“Don’t be snide. Where would you like me to sit?”
Like a maître d’ Tate pulled out her chair, seated her and whipped open her napkin with an exaggerated flourish. He had just poured her a glass of wine, when the buzzer on the oven went off. Victoria’s brows shot up. She hadn’t even given him credit for being able to find the timer, much less knowing how to use it.
“Oh, dear,” he muttered.
“What’s wrong?”
“It’s ready too soon. I haven’t tossed the salad.”
“We don’t need a salad,” Victoria soothed.
“Are you sure?”
“I’m sure.”
“Okay,” he said, relief evident in his voice. He opened the oven door and peered inside, his brow puckered in dismay.
“Now what’s wrong?”
“It looks funny.”
“What looks funny?”
“The soufflé.”
“You made a soufflé?” Victoria couldn’t keep the amazement out of her voice.
“Well, I thought I had, but it doesn’t look like any soufflé I’ve ever seen.”
“Let’s see it.”
With obvious reluctance Tate withdrew the casserole from the oven. Victoria eyed it curiously. There certainly wasn’t any sign of a puffy golden top peeking over the rim of the dish. He walked over to the table and held it out.
“Does it need to cook some more?”
Victoria peered into the bowl and fought back the urge to giggle hysterically. It looked like a Florida sinkhole. The sides were barely three inches high and one shade beyond golden brown. The middle had simply caved in.
“I don’t think baking will help it.”
“Why not?”
“It’s past help.”
“But I’ve been checking it every few minutes. It seemed to be doing just fine.”
Victoria’s lips started twitching, and she gazed at Tate with blue eyes that sparkled with barely suppressed laughter. “You checked it every few minutes?” she said, her voice catching. “Were you careful not to slam the oven door?”
“What does that have to do with anything?”
“Tate, soufflés are very delicate. They can fall. Yours has taken a tumble.”
“But I wanted it to be perfect.”
“I’m sure it will taste fine,” she said, though her voice lacked conviction. A moment later, with Tate gazing at her hopefully, she took a small bite, followed by a large gulp of wine.
“What’s wrong with it?”
“Nothing,” she denied. “It’s a little hot.”
“Of course it’s hot. It just came out of the oven.”
“That’s not what I mean. Did you by any chance put any extra spices in it?”
“Extra spices?” He stared at her blankly. “No. I couldn’t find the pepper shaker, so I used some of that red pepper instead, but that’s all.”
“Oh, my Lord,” Victoria murmured.
“What?”
“Just taste it.”
Tate scooped up a forkful, swallowed it and grabbed for his wineglass. His eyes watered.
“It’s awful.”
“Not awful exactly. Just spicy.”
“We can’t eat this. I’ll make sandwiches.”
Victoria stood up hurriedly. “No. You stay where you are. You’ve done enough. I’ll make the sandwiches.”
Tate grinned. “You don’t trust me, do you?”
“Well, you did put hot pepper in a spinach soufflé.”
“I wouldn’t put it on the sandwiches.”
“Maybe not, but humor me.”
“Maybe we should take a look at the house first.”
“Think that’ll kill my appetite completely?”
Tate glared at her. “You’re going to be sorry you said that.”
“I hope so,” Victoria muttered under her breath as she started toward the door.
“What did you say?”
She gave him a dazzling smile. “I said I can hardly wait.”
Tate’s tour started on the porch, where he pointed out the window he’d replaced. Then he showed her the stairs, all now solid-looking and even.
“I’m impressed,” she admitted.
“Wait,” he said, his brown eyes sparkling with an excitement that made her heart flip over. “Close your eyes.”
“I won’t be able to see if I close my eyes.”
“Don’t worry. I’ll let you open them again. I just want you to experience the full effect all at once.”
A nervous edginess crept into Victoria’s voice. It was interesting that as Tate had grown more impulsive, she seemed to be growing increasingly cautious. “The full effect of what?”
