She stared at the cream and chocolate-striped drapes in her hand and smiled, recalling a similar scene from Gone With the Wind. Well, she wasn’t Scarlett O’Hara, she thought wryly, and she didn’t even have a needle and thread, so there would be no fabulous gown created from these drapes!
She shed her wet clothes hurriedly and, wrapping one of the panels around her body sarong-like, belted it at the waist with one of the ties. She wrinkled her nose in distaste at the musty smell as she tossed the other panel around her shoulders like a shawl.
Alex entered the room carrying a load of wood, and without a glance at her deposited it near the fireplace and set about building a fire. Soon it was blazing brightly and he took the time then to wipe the wound on his forehead. Now that it was no longer bleeding, it appeared to be only a small cut, she noticed with relief.
He looked her over and his mouth went up at the corners. “Very fetching.”
“Well, you’re no Rhett Butler either,” she said crossly, knowing she looked a sight.
He grinned at the reference. “Well, frankly, my dear, I don’t give a damn,” he mimicked in a fair Gable imitation.
She chuckled.
“Come over here,” he commanded, putting some additional kindling on the blaze. She obediently crossed to him and stood with her hands out, basking in the warmth of the fire.
“Not too close,” he warned. “There’s no screen.” He rose lithely and, crossing to the dilapidated, dark brown couch against the wall, he stripped it of the four large seat cushions and tossed them in front of the fireplace.
“Your hair is still wet,” he said, frowning accusingly as she settled down in front of the blaze.
“It will dry,” she said contentedly, soaking up the heat from the fire like a contented kitten.
He stood up and left the room, coming back with two pieces of cloth that she recognized as the kitchen curtains. She chuckled. “What would you have done if we’d taken all the curtains with us?”
“I’d have managed,” he said confidently, and she knew it was true. He would always manage to wrest whatever he wanted from the world. He was that kind of man. He knelt beside her. “Bend over.”
She obeyed and he briskly toweled her hair, not stopping until it was almost dry. Sitting a little away from her on the cushion, he started to dry his own hair. “You grew up here?” he asked, his dark gaze on her face.
She nodded, staring into the fire dreamily. “I was born and raised in this house,” she said softly. “Then, when my parents died, I moved in with the Bradfords and later to Houston when I went away to college. But I always wanted to come back. I’m not really a city girl.”
“You seem to have acclimated remarkably well.”
She knew he was referring to her supposed affair with David, but decided to ignore it. As if he, too, were reluctant to enter a discordant note in the harmony of the moment, Alex went on to other subjects. They talked for a long time, with an amazingly easy intimacy, and when a silence finally did lapse, it was deliciously comfortable.
“Why have you fought me, Sabrina?” he asked suddenly. “I can give you almost anything in the world. What do you want?”
She looked at him, his dark, tousled hair, the white shirt open to the waist revealing the strong, corded muscles and the springy pelt of virile, dark hair on his chest. You. Only you, she thought.
She drew her knees up and rested her chin on them, gazing dreamily into the fire. “I guess I want what my parents had,” she said softly. “I want to build a good life. I want roots and an affection that will only get stronger as the years pass.”
“Your parents must have been unusual people,” he said quietly.
“No, they were really very ordinary people. They just loved each other,” she said huskily.
They were both lost in their own thoughts and there was a long silence in the room. The only sound was the crackle of the burning logs and the light rhythm of their breathing.
“Sabrina?”
Her eyes flew to his, startled out of her meditation. And what she saw there caused her to draw a sharp, shallow breath.
“You know you’re going to belong to me tonight,” he stated simply.
She had known for some time, she thought calmly. There was only one fitting conclusion to this intimacy of their time together. “Yes,” she whispered, lost in the darkness of his eyes. “I know that, Alex.”
“Come here,” he said, holding out his hand, and she obeyed him wordlessly. She knelt facing him, not touching him, just looking into his eyes and waiting. Her hair was a wild, flaming areole around her face, her eyes deep emerald in the flickering light, and her lips parted in unknowing anticipation. His gaze lingered over every feature like a caress.
