He looked grumpy. "Forget the pills."
She snatched up the glass by the bed and was already halfway to the door before he had a chance to stop her. Two seconds later she returned to the bedroom with a full glass of water to find him trying to untie the sash of his robe.
"I was never very good with my left hand," he muttered, working at the knot. Hastily, she put the glass on the nightstand and went to help him.
"Here, let me." She pushed his hand away and finished the job he'd started. His robe fell open, revealing the hard contours of his chest—and the bandage that she'd all but forgotten.
"You're impossible, and I'm irresponsible," she muttered, helping him out of the soft terry cloth. Naked now, save for the skimpy briefs, his body exuded heat, causing her to curse herself for being so selfish.
"No, you're not," he declared, his voice deeper than usual. "You're adorable and sweet and sexy, and for the moment, all mine."
"Not until you take your medicine." She shook two tablets from the small vial and held them out to him.
"They'll make me sleepy," he groused.
"So?"
"Be reasonable, Sophie."
"Open your mouth."
"If I do, will you undress for me?"
"That's blackmail," she protested, helpless to stop the shiver that ran through her at the look of intense longing in his eyes.
"Undress for me, Sophie," he demanded harshly. "Let me see you again."
She licked her lips, her nerves leaping and jumping. "Ford—"
"Please," he coaxed. "Just this once. For me."
"You'll take the pills?"
Instead of answering, he took the tablets from her outstretched hand and threw them to the back of his throat, swallowing without water. "Okay, your turn," he demanded, his crooked grin a little wicked, a little vulnerable.
Sophie felt a surge of tenderness for him, and the last of her resistance crumbled away. She knew the risks involved, the searing heartache she would feel when she had to leave Clover forever. She would face the pain when she had to. Not now. Now belonged to Ford. Whatever he wanted from her, she would give willingly and with all of her heart.
"Sit down first," she murmured.
"Why?"
She shot him a look, and he grinned. His eyes, however, took on a heated intensity. "Okay, I'll sit. But I'm not promisin' to stay put."
He sat down on the bed, his gaze flowing over her as she worked the buttons of her shirt cuffs and slipped out of her sneakers. Terrified, and yet determined, she undid her belt and unzipped her jeans, then tugged her shirt free, the sound of fabric sliding against skin unnaturally loud in the electric silence.
One by one she undid the buttons, then slipped the shirt free of her shoulders, letting it fall in a heap at her feet. Before her courage failed her, she slipped off her jeans and kicked them away, leaving her with only her bra and panties. His eyes flamed, and his nostrils flared, and for a moment she faltered.
"In those movies you were speaking of last night the women are always wearing lacy underwear instead of industrial cotton," she murmured self-consciously, glancing down at the plain white underwear she'd bought because it was cheap and durable.
"Do you hear me complainin' any?" he rasped, his dilated pupils and strained breathing revealing his impatience as he let his gaze run very slowly, very thoroughly, over her near nakedness. She couldn't prevent a shudder from running through her, and she drew an agonized breath.
"I'm not very good at this. I'm sorry."
"Oh, baby, don't be sorry," He got swiftly to his feet and folded her into his arms again. "You have a perfect body."
"I'm too flat-chested," she whispered, her face buried against his shoulder.
"Not by my reckonin'," he said, stroking his left hand over one throbbing breast. She drew air, pleasure flaring through her. Taking his time, he lowered his mouth to the nipple outlined against the cotton, swirling his tongue over the tip. She moaned on an indrawn breath, arching her neck back, her hands digging into the firm flesh padding his hard shoulders.
"Easy, baby," he murmured, gliding a finger over the curve of each breast, his expression absorbed, as though hers was the first woman's body he'd known.
"I can't seem to breathe properly," she murmured, sucking air.
"We can fix that. Turn around."
In a daze she obeyed, gasping suddenly as his fingers slipped beneath the clasp of her bra. His hands were gentle as he slipped the straps over her shoulders, freeing her breasts. He drew the bra from her quickly and sent it to join her blouse at their feet. Still behind her, he drew her against him until his arousal rested between her legs, and cupped his hands over her breasts.