“Close your eyes and come with me,” Tate insisted, taking her hand. “Are they closed? They don’t look closed.”
“Tate, if I close them any tighter, I’ll get wrinkles.”
“They’ll add character.”
“I don’t want character.”
“Humph!”
Victoria noted that the hand clutching hers so tightly was much rougher than the hand that had caressed her that morning. For a moment she felt almost guilty about going off and leaving Tate alone to do all of this work. Then she visualized the mess in the kitchen and thought about how long it was likely to take her to repair the damage. Her guilt vanished. She’d say they were about even so far.
Suddenly they stopped and Victoria’s nose twitched. Paint? She smelled paint. Suddenly she had this horrible vision of dull white walls. She’d known the minute she walked into his apartment that Tate’s imagination did not stretch beyond white.
“Open your eyes,” he said excitedly.
She took a deep breath and tried to prepare a properly enthusiastic response. After all, the man deserved some credit for trying. She opened her eyes. She rotated around in a tiny circle. Her brows rose ever so slightly. Her mouth dropped open.
“Tate, it’s…”
“Do you like it?” he asked anxiously.
“It’s so…blue.”
“I thought it matched your eyes.”
In that instant, with those softly spoken words, the room went from mere blue to incredible, spectacular and a dozen other adjectives it took to adequately describe the joy that shot through Victoria’s heart. He’d bought the paint to match her eyes. If that wasn’t the sweetest, most unexpected, most…romantic thing to do. She stood on tiptoe and threw her arms around him.
“Oh, Tate,” she said, her eyes shining and turning a deeper, more intense blue than Tate had ever seen before. “It’s the most beautiful room I have ever seen.”
He knew then that every backbreaking moment had been worth it. The thrill of pleasing her, of surprising her was like no other emotion he’d ever experienced. He would climb mountains or tumble out of airplanes to keep that look on her face. Instead, he kissed her, his tongue flickering gently across her lips, teasing them into parting, urgently seeking her nectar, the uniquely sweet taste that was all Victoria.
With innocent abandon, she sighed and yielded to his embrace, like a child curling sleepily into the arms of a parent. But there was nothing childlike about her response in that moment of surrender. She was all woman in his arms, her body quivering under his deft touch as it roved over warm shoulders, curving spine, rounded buttocks and firm thighs. He felt the heat rising through her, matching his, blending with it until an urgent, white-hot fire raged between them.
Her hands were questing over his body, rippling along his muscles that were thirsting for her touch, tensed from the waiting, coiled even tighter when it came. They needed the release only she could bring. They needed to experience those delicate hands kneading, teasing, tempting him. He groaned aloud as her hand skimmed tentatively across the front of his jeans.
“No, babe,” he pleaded. “Not yet.” His control could take only so much.
“Tate, please don’t stop,” she pleaded. “I want you to love me.”
“But we need to talk, remember. We need to think ab
out what we want.”
“I know what I want. I want to feel you inside me. I…I’ve never felt like this before, and I want it to be with you.”
A thrill of pleasure soared through Tate, then hesitated and drifted down, turning into doubt. Could she possibly know what she was saying? Was she really willing to give her greatest gift to him? After all, she still thought they were mismatched and deep down so did he. Nothing had happened to change that and making love would only confuse the issue.
She lifted his hand and placed it over her breast. He could feel the nipple harden. She gazed up at him, and there was a mute appeal in her eyes, an appeal it was taking every ounce of willpower he possessed to deny.
“Please,” she whispered. “Please.”
Tate buried his face in her hair, the golden-red curls surrounding him with fragrant silk. His body shuddered.
“Tate?”
“God help me, I want you too much to say no,” he told her, scooping her into his arms and carrying her up the stairs. “We’ll just have to sort it all out later.”
When they reached the bedroom he carefully set Victoria on her feet, as though she were the fragile doll she’d once reminded him of. Then he turned down the covers on her brass bed, each hurried movement giving him a startling sense of déjà vu because he’d envisioned it so often in the last few days. She started to take off her blouse, but he stilled her hands.
