“Take your time. I’m not going anywhere.” Amusement and a sexy confidence laced his voice. Or was that her overheated imagination? He retrieved the cat but didn’t immediately retreat to the bed.
Oh, gad. She’d wanted a bookish, harmless professorial type for her first lover, and what had she done? Turned him into Clint Eastwood. This close, she could even see the stubble of his beard. He was no longer a storybook fantasy but a real man, with very male expectations.
So what? She had some very female expectations of her own.
Still wearing her boots, she didn’t have to stretch far to plant a kiss on his bristly jaw. “You smell like charcoal smoke.” She darted into the bathroom before he could react.
She probably smelled like smoke, too. She’d persuaded Elliot into a steak-and-seafood restaurant, one that cooked the meat right in front of them. The steak had been scrumptious. Elliot had chosen grilled salmon, but he’d finished off her steak when she couldn’t. She was corrupting him one food at a time.
She sang in the shower, washed her hair, and scrubbed with the last of her scented shower wash until her skin tingled, the scent of ylang-ylang filled the air, and steam fogged the mirror. She didn’t really want to see what she was doing anyway. She simply wanted to let it happen. She stretched her arms skyward and her breasts lifted in anticipation.
This suite wasn’t as impressive as the prior night’s, but terry-cloth robes hung on the back of the door. Still moist from the shower, Alys wrapped up in the generous folds of a robe, then blew her hair dry. She doubted that she looked sexy, but then, she never had. Clean and available would have to do. And eager.
Elliot lay sprawled across the bed, his shoulders propped up on pillows while he watched the news with the cat sleeping curled on his flat belly. At Alys’s appearance, his heavy-lidded eyes widened, and an appreciative smile settled on his lips.
“You look like one of those sexy ads in magazines. I wish I had showered first.”
Caught off guard at the image of her petite, unremarkable self as sexy, Alys didn’t have a quick reply. She watched Elliot place the sleeping kitten on the covers and swing from the bed in a single easy movement. He’d unfastened the top snaps of his shirt, and she had a glimpse of bronzed skin and dark curls before he kissed the top of her head, eclipsing the view. He stepped into the steamy bathroom and closed the door.
Breathe, Alys. She took deep, cleansing breaths, and was almost steady by the time room service brought the wine.
Fred had introduced her to wine. She’d never developed much of a taste for it, and after he’d become ill, alcohol hadn’t been part of their regimen. But she thought wine might be one of those things she needed to learn about, especially if she planned to live in California.
Besides, she needed the fortification right now, and wine seemed to be the sophisticated thing to do on her first foray into Sex and the Single Girl.
She had the waiter uncork the bottle. Pouring a glass, she wandered about the suite, trying to decide where she ought to be sitting when Elliot emerged from the shower. She brushed a leaf of the orchid, checking to see if any new life had emerged.
Did she disrobe and wait naked in the bed?
She might be assertive, but she wasn’t that evolved yet.
Why was she so damned nervous? Women did this all the time on television and in books. Sex was a basic human process after all. Unless she intended to remain celibate the rest of her life, she had to overcome this—what? Fear? She wasn’t afraid. She was just balking like a nervous bride on her wedding night.
Damn Mame for putting that wedding image into her head.
This first time, she would let Elliot lead the way. He had to be more experienced than she, and he was incredibly perceptive. She couldn’t have chosen a better partner if she’d tried.
Sitting up against the bed headboard, wineglass in hand, she flicked on the TV and let Purple prowl over her legs.
Elliot finally emerged, his hair still damp and curling from the shower. His jaw glistened from a recent shave, and the fragrance of some expensive lotion entered with him. But it was his robe falling to mid-shin, revealing long, narrow feet and muscled calves, that was simply too intimate.
Alys panicked. Her wineglass froze at her lips, her heart threatened to leap through her chest, and she stopped breathing.
Elliot seemed blithely unaware of her paralysis. He poured a glass of wine, removed Purple from the covers, flicked off the TV, and settled down beside her, hip to hip. “You smell delicious.”