She was incapable of moving, unable to speak, even to think. With his voice and his hands and the reverence in his eyes, he was making her feel like a woman again. Desirable, feminine, and so wonderfully adored. The lingering insecurities Wells had put in her seemed far in the past, no longer able to touch her.
Needing to see him, she turned in his arms until they were face-to-face. Steeped in love and pleasure, she ran her hands down the long stretch of his back, kneading the firm flesh, absorbing warmth, imparting tenderness. He groaned, and she felt his arousal stretching the fabric of his briefs.
His kiss exploded against her mouth, his tongue sliding into her mouth to taste and tantalize. His hands roamed over her with maddening slowness, his early weakness seemingly forgotten. Fires kindled wherever his fingers stroked, spreading wildly through her until she was no longer capable of thought. Only feelings mattered. Only sensations registered, swirling, tantalizing, consuming her.
"I need you under me," he murmured, slipping his fingers beneath the elastic of her panties.
"Yes, oh, yes," she cried, helping him slip them free. And then she was helping him remove the briefs until he was as naked as she was. Hooking his arm around her waist he drew her to the bed. The sheets were cool against her back, his chest hot against her breasts. He seared a kiss against her shoulder, and she cried out.
When he slipped a hand between her thighs, she caught her lip between her teeth to stifle the cry of ecstasy. Unable to lie still, she tossed her head from side to side, desperate to escape the exquisite pressure building inside her. With each stroke of his fingers, she became more frenzied, driven to the brink time and time again, only to fall back. Sobbing in frustration, she clawed at his unbandaged shoulder, needing to feel him inside her, desperate for release. Murmuring something harsh, he rolled her over until she was lying atop him. She started to protest, then remembered his injured shoulder.
"In the nightstand," he rasped. "Protection."
Stretched across him, she somehow managed to get the drawer open without pulling it completely free of the frame. Her fingers were frantic, her breathing as labored as his as she found the small box. Finding it sealed, she whimpered at her inability to get it open quickly. He took it from her, his own efforts far from effortless as he removed a packet.
"Damn, I hate these things," he muttered, tearing it open. Biting her lip, she waited until he was ready for her, then clumsily, driven by her own frantic impulses, she managed to position herself above him.
"That's it, baby," he cried, his eyes dark and dangerously wild. Framing her hips with his hands, he helped her settle slowly over him, her body accepting his with hot, moist welcome.
Ford shuddered as she fitted herself to him, his body beyond even his iron will to control. His woman had taken over his mind, his soul. His need for her had gone beyond physical before he'd realized he'd spent a lifetime hungering for more from a woman.
It didn't take long to realize that she wasn't skilled at taking the lead. He didn't care. Not when she was tight and smooth around him, her movements driven by the passion he'd put in her. Arching his back, he dug his head into the pillow, his blood sizzling, his mind fragmenting. Dimly he was aware of other parts of his body—a stinging in his shoulder, a roaring in his head—even as the hot pressure coiling and u
ncoiling in his groin grew more punishing.
He wanted to please her, to imprint his body on hers until she remembered only his lovemaking, his face, his name. Instead, she was branding him with hers, warming the stark, frozen wasteland inside him with her fire, soothing the still-raw hurts with her hot, honeyed sweetness.
Sophie was beyond thought, awash in sensations, dizzy with need, greedy to go higher, faster. Urgency built, grew more intense, driving her, enveloping her, until she felt sensation gathering, pulsing. It seemed forever that she was poised on the brink, and then there was nothing but a blinding explosion of feeling, a star burst of indescribable ecstasy.
Ford felt her body tighten around him, tiny spasms shivering, building, until he was being squeezed in a warm vise. Opening his eyes, he saw the passionate sheen on her skin, the rapture in the eyes seeking his as she moved faster now, for him this time. Only for him.
Never taking his gaze from her face, he bucked toward her, driving himself into her with a desperate, helpless need. His release was cataclysmic, sending savage pleasure into every part of him. He cried her name, the world a chaotic swirling star burst of colored lights. She collapsed on top of him, breathing rapidly, her eyes closed, her expression pure bliss.