“No,” he said softly. “I want to do it.”
Victoria saw the heated look of desire in his eyes and trembled. She had wanted this moment, wanted him so much and now it was happening. Her flesh burned, where his knuckles grazed it as he lifted her blouse over her head. His kisses fluttered across her shoulders, moist heat that seared soft satin. Her bra was unhooked and fell away and his lips replaced the lacy fabric, caressing, at first tenderly and then with an urgency that filled her breasts with an aching tautness. Waves of pleasure reached in and down, spiraling through her to some secret center of excitement that she’d never before realized she possessed.
Without her even knowing that Tate had touched it, her skirt slid to the floor, and her legs, which logic told her should have been cooled by the evening breeze, burned with an inner heat.
“You are so beautiful,” he murmured softly, as his sure fingers skimmed over her anxious flesh, along the silken curve of her waist, over narrow hips and along firm thighs, drawn inevitably toward that trembling warmth between her legs. When his palm cupped her, Victoria gasped with surprise and delight. She’d had no idea what a man’s touch would feel like there, no idea that it could create this breathless flutter of anticipation that was building into a thrill of tension that threatened to overtake her and send her senses reeling out of control.
“You’re ready, aren’t you?” She was so lost in the sensations flowing through her that Tate’s voice seemed to come to her from a great distance.
Ready? She felt as though she’d been ready for a lifetime, waiting for this. “Yes,” she murmured. “Oh, yes, Tate, I’m ready. I want you.”
He slipped her pants off and then placed her gently on the bed. Victoria felt bereft without him, the fires inside were cooling, but as Tate yanked his shirt over his head, revealing his well-muscled chest with its scattering of crisply curling brown hairs, the flames built again. Victoria’s fascinated eyes followed the movement of his hands as he unsnapped and then unzipped his jeans and slid them slowly down over lean hips, taking his briefs with them. Her breath caught in her throat at her first sight of him fully aroused for her. He was so utterly masculine, so incredibly virile. He was magnificent! She held out her arms to him and he came to her.
When flesh met flesh, Victoria’s body responded with an urgency and eagerness that she could see from the look in Tate’s eyes. His hands moved slowly over her, taunting her. Her body twisted and turned, alive with a yearning need to know it all, to feel the ultimate union of two highly different individuals into a uniquely special whole.
“Now, Tate, please,” she pleaded.
“Shhh. I want to be sure you’re ready,” he soothed, his fingers gliding over the intense peak in which her arousal seemed to be centered to touch even warmer flesh. “I don’t want to hurt you.”
“You won’t,” she murmured softly against his chest, her lips moist and seeking, searching for a masculine nipple to feel the satisfying tension that could be aroused by a gentle flick of her tongue. “Nothing you could do could ever hurt me.”
Tate knelt over her, poised, his eyes gazing down at her with love and desire and tenderness. Instinctively, Victoria’s hips lifted to meet him, and the touch of that moistness lured him inside with a slow, steady thrust that hesitated only once, when a tiny cry escaped her lips.
“No, please,” she said urgently, her hands on his hips drawing him to her, refusing to allow the retreat.
And then, once that instantaneous, tiny shock of pain was gone, she was filled with new waves of excitement that built to an incredible peak, calling to her, luring her to a place of awesome beauty and previously unimagined adventures. Suddenly she realized it was Tate’s voice she heard, Tate calling out her name, as his body shuddered in an extraordinary moment of released passion, taking her with him on the most thrilling, romantic journey of all.
Chapter Ten
As Victoria came slowly and reluctantly awake, she sensed that someone was staring intently at her. After awakening alone for twenty-eight years of her life, it was a most disconcerting feeling. It also felt wonderful to realize that Tate was next to her, and that it was his body causing that dip in the mattress, causing her to roll to his side. Smiling softly, she stretched and turned toward him, wanting to feel his arms around her again.
