by Teresa Hill
She leaned back, her head against the headrest, watching the stars as they raced through the night. The little car was low to the ground, hugging the road as Stephen accelerated into the curves. Obviously, he knew the road well, and she didn't even care that it seemed as if they were going even deeper into the middle of nowhere. Because it also seemed he was taking her far away from everything that frightened her, scared her, and puzzled her. It was like slipping into another world, that marvelous man-to-woman world, where nothing mattered but being with him.
"Cold?" he asked a few minutes later, taking her hand.
"No. I'm fine. It's wonderful out here tonight."
"I thought you'd like it."
"You don't even have to feed me," she said, feeling relaxed for the first time in weeks from the music, the night air, the feel of his warm hand in hers. "Just drive me around and let me look at the stars."
"I hoped you'd like this. Taking this road at night is one of my favorite ways to unwind."
He pulled to a stop in the restaurant parking lot ten minutes later, cut the engine, and killed the lights. She found him leaning toward her in the darkness, taking her chin in his hand, turning her face to his, and pausing there. She sensed his reluctance, sensed that he was somehow at war with himself. The atmosphere between them had changed somehow. Foolishly perhaps, she hadn't been able to forget the times his mouth had settled over hers. She sat, not moving, barely breathing, stunned by how very much she wanted him to kiss her again.
Stephen exhaled raggedly. His hand cupped the side of her face, his thumb brushing gently across her cheek and studying her face.
"You're tired," he said. "I'll take you back, if you want."
"No," she insisted, because she wanted to be with him. Even if she hadn't been afraid, even if the house hadn't been making her crazy, she'd still want to be with him.
"You're trembling." He sighed and shifted closer. "Do I scare you, Allie?"
"No," she insisted.
"What about this?" he whispered, stroking his thumb across the fullness of her bottom lip. "Does this scare you?"
"No," she lied, knowing if she'd said anything but that, she wouldn't have felt his lips settle on hers a moment later, and she wanted very much to lose herself in him and the magic of his touch.
She put her hand up, spread her fingers against his chest, feeling the heat of his body through his shirt. Clutching his shoulders, holding him to her, she gave herself up to the sweet, rich taste of him, to the simple pleasure of his lips against hers, his tongue stroking lazily, smoothly through her mouth. She heard a satisfying little catch in his breath, felt him lean into her, pressing her back against the seat. Her hands found their way into his hair, stroking the silky softness, straining to get closer to him.
Heat, like a fever, rose up inside of her, warming her from the inside out, momentarily erasing all her doubts. His big, powerful body was so solid. She welcomed the feel of him against her, longed to be wrapped up tight in his arms.
It was quiet where they were, just the two of them in the darkness, the urgency of his touch, the passion in his kiss. She sank into his heat, arching her body against his broad, hard chest, his mouth tasting sweet and welcoming. His hand was on her throat, finding that spot where her pulse was hammering in the side of her neck. He kissed her more deeply, her breasts crushed against his chest. She nearly cried out, it felt so very good.
His breathing was coming as rapidly as hers when he finally drew back enough to look into her eyes. The darkness hid all but the merest outline of his face. She sensed rather than saw the tension inside of him. But his hand was soft and gentle against the side of her face.
"I promised to feed you," he said with a wry smile. "Let's get inside."
* * *
He kept her tucked against his side as they walked into the restaurant housed in the quaint old house on the river, held out her chair for her, pulled his from its spot across the table, and put it by her side. He ordered a bottle of wine, and the waiter kept filling her glass until she was pleasantly warm and relaxed.
"It's pretty here," she said. "And it's amazing the kind of crowd they have, considering the location." There was nothing around for miles, except the river and a scattering of houses.
"It's a local landmark. People want to get out of the city, relax, take a nice drive, have some seafood," he said. "Of course, they pay for the location. This place has been flooded about a dozen times. There's a sign on the wall in the back of the dining room showing the water level during past floods. I remember one year the water was knee-deep in this dining room."
"And they always wait for the water to go back down, and go right on?"
"Always. It's a source of pride to them—to never give in to the river."