He'd never felt so strong, so fulfilled. Nothing he'd done in his life until now had touched him as fiercely as the dreamy smile on her lips as she rested trustingly against him.
"You're mine now," he murmured, wrapping his arms around her possessively. "No other man will ever touch you again."
She woke slowly, her face buried in Ford's pillow, a feeling of delicious lassitude lying heavy inside her. It was a new experience to find herself smiling, even before she was fully awake. In spite of the lethargy gripping her, she felt wonderfully refreshed. It took her only a moment, however, to realize that she was alone.
Though it was dark in the bedroom itself, the hall light was burning, and she heard the sound of water running in another part of the house. Still groggy, she eased to her back, wincing at the dull throbbing between her legs. What had happened with Ford was beyond anything she'd ever experienced with Wells, beyond anything she even hoped to feel.
Pulling the sheet higher, she trailed a hungry gaze around the room where they'd created true magic together. Soon, so terribly soon, she would have to leave Clover, and when she did, she would take only memories with her. Dear, special memories of dear, special friends. And one very dear, exceptional man who for a few brief, precious moments had loved her. As she loved him—passionately, totally. She knew enough about herself now to know that she would always love him. She knew enough about him to know that his feelings were more easily controlled, more readily rationed. But for a time, he'd given her all of himself. Body and soul. And heart.
It was enough.
It had to be enough.
She drew a shaky breath, then sat up and ran nervous fingers through her hair. The clock by the bed read 7:25. She'd been away from Katie's and from Jessie for nearly nine hours. As soon as she made sure Ford wasn't suffering any ill effects, she would see about rounding up some transportation back to the rooming house.
The sound of running water stopped abruptly, and she found herself easing the sheet higher. It didn't help to tell herself that she was in love with the man who usually occupied this big, soft bed. She could talk to herself until she ran out of words, and she would still be bone-rattling nervous.
"Hey, you're awake," he said as he came into the room, still stark naked and grinning, carrying a tray. The combination of the darkened room and his dark skin and dark eyes had her thinking of marauding pirates and bare-breasted native girls. And wild, savage seduction.
He set the tray on the nightstand, then eased in next to her and kissed her hard. "I wanted to wake you with a kiss, like Snow White."
"Sleeping Beauty," she corrected, her heart leaping.
"Damn, I must have read those stories to Lucy a hundred times. Guess I'm just not much for fairy tales."
"Most men aren't."
Ford saw the quick swipe of her tongue over her lower lip and figured she was suffering from morning-after nerves. He knew how she felt. He'd climbed out of bed feeling jittery as a first-time lover, not knowing which way his lady was going to jump.
"Hope you like your eggs scrambled hard, 'cause that's the only way I know how to make them."
She stared at him. He'd shaved, combed his hair and, from the fresh scent of soap dinging to his skin, bathed. Either the man was superhuman or he was crazy.
"You were cooking?"
"Sex makes me hungry."
"But your shoulder—"
"Is just a little achy, nothing to worry about."
"You shaved and took a shower."
"Bath. Doctor's orders, until the sutures come out."
He handed her a napkin, then took one himself. "Sorry I don't have one of those fancy bed trays. Never needed one before." He handed her a fork, looking for all the world like a very contented man.
"I should call Katie."
"Already done. She said to tell you Jessie's fine. Ate all her dinner, except for the vegetables, which Katie led me to believe ended up on the floor while her back was turned."
Sophie felt a laugh bubbling. "Oh, no. Katie's probably pacing the floor, waiting for me to get home." She took a bite, wondering how fast Maxwell's taxi could get to Ford's place.
Ford drew the sheet to his waist, then settled the plate on his thighs. "Good, huh?" he said, watching her all but devouring the eggs.
"Terrific," she said, swallowing so fast she scarcely knew what she was eating. "Uh, maybe I should try Lucy again."
He gave her a puzzled look. "Why?"