He reached out slowly and pushed the improvised shawl away from her shoulders. His eyes fixed with intent absorption on the satin of her shoulders as his hands closed on them almost gingerly and he brought her carefully, surely into his arms.
“Alex,” she said huskily, her eyes suddenly shadowed with doubt. “It’s not just because of that passion you mentioned you had for redheads, is it? You don’t have to pretend you care for me, but I’d like to know I mean more to you than that.” Her lips were trembling as she tried to smile. “I always have hated to be just one of a crowd.”
One large hand reached out slowly to wrap itself in her long, silky tresses. “God, no, love,” he said thickly. “I’ve never felt anything like this before in my life.” His eyes were ebony stains in the bronze tautness of his face and his expression was oddly grave. “I’ve been thinking quite a bit lately about those redheads in my past. I remember reading a poem once about ‘the mystic memory of things to come.’ ” His hand was combing gently through her hair in a deliciously soothing motion. “I’ve had a crazy notion since I met you that maybe there is such a thing. Perhaps I was searching for my own sweet redhead among that faceless throng.” A tender smile curved his lips. “You certainly took your time about appearing on the scene, sweetheart. I’d almost given up.”
Sabrina felt her throat tighten achingly and for a moment she didn’t think she could speak. She’d expected a mocking reassurance, not this moving gift he’d given her with such simple eloquence. “That sounds remarkably romantic for a man who believes love is a word for children,” she said shakily.
“It’s all your fault,” he said, tilting her head to look into her eyes. “I never wanted to feel like this about any woman. Since the moment I saw you, I’ve been trying to convince myself that it was just lust I felt for you.” He touched the softness of her lips with a finger so gentle that she had a fleeting memory of David and his golden Miranda. “God knows, I feel enough of that, but there’s more, too. I want to cherish you.” He shook his head helplessly. “Lord, that’s an old-fashioned word, but it’s the only one that fits. I want to care for you. I want to wrap you in all the gauze of tenderness and all the velvet of gentleness that still exists in this harsh world of ours. I can’t bear to think of you in pain or need.” He took a deep breath. “Will you let me cherish you, Sabrina?”
“Oh, yes,” she said huskily, feeling a surge of love and delight that made her dizzy. “I want that, Alex.”
He slowly pushed her down on the cushions and his hands were shaking a little as he undid the tie at her waist and carefully opened the cream and brown folds, spreading them on the cushion like silken butterfly wings. He groaned as he stared down at the graceful curves and shadows revealed to him in the flickering firelight. “You’re all flame and snow and a sweet, burning grace.”
Unable to wait any longer, he left her for a moment to rapidly strip off the rest of his own clothing and rejoined her, pressing her deep into the cushions, their bodies flesh to flesh so that she could feel his bold arousal. How much more graceful and beautiful was his hard muscular beauty than her own soft curves, she thought dreamily. She hadn’t realized until now that broad, supple shoulders tapered to a slim middle and tight, muscular buttocks could have this almost sing
ing symmetry.
He slowly lowered his lips with a deliberateness that caused her to hold her breath in anticipation. Then his warm tongue flicked out to caress one taut nipple and she stiffened with unbearable tension. She could feel her breasts swell and harden beneath that teasing tongue as if on command. Alex’s hands closed around the fullness of those burgeoning mounds, weighing them in his palms, while his lips suckled lightly at the sensitive nipples. She made a little whimpering sound deep in her throat and he glanced up with a flicker of satisfaction. “That’s right, darling,” he said hoarsely. “Burn for me. Tell me how much you want me.”
But she couldn’t tell him. It was all too much. She could only make those little cries of desire and entreaty as his teeth pulled gently at the taut, pink rosette while his hands began a rhythmic kneading motion that was incredibly erotic. Her hands reached out blindly, running over the smooth, brawny copper of his shoulders to encircle his neck and pull him closer to her breasts.