"Never give in? Just like you."
"It's not owned by a relative of mine, in case you were wondering," he said with a devastating grin.
"Of course not. It's not one of the four acceptable occupations for a Whittaker," she said. "Do women really want to be with you because of who you are and who your family is. Because of your money?"
"Yes," he insisted.
"Not that you're without your charms...."
He frowned at her. "I hope there's a little more to me than a name and a stock portfolio. I'm not interested in making a political or a financial alliance out of a marriage."
"Which is what some people would like you to do?"
"The subject's come up. How well suited a particular woman and I might be. How much we might have in common. How much sense a particular alliance might make."
"It sounds positively medieval."
"Well, we're not big on emotions in the Whittaker family."
Maybe not the family, but she thought he was. He certainly brought out a host of emotions in her. "You've never been married?"
"No."
"Ever come close?"
He nodded. "Close."
"What happened?"
"I discovered she really didn't know me. I don't think she was all that interested in knowing me, and once I thought about it long and hard, I really didn't like what I knew about her."
He was saying he felt lonely with that woman, she realized. Lonely even when he was with her. Maybe he did understand Allie better than she realized.
Stephen took her hand, and she sat there imagining him all alone, imagining him taking away the loneliness that ate at her.
"You make me want things I'm afraid I'll never have," she said later when she was tucked away in his arms. After they'd eaten a very good dinner, he'd taken her into the bar, which had a small dance floor, one man singing and playing his guitar. As they danced, close and slow, to sad, hauntingly beautiful songs, Allie nestled against him, her body seemingly so in tune with his.
"What things, Allie?"
She closed her eyes and thought, Someone who loves me. Truly loves me. There was no way she was going to say that to him. Even if every time she was around him she felt the ridiculous urge to pour out her heart to him. She wanted a man who could make a place in the world where she would feel utterly safe and secure. A place by his side where she would always belong, a place that could never be taken away from her.
It simply didn't exist, of course. She was foolish to want it. From everything she'd ever seen of love, it didn't last. She'd been hurt and controlled and deserted, all by the people who were supposed to love her. She didn't expect to find a man to make all that better.
"I want the impossible," she told him.
"I don't believe anything's impossible," he insisted.
Allie laughed. It was so like him, confident to the point of arrogance. She couldn't help but think what it would be like if he could love a woman with the intensity and the determination he did everything else. What would it be like to be the woman Stephen Whittaker loved?
"Tell me what you want. Right now," he said.
"Just this," she said. "This is enough."
He seemed willing to oblige, because he didn't say
anything else, just held her close. She could have stayed in his arms on the dance floor forever, swaying gently in time to the music. Feeling the brush of his flat stomach, the hard muscles of his thighs, his...
Allie swallowed hard. He was aroused. He wasn't holding her close enough that she could be certain, but every now and then, her breath caught in her throat as some intriguing part of his body, hard and heavy, brushed against hers. She had to fight against the impulse to blatantly press herself to him and feel just how aroused he was. Allie gave herself up to the sheer pleasure of the music, the little buzz she had from the wine, the clean, fresh smell of him, the heat, the possibilities.
She was in a daze, utterly content, when he stopped dancing abruptly, threw some bills on their table, and led her outside, to the side of the restaurant, night noises of birds and crickets and a distant sound of rolling water closing in around them. They turned one more corner, and Stephen pushed her up against the wall, his body holding her there, keeping her there, as his mouth came down on hers in a hard, devastatingly tempting kiss.
He drank deeply from her mouth, obliterating everything else from her mind. He was definitely very aroused. Allie didn't try to hold anything bade. She opened herself up to him, didn't try to stop the helpless little sounds she made deep in her throat. She hadn't planned on this, hadn't planned on things moving forward so quickly it made her dizzy, hadn't counted on just how powerful the heat he generated could be. It was so powerful it could indeed wipe every thought from her head.
But she wanted all of him, all he had to give. Her legs were trembling so badly she could hardly stand. She kissed him until she simply couldn't breathe anymore, until her body was weak and utterly empty without him. His big hands palmed her hips, lifting her to him. She spread her thighs willingly, letting him in, wanting him to ease the ache inside of her, to fill her.