"To tell her you're okay, of course. I don't know why she hasn't called before now, but surely she has to be worried about you."
He snorted, his mouth taking on the same intimidating line she used to fear. "I doubt it. That shyster Dooley has her so besotted, she can't think of anything but him. Besides, she's in Charleston until Friday."
She blinked at him. "Why didn't you tell me earlier?"
"You didn't ask." He smothered his eggs in Tabasco, then politely offered the bottle to her. She shook her head impatiently.
"I distinctly remember mentioning to you that I'd been trying to call her," she persisted.
"No doubt you did. I probably heard you, too." He forked eggs into his mouth and chewed, a look of intense enjoyment spreading over his rugged features.
"Then why didn't you tell me she was in Charleston?"
"Because you also said you were only goin' to stay until you got ahold of her, and I didn't want you to leave." His sudden grin was unabashed, and the lines of strain bracketing his mouth softened, leading her to imagine the boy he'd once been. She had a feeling he'd been a lot like his sister then—quick to laugh and to trust, until life had turned ugly.
"Don't look so proud of yourself, Maguire," she teased, her throat aching for that long-lost boy. "As soon as I finish this culinary feast, I'm calling for a taxi to take me home."
"No need. I already told Katie you were spending the night."
He felt a jolt of satisfaction as her fork hit her plate. "Oh, Ford, you didn't!"
"How many times do I have to tell you, woman? I never say anythin' I don't mean." He leaned forward to touch his mouth to hers. She tasted hot sauce and need, and her heart began speeding.
"Now shut up and eat. Somethin' tells me we're both goin' to need our strength."
Ford willed himself awake, the scream he'd bit back still echoing in his head. Jackknifing to a sitting position, he threw back his head and tried to drag air into his lungs. Nausea stung his throat, flavored with the horror of what he'd just seen.
"Ford? What's wrong?" The anxious question came out of the dark, startling him. He stiffened, ready to fight off an attack, and then he remembered that tonight he wasn't alone.
"Nightmare," he muttered. "Be okay in a minute." He was breathing easier now, but from past experience he k
new the queasiness wouldn't fade quickly. More accustomed to the dark now, his eyes took in the pale shape of Sophie's face. Her eyes were huge, and silvered with worry.
"Can I help?" she asked, touching his arm. "I could get you some water, or maybe some juice?"
"Nothing,"
"At least let me change the sheets," she murmured. "They're soaking wet, and so are you."
He started to refuse, then realized that he wasn't the only one who'd be spending the rest of the night sleeping on clammy sheets. "Clean ones in the hall closet," he muttered, rolling away from her.
His head spun as he got to his feet, and he shivered in the sudden chill. Careful to keep his head up, he made his way to the bathroom and turned on the tap. Nausea spun in his head and ground in his belly as he lowered his face to the sink and splashed cold water on his head and neck, then drank from his cupped hand until he felt able to stand without a cramp bending him in two again. It had been years since he'd felt this sick. He wanted to believe it was too much hot sauce on the eggs, not the long-buried feelings making love to Sophie had stirred to life in him.
Sensing movement, he glanced up to find Sophie watching him from the doorway. She'd pulled on her shirt, but left it hanging open.
"I saw some brandy in the kitchen," she murmured, hugging herself as though she, too, felt the same chill. "Why don't I pour you a glass?"
"Liquor makes it worse." Embarrassed, he pulled a towel from the rod and wiped his face, leaving it in the sink when he was done.
"Then come back to bed," she urged, moving from the door to come to him. Steadier now, he let her put her arm around his waist, and together they returned to the bedroom. His shoulder was hurting badly, and his knees felt more wobbly than secure. He'd had worse tussles with the all-too-familiar nightmare. He just couldn't remember any offhand.
She'd turned on a light and left it burning. She'd folded the sodden sheets and left them by the door. All very tidy, very neat, like the bed she'd remade. That she'd had to do anything at all had him wanting to kick something hard.
"Don't scowl," she murmured, her voice husky. "Everyone needs help sometimes."
THE BACHELOR PARTY Page 20