She felt him shudder against her. “Touch me,” he ordered raggedly. “I love to feel your hands on me. Do you know how often I’ve lain in bed and thought about your hands caressing me, loving me.” His own hand reached up to take one of her hands from his shoulder. He brought it to his lips, his tongue stroking her palm. She shivered, her breath catching in her throat. She hadn’t known that soft, vulnerable hollow could possibly generate this tingling awareness in every nerve in her body. Then, his dark eyes gazing compulsively into hers, he carried her hand to that taut hardness of his belly, holding it firmly against his warmth. “Touch me,” he urged again.
She wanted to touch him. The hard flesh of his stomach had an almost magnetic attraction for her. The light springy dusting of hair beneath her palm felt delightfully abrasive as her hand moved over him curiously. His body was so different from her own, she thought absently. So hard where she was soft, so rough where she was smooth, so aggressive where she was pliant. Almost without thinking her hand curled about that warm aggression, holding him with loving tenderness.
She dimly heard Alex inhale sharply and his body bucked convulsively. She glanced up swiftly in concern. “Did I hurt you?” she asked.
“Oh, I’m hurting all right,” he gasped, his lips curving wryly. “But for heaven’s sake don’t stop!”
Her hand tightened around him and he bucked again, his eyes closing while a shudder went through every muscle of his body. “Maybe you’d better stop after all,” he said hoarsely. “I can’t take much more of this.” He opened his eyes and they were glazed and intent. “And I want to touch you, too, love.” He reached down and gently removed her hand from him. “Lord, I feel cold and lonely without you,” he whispered, taking a deep breath. “I can’t wait to have your sweet warmth chaining me to you.” He swiftly parted her legs and slipped a hand between them, the tips of his fingers moving in light, rhythmic patterns on the inside of her thighs, until she could feel the center of her being tighten and convulse in tempo with that tantalizing touch. She was writhing beneath his manipulations, her breath coming in little gasps, and she instinctively tried to close her thighs to capture and hold those maddening hands that were giving her only enough to drive her out of her mind.
“No, little flame,” he said softly, looking up at her face, his own expression beautifully sensual. “Don’t close me out.” His fingers moved intricately and she suddenly cried out, her body arching in that age-old offering of woman, as an incredible sensation shot through her. “God, you’re responsive.” His hand moved again. “And so fantastically tight. I can’t wait even a moment more for you. Are you ready for me, love?”
Was she ready for him? She felt as if she were going up like a skyrocket with every word he was speaking, with every motion of those magical, tormenting fingers.
He didn’t wait for an answer, but gently widened the opening of her thighs and leaned forward to kiss her lingeringly on the mouth, his tongue entering to explore the moist interior with a hunger that took her breath, and caused her own tongue to seek his with an equal urgency.
Then he was surging forward and her cry of surprise and pain was smothered against his lips. He lifted his head, his expression dazed. “So tight,” he murmured. His eyes widened incredulously. “My God …” he breathed, his gaze flying to her face.
Why was he waiting, she wondered wildly. The pain had only lasted for an instant and now this feeling of being beautifully, fantastically full of him was absolutely mind-blowing. But as much as she had of him, she wanted more.
“Alex, please,” she gasped. “I need you.”
There was an expression of almost pained pleasure on his face. “Dear Lord, and I need you,” he choked. “I’m burning up, sweetheart.” Then he was moving, in a driving rhythm that succeeded in satisfying that need while creating a feverishly molten new one.
She had the sensation that she was falling off the edge of the world into a dazzling place of sheer, tactile pleasure. His hot words breathed in her ear were almost as arousing as his driving body, urging her to move with him, telling her how much her breasts pleased him, how exciting he found the way she clung to him.
Then the tension was mounting toward the final explosion of sensation, and she instinctively arched to meet each forceful thrust with an eagerness that caused Alex to close his eyes in an agony of pleasure. How beautiful he was with that expression of blind sensuality on his face, she thought dazedly. It filled her with an almost primitive satisfaction that it was the enjoyment of her body that brought him this exquisite torment. That every movement of her hips, every touch of her hands could cause this strong man to gasp and shudder with the need that was tearing them both apart.