It was apparently the right thing to say. Inhaling the intoxicating scent of clean male, she relaxed, and her lips unlocked. “Like a raspberry cream pastry?”
His chortle was low and incredibly sexy. “Contrary to popular belief, my fixation is not on food. The image I’m getting is of exotic incense and tropical flowers.”
“I should change perfumes.” She drained her glass and set it on the bed table. “I’m feeling more like Ivory soap and lavender.”
Actually, she was feeling more like sex on fire. She’d been without sex way too long. With Elliot this close, she could feel the pressure of his hip, see the small scar beside his mouth begging to be kissed, and she longed to rub her toes along his bare leg. Her mind fogged before she could imagine further than that.
He set his glass aside, too. “We don’t have to do this.”
He brushed a strand of hair behind her ear and lowered his face close, so she didn’t take him too seriously. She’d stopped thinking by the time his lips lingered over hers.
“I’m not sure we can stop.” She wasn’t a breathless kind of woman, but she’d almost stopped breathing again. She could see moisture still beading along his hairline, and if she got brave enough to meet his eyes—
She lifted her gaze to his and fell irrevocably into their dark, hungry depths.
“Anything is possible. Just not very probable.” His lips closed firmly over hers.
Heat and moisture. Exotic scent and raw male musk. Wine and mouthwash and a vague flavor of charcoal. Alys sank beneath the pressure of Elliot’s greater size, wallowing deeper in the pillows, into the soft, plush covers, letting his body blind her to everything except sensation.
His deft hand slipped beneath her robe to circle her breast. His uncalloused fingers rubbed the sensitive tip, and Alys moaned. She’d been parched for this simple human contact. She wanted this to go on forever. She wanted more.
“You sound like Purple purring.” He repeated the caress, adding extra attention to her aching nipple. “Let me know if I do something you don’t like.”
“What is not to like?” she murmured, unfastening the tie of his robe by instinct since her brain had left the building. With another purr of pleasure, she rubbed her hands over the hard planes of his chest. Elliot Roth had abs and pecs of steel.
He didn’t use his mellow, mind-melting radio-show voice to reply. Instead, he placed a knee on either side of her hips, trapping her beneath him, then leaned down to suckle her breast.
It was too much at once. Surrounded by his weight and size, imploding beneath waves of pleasure, Alys uttered a muffled scream.
Purple leaped to her defense.
“Ow. Ow. Ow.” Swatting at the back of his neck, Elliot rolled away, grappling for the attack kitten.
The cool rush of air over warm skin warned that her robe was open, but Alys was more intent on rescuing Elliot. She’d rather get back to where they’d been than practice modesty. Purple leaped from her hands and dived for the table, knocking over Elliot’s half-empty wineglass before diving for the floor and hiding under the sofa skirt.
Lying flat on his back, Elliot recovered quickly. He caught Alys’s waist and held her posed over him. “Forget the cat,” he growled. “I’m not done here.” He cast her robe aside and pulled her down so his mouth could fasten over her breast again.
Not wanting to be cat-attacked, Alys bit back her scream this time, forcing it down until the scream turned to liquid pleasure spilling th
rough her to pool between her legs—where Elliot’s erection rubbed.
If he’d been a sailboat, she would be riding the main mast. He was definitely long everywhere.
“Oh, my, Elliot—” She tried to speak through gasps, but his mouth and tongue were doing things that she shouldn’t even contemplate in the privacy of her bed at midnight, much less with all the lamps on and with a strange man beside her . . . beneath her actually.
“Don’t ask me to stop now.” His voice rumbled deep in his chest as he moved from one breast to the other.
She didn’t think she could stop. Wine and sex had usurped her wits. She thought her ovaries might actually be throbbing in anticipation. A lot of other parts certainly were.
“Condom,” she gasped through the haze of lust.
“Got it.” He rolled her back to the bed and groped for the table drawer, shedding his robe at the same time.