“Morning,” she murmured quietly, not wanting to shatter the pleasant early morning hush of daybreak. She opened her eyes to meet his steady gaze, but as she took in the look of dismay on his face, her own gaze wavered. “What’s wrong?”
“How could I do it? How could I be so stupid?”
“Do what?” She shook her head to try to clear the cobwebs. “Tate, I am not very good in the morning. You’re going to have to try harder to make sense.”
“How could I make love to you without protecting you?” he muttered, burying his face in his hands. If the eyes were the windows to the soul, Victoria thought, then Tate’s soul was deeply troubled.
“You were a virgin, damn it. I never should have touched you. What if you get pregnant?” he said, then added decisively, “I’ll marry you. That’s all there is to it. We may have some problems adjusting at first, but we’ll work it out. We ought to start thinking about a date.”
“Tate…”
His head snapped up. “What?”
“Don’t worry about it.”
“What do you mean don’t worry about it? Of course I’m going to worry. I’ve never done anything this foolish and irresponsible before in my life. I never wanted to hurt you, and now I might have gone and gotten you pregnant. My God!”
“Tate, it’s okay,” she said soothingly, putting her cool hand on his bare shoulder. The flesh was warm, inviting. She felt him tremble, right before he decisively shrugged off her touch. He groaned aloud.
“Touching is not a good idea. That’s what got us into this mess.”
“Tate McAndrews, I will not have you describing the most beautiful night of my life as a mess!” Victoria snapped.
“Tell me that a few weeks from now when you’re pregnant.”
“I am not going to get pregnant.”
“Do you have some sort of exclusive on luck?”
“No,” she said patiently. “But I took care of it. I saw a doctor…right after we met.” She blushed. “Well, not exactly right after, but soon…I mean once I knew….”
He gazed at her as though she’d announced that she’d been praying to a fertility god. “You…”
“Saw a doctor,” she repeated firmly. She grinned at him, noting the relief in his eyes. “Someone had to be sensible,” she ad
ded with a shrug.
Laughter bubbled up then, and Tate pulled her back into his arms. “You are incredible, Victoria Marshall.”
“I’ve always thought so. I’m glad you’ve finally figured it out,” she said, gasping when he nipped playfully at the taut peak of her breast. “Tate!”
“Yes,” he said innocently.
“What time is it?”
“I’m trying to make love to you, and you want to know what time it is?”
“I’m due at an auction at ten. I don’t want to be late.”
Tate moaned. “The woman who has never once in the two weeks I’ve known her been on time is worried about not being late to an auction. I can’t decide whether to be astonished or insulted.”
“Go for astonished. It’s easier on the ego,” she said as she rolled over top of him to see the clock for herself. “Whoops. It’s nearly nine. I’ve got to get moving.”
“You move much more, wiggle even one tiny finger, and you won’t get out of this bed for a week,” Tate announced in a voice so filled with urgency that Victoria froze.
“How do you expect me to get out of bed if I can’t move?” she asked breathlessly, as her body became instantly aware of exactly how many interesting points of contact it had established with Tate’s.
“I am going to do the moving. I am going to lift you ever so slowly so that you do not rub against me,” he muttered, a low growl in his voice.
She wiggled.
“Victoria!”
She wiggled again and grinned. “Maybe I could be just a little late.”
* * *
They arrived at the auction at noon. The yard of the farmhouse was crowded with familiar faces and the auctioneer’s voice was filling the air with the rat-a-tat-tat patter that kept the bidding moving at a head-spinning pace. An excitement built inside Victoria, almost as great as that she’d experienced in Tate’s arms. She loved exploring the rows of furniture and cartons of household goods at a farm sale, looking for some special treasure. Sometimes it seemed the more battered and decrepit the item, the more it appealed to her sense of discovery. She always wanted to learn what was under the paint or beneath the rust. Then she tried to imagine the lives it had touched. Maybe that was what made antiques so special to her, the fact they each had a history, stories they could tell about someone who had treasured them.
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