Her legs tightened around him, her hands curving around his hips to cup the hard, sculptured line of his buttocks in her palms. He felt so good. Then she was pulling him toward her, matching his rhythm with one of her own.
Alex’s eyes flicked open and he was gazing down at her, his dark eyes glazed. “God, little flame,” he gasped, the bronze muscles of his chest heaving with the force of his breathing. She could see the pulse in his throat racing like a triphammer. “It’s too good. It can’t be real.”
But it was real, gloriously, excitingly real. And when the tension snapped and they were tossed headlong into the final storm of feeling that was like no other, that was real, too. There was nothing less dreamlike on the face of the earth than the man above her who cried out in hoarse, almost guttural satisfaction, and clutched her to him while the whole world exploded around her and left her clinging to him like a child in the darkness.
She was vaguely conscious, in that moment of dazed euphoria, of Alex shifting positions to lie beside her on the cushions, enfolding her in the shelter of his arms and pushing her head into the hollow of his shoulder. She could feel the thunder of his heart beneath her ear and the light dew of perspiration on the dark golden skin that was her pillow. Her tongue darted out in lazy curiosity to taste the brawny smoothness of his shoulder. It was warm and slightly salty, and somehow deliciously exciting even in this moment of complete repletion.
Evidently Alex also found it exciting, for the thunder accelerated beneath her ear and he drew a deep breath that was more of a shudder. “God, don’t do that, love,” he gasped, his arms tightening around her. “Give me a couple of minutes to recover before you try any experiments that might lead down that particular road.”
“I was just curious,” Sabrina said dreamily, nestling her head back and forth on his shoulder like a kitten on a favorite satin cushion. “I wanted to know how you taste.”
She could feel his chuckle reverberating beneath her ear, and his hand was gently stroking the silky hair at her temple. “And did you enjoy it, little flame?”
“Oh yes, very much,” she said softly. Then she lifted her head to look into his face with bright, curious eyes. “Do you taste like that all over?”
He stared at her for a moment in blank surprise and then started to laugh, shaking his head in rueful amusement. “I haven�
�t the slightest idea, but I’d be delighted for you to find out for yourself.” He held up a hand. “In a few minutes, that is.”
Sabrina frowned. “Am I being too aggressive, Alex?” she asked uncertainly, her green eyes darkening to a troubled emerald as she gazed down at him.
“Lord no, sweetheart,” Alex said huskily, his hand combing through the silky length of her hair with an almost sensual pleasure. “It’s just that you’re such a surprise to me that you’ve caught me off guard. I’ve never had the experience of wanting a woman again almost the instant I’ve left her. It’s shaken me up a little.” He pulled her lips down to meet his own in a long, soft kiss of dizzying sweetness. “There’s not a thing in the world wrong with you, little flame,” he said thickly when their lips parted. “There couldn’t be anything more perfect than what we’ve just had together.”
“I didn’t think so,” she said lightly, trying to hide how his words had moved her. “But it’s always nice to have one’s opinion confirmed by a man of your experience.”
“Experience,” Alex repeated slowly, his body stiffening against her own. His expression darkened grimly as he gazed up into her bewildered face. “I’d forgotten about that.” With a swift movement he shifted her aside and was rolling off the cushions away from her. He snatched up the silky drapery he’d removed so eagerly such a short time before and tossed it to her. “Cover up,” he said tersely. “We have some talking to do.”
“Talking?” Sabrina asked warily.
She gazed down at the cream silk on her lap for a moment before she slowly shook out the folds and wrapped the length around her like a cloak. His words as well as his sudden rejection had shocked her out of the dazzling physical euphoria she’d been feeling only seconds before. She lifted a shaking hand to brush a lock of hair away from her face and moistened her lips nervously. She supposed she should be grateful that Alex had brought the real world back into focus for her, but instead she felt only an aching sense of loss.
The Trustworthy Redhead Page 10