Taking advantage, Alys stared. He was long and lean and—Alys gulped in admiration and excitement—well endowed. Hung, as the books said. Elliot Roth could grace Playgirl magazine without shame.
“I hope those are extra large,” she murmured while he opened the package.
He looked startled, then a lazy smile spread across his face. “Supers,” he assured her, returning to his appointed task by kissing her long and hard.
And so he was—super. Extra-super-duper. Magnificent. Leaving no stone unturned, no erogenous zone untouched. He must have researched sex as thoroughly as hearts and nutrition. Alys clenched her teeth to prevent crying out as his agile tongue licked her swollen clitoris. She definitely did not need Purple interrupting.
“To the moon, Alys,” he murmured between her legs before applying one final, magical tongue stroke.
And she flew. Over the moon, into the stars.
She hadn’t found her way back before he entered her, thrusting high and deep and sending her into orbit all over again.
* * *
Engulfed by feminine scents, pillowy breasts, and tight, massaging muscles, Elliot delayed his pleasure as long as he could, but it wasn’t nearly long enough. Everything about Alys welcomed him. For the first time in his life, he’d found a home. Soft arms clung to his back, enticing cries beckoned, and feminine heat and moisture rose to greet him in such a way that every primal instinct clamored to claim her.
Uncomfortable with an uncivilized side he hadn’t known he possessed, Elliot tried to curb his urges and slow down, but nature held the reins. With Alys’s sweet heat urging him on, he thrust harder, faster, and spun out of control, taking her with more force than he’d known was in him. She writhed and bit back cries, heightening his need to go harder, faster. When he pushed her over the edge a third time, he couldn’t hold back, and he almost collapsed from the sudden rush of his release.
Instead of holding steady and rolling off to prevent crushing her slender body with his weight as he would normally do, Elliot sprawled across her, relishing the soft mattress of Alys’s breasts while he gasped for breath. Losing control like that should have frightened him back to civilized behavior. Instead, it was akin to shooting him up with adrenaline. He craved a repeat of the experience, and his body was already gearing up for more.
She wound her fingers through his hair and murmured incoherent phrases against his ear. He must have dozed off because he woke to the damned cat kneading his buttocks with its paws.
“I think I’ll kill Mame,” he muttered ruthlessly, rolling over in hopes of smothering the animal.
No such luck. The kitten leaped free and curled up between them, licking its furry, evil smile.
Alys’s startled look melted into one of understanding as she followed his wrathful gaze. She scratched behind the kitten’s ears, and gently lifted it to the floor. “I don’t think it’s possible to train cats like dogs.”
He didn’t want to hear about cats or dogs. He wanted to luxuriate in the ecstasy of her arms again, sink into oblivion, admire her charms, take her to the heights all over. He wanted her.
And he couldn’t have her. She was headed to New Mexico and he was headed back to his looming deadline and multitude of responsibilities.
A dull, throbbing pain washed up his chest and settled under his ribs, and he fell back against the pillows.
On top of all she’d suffered, Alys Seagraves didn’t deserve to be tied to another man with a fatal flaw. His father had died at thirty-five of hereditary heart disease. How much longer could diet and exercise prolong his life?
Not long enough.
Chapter Twelve
Elliot woke to an empty bed and a tent of covers over his hips. Given his solitary life, this wasn’t an unusual occurrence. But the tantalizing fragrance of woman and sex lingered on the sheets, and the sound of the shower running and a soft voice singing reminded him that this morning, he wasn’t alone. A surprising surge of satisfaction flooded through him.
He didn’t devote a lot of thought to his motives but threw off the covers and climbed out of bed. He supposed if he really thought about it, his own mortality drove him onward. If he had only months or a few years to live, why shouldn’t he enjoy what was freely offered?
He grabbed a condom from the stand. Responsibility was his middle name.
Alys gaped at him in surprise when he stepped into the shower with her. Short hair clung in dark curls to her cheeks and forehead, and her huge eyes widened to silver pools of appreciation as her gaze dropped to the present he brought her. He grew harder at her smile.
