the mystery of discovery faded?

  "But I've always known what to expect," he said against her lips.

  Always? The thought floated, niggled, then disappeared as Kenneth made slow, devastating love to her lips.

  The pressure of his mouth was firm, unyielding, taking them down another path. One she'd been moving toward since they met.

  Now they were racing toward that place, even though Kenneth was letting her savor each moment. The rustle of their clothing, the gentle whoosh of the air-conditioning as it drifted through the vents and the sound of their ragged breathing took the place of conversation.

  For all her confidence in the courtroom, she didn't feel nearly so sure on this turf. Not that she hadn't dated since Billy, but she'd never given her heart.

  It struck her then. That was what she was doing. Giving her heart … along with her trust.

  She reached out to join him on the journey, to exchange touch for touch, heartbeat for heartbeat.

  Her hands strayed over the bunched muscles of his shoulders, the definition of his biceps, then grazed the planes of his chest, centering on the brown nubby nipples. They quivered under her attention.

  Emboldened, she traced her fingers up the hard, flat line of his stomach. She felt him shudder. Then he reached out to trace the same lines on her body.

  Her eyelids fluttered shut at the pleasure he created, feeling the heat that raced through her blood, melting the bones in its path. She wondered if her trembling legs would continue to support her.

  He reached out just then, pulling her to him, then taking them both to the soft pillow of her bed.

  His kisses were hot and dark, his touch electric. He paused only to dispatch the remainder of their clothing. Having yearned for that completeness, she reveled in the feel of unadorned flesh touching, uniting.

  Kenneth placed a kiss beneath her knee, then followed the path he blazed, making the tender flesh of her inner thigh tremble with anticipation. His lips drifted over the tumble of curls at that juncture, then moved up the curve of her abdomen, tracing the line of her rib cage, then reaching the soft fullness of her breasts.

  Barbara felt her nipples harden in anticipation as his mouth closed over one breast. Unable to contain the moan that erupted, she arched toward him, gratified when he deepened his touch.

  Running her hands down his back, she wanted to give, as well. When he pulled her over so that she lay on top of him, she began the same fiery trail of kisses. Rewarded with shudders that spoke silently, yet eloquently of his pleasure, she continued. She nibbled, then mouthed an array of kisses that trailed down his torso, finally reaching his leg, inching slowly down that tall column, then back upward again. Her lips tantalized the flesh near his groin and he groaned in response.

  In less than a second, he'd reversed positions. Lying beneath him, her breasts flattened against his chest, her legs tangled in his, she felt their hearts beating the same rapid tattoo. Whispered words that she couldn't quite make out pressed against her neck, tumbled against her lips.

  She wanted the words, but she wanted him, as well. All of him.

  Again his mind was in sync with hers.

  He covered her mouth with his as he plunged inside. Moistly, eagerly, she accepted his fullness. There was no surrender; rather, a strengthening as they came together, a needy passion. Both were greedy. But for each other's pleasure, rather than their own.

  His movements were a deliciously slow torment, making her feel worshiped … adored. Her first climax rippled around them both. Then his strokes took them over the edge. And Barbara fell willingly, eagerly. And took her heart along for the ride.

  * * *

  Chapter 9

  «^»

  Kenneth watched the flush of her skin, the curve of her cheek and felt the fragile walls surrounding his heart tumble.

  Again.

  Her eyes, sated and undeniably happy, watched him, and he wondered how transparent his thoughts were.

  To distract her, he skimmed the length of her body from breast to hip in one long stroke, enjoying the shiver he created, the expression on her face that said she welcomed more.

  Hers was a face that had always commanded attention. From her delicately molded nose to the cheekbones that seemed sculpted for an artist's pleasure. Huge, deeply fringed eyes of deepest midnight that invited … promised … incited. Her lips were a sensual curve, which he knew from experience had been created to drive a man mad.

  And now that face smiled only for him.

  A silver bath of moonlight flooded over her, highlighting the ivory cream of her skin, the curves and valleys of her body that had responded so eagerly to him.

  Her incredible capacity to give was something he'd forgotten. With maturity, she might have become more reluctant to become involved, but once committed she held nothing back.

  Her scent wound around his senses, as sensual and complicated as she was. She'd never been a simple woman. Once, far more open, but never someone to underestimate. The layers of her soul had acquired a wisdom beyond her years even then, and now those edges overlapped his own soul with new power.

  Reaching out, he fisted a handful of her hair. It drifted over his fingers like satin and silk. Running the back of his hand over the slope of her shoulder, he recognized its velvety texture. Every memory they'd shared, sharp and sweet, swamped him.

  True, they'd been younger then. But it was the mature Barbara that entranced him. She had grown into the promise she'd shown at eighteen, then surpassed it in a way even he couldn't have foreseen.

  Her lips nestled on the hollow of his throat, before she drew back again. "You were right,
Gerrard. No surprises."

  His heart stilled for a moment. Had she guessed? "I'm not an original?"

  Her fingertips traced a line down his chest, eliciting a quiver. She was the only woman who'd ever made him shudder from desire alone. That hadn't changed, but had only intensified along with her hold over him.

  "I didn't say that." Her voice grew softer. "But I expected to feel wonderful, and now I'm somewhere in the vicinity of magnificent."

  He remembered to breathe again. "You aren't alone, Counselor."

  Her leg nudged his before she draped her torso over his. "I'm aware of that. In fact, I'm known for never overlooking the obvious."

  His foot trapped hers. "Keeps you on your toes."

  She laughed softly. "Not from where I'm lying." Tenderness grew in her eyes and he saw the seriousness that lurked in their dark recesses.

  He wondered suddenly how he could play with her emotions this way.

  And knew he couldn't.

  He had to tell her. He couldn't let her go on believing a lie.

  She picked up his hand, running her fingers over his. "I probably shouldn't tell you this, but I made a wish the other night." She laughed gently. "It's this silly thing I do… But I wished I could relive a certain part of my life. When I was eighteen, actually." She met his eyes. "But now I know this is better. I wouldn't want to change my past. That was then, this is now."

  "What if—"

  She placed her fingers against his lips. "I think I've had enough 'what ifs.' It's time I looked to the future instead of the past."

  His heart struggled with his conscience.

  "And I'd like to think that future includes you," she whispered, her heart in her eyes.

  And his conscience lost miserably.

  "You're a tough examiner, Counselor." He couldn't repress the huskiness in his voice even though he tucked his pain deep inside. Theirs were moments etched in time … engraved in his heart. Even if they were standing on the edge of goodbye.

  "I learn from the best," she replied.

  "You are the best." Deciding to forget the pain and the past, at least for now, he turned her on her back, trapping her against the mattress.