“I never thought—” she started to say.
“I noticed that about you. You don’t think often enough. I like that.” He cut off any protest by covering her open mouth with his.
She braced herself, but as their tongues collided and stroked and her hands circled his neck, he could feel her melting in his arms. He’d always thought of himself as the epitome of modern civilized man, but the Neanderthal lurking in his soul roared in triumph at her surrender. She was wet and naked, and her full breasts crushed wonderfully against his chest.
Leaning his shoulders against the tiled wall, he lifted her, and she wrapped her legs around his hips without hesitation, taking him in as if they hadn’t parted at all last night. With a shudder of pleasure, Elliot rocked in place until she cried out in release. Only then did he give in to the urgency of his need, taking her with all the force pent up inside him.
She bit his shoulder to muffle her cries and climaxed again. This time, her cries and pleasure took him to the brink and over.
The hot shower plastered his hair in his eyes and ran down his face like tears of joy. Gasping, he snuggled Alys close, letting her pull away enough to find her feet but keeping his hold on her buttocks. They fit his palms as if made for him.
Always sensitive to the beat of his heart, he knew it pounded against his chest, but no more so than if he’d been running. This was far better than a good run. He wanted to explode with the joy of holding Alys. He’d had no idea how good this simple human contact could feel.
“We can’t do this again,” she said breathlessly, startling him.
Prying open one eye beneath the pounding water, Elliot looked quizzically at the dark wet head resting against his shoulder. “If we didn’t kill ourselves this time, I’m sure we’ll survive another.”
She pulled from his arms, turned off the shower, and climbed out, reaching for a towel. “Nope. Sex is way too addictive.”
He ought to be consoled that she liked their lovemaking so much that she considered him addictive, but rationalizing had no effect on irrational anger. “So is food. That doesn’t stop you from eating it.”
Rather than turn the shower on again, Elliot stepped from the tub to fight this out. At the moment, he felt as if she’d stuck her fingers into his chest and ripped his heart out.
“I don’t get personal with food. If I did, I’d have to give up eating.” She wrapped a robe around her, completely engulfing the view he’d been appreciating. “We’re only a few days from Albuquerque. Neither of us is
in search of a relationship. Why fool ourselves into pretending we have one?”
“Because the sex is good?” he growled, although he took her point. He might be interested in a relationship, but he couldn’t be cruel enough to coax her into one.
Despite his intent to consider her a flake, he liked Alys. She had good reason to be skittish about permanent attachments. She didn’t deserve the pain of a family genetically programmed to die young. “What if I treat you rotten all day, and we just have mind-blowing sex at night?”
The musical chimes of her laughter didn’t salve his frustration. He’d waited all his damned life for a woman as enchanting as this one, and when he finally found her, she wasn’t meant to be his.
He’d better stop thinking like that damned quick, but he was having a hard time thinking of deadlines and radio shows when faced with a handful of radiant woman. Not just any woman, but one who stimulated him on levels he could scarcely comprehend. Without even trying, she challenged him. Most people simply capitulated to his determination, or got out of his way before he noticed their existence.
There wasn’t any way he wouldn’t notice Alys. Or that she’d let him ignore her.
“I’d rather you treated me nicely all day and ignored me at night, thank you.” She slipped from the bathroom.
Proving his theories about her independence and leaving him alone to glare at the foggy mirror. You’re a dead man, he told the ghostly image in the mirror.
He probably ought to be checking himself into the hospital right now. Indigestion didn’t last this long or hurt this much. He rubbed the place above his rib cage where the ache had taken root.
One of the many reasons he’d never practiced medicine was because he empathized too strongly with his patients’ pain. He’d hoped his research could produce the miracles his lack of practice wouldn’t.
It hadn’t. With careful monitoring, he might live longer than his father, but nothing would ever counteract genetics. And if he didn’t find Mame soon, sheer anxiety would kill him.
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