"Dammit," he said, pulling back a fraction. "We are not going to do this standing up against the side of a building."
Dazed, she asked, "We're not?"
He swore, kissed her again, then pulled her to him as he led her to the car and put her inside it. He shrugged out of his suit jacket and covered her with it. The scent of his body clung to the cloth, the warmth as well. Stephen slid behind the wheel and revved the engine. The car was a five-speed, with the gearshift between their seats. He waited until he had the car on the road, tearing along at an exhilarating pace, before he pulled her to him. She snuggled into the awkward position, her head against his side. Her palm landed on his right thigh, his muscles clenching beneath her touch as the car shot forward.
He flipped a few switches on the dashboard, and she felt heat come billowing out. Before long, she slid down until her head was in his lap, her cheek pressed against his thigh. His hand tangled in her hair, letting her know it was fine to rest there. But a part of her felt like exploring. She still had her hand on his thigh, liked the way he felt, all solid and hard beneath her palm. She liked being surrounded by his smell, the heat of his body, the cold night air. She liked the way he stroked her hair with his fingers, and she thought of turning her head toward him, nuzzling her face in his lap, maybe even undoing his slacks and taking him into her mouth.
Allie had never done anything so wicked. She'd never wanted to. But it was dark now. The road was all but deserted. No one would see them, and she wanted to know how it would feel, to be so shockingly sinful and so free. She wondered about the taste of his skin. She wondered if she could make him every bit as crazy for her as she was for him, wanted him to wipe every thought from her head, until there was nothing but him.
Absently, she stroked his hard thigh, liking the way it made him catch his breath.
His hand tightened in her hair. "Allie, you're playing with fire."
She shivered, with pleasure and a bit of nerves. When they got to her house, he wouldn't be leaving. She didn't want him to leave.
"Just let me get us home in one piece, and we'll talk about this, Allie."
She didn't want to talk. She wanted him to take her, quickly and urgently, then sleep beside her all night. She wanted the oblivion and heat and need that only he could give her.
He slid a hand beneath her dress, along her thigh, her hip, across the tender skin of her belly. He pushed aside the flimsy fabric of her bra, until he held her breast in his hand, his thumb finding and teasing at her nipple until it jutted out against his hand.
His hand was everywhere, moving leisurely, lazily, exploring, arousing. She moaned happily, finding this slow, sweet seduction to her liking. The car zipped along, swaying this way and that with the curves of the road. Allie was warm and tired and pleasantly aroused. At some point she must have drifted off. When she woke, her body was filled with a pleasant aching need, and she thought she remembered the feel of his hands on her—everywhere—but she couldn't be sure. They were at her house, she noted. Stephen lifted her out of the car and into his arms. He carried her to the door, somehow managed to unlock it, then headed for the stairs.
The stairs...
Her room...
"Stephen," she said, too loudly, too urgently. "Wait."
"I was just taking you to bed, Allie," he said quietly. "You're beat."
"I... I've been sleeping in the family room. On the sofa."
He paused, considered, then turned and headed for the family room. He laid her down on the sofa, then sat down on the edge of the cushion facing her. His hand tilted her face up to his, and she reached for him, pulling him to her and kissing him hungrily, wanting to be lost in him once again. She'd liked it in the car. There'd been something so wanton about snuggling against him with her head in his lap while they raced through the night. But this was better. She was lying down on the sofa, her back and her head propped against the pillows, and he was on top of her. Which left her free to enjoy the feel of his chest and his shoulders on top of her, his weight pressing down on her.
She kissed him with no thought of restraint or pride or even caution. It was dark, and they were alone in a house that frightened her, and it was heavenly to touch him this way, to taste him, to have him chase away all her demons.
"Stephen," she said, her voice full of hunger and need.
"Wait a minute." He dragged himself off of her with a ragged sigh. "You had something to drink before we went to dinner?"
"What?"
"To drink, Allie. When I came in you were drinking."
"A glass of sherry."
He hadn't bothered to turn on the lights, so they had nothing but the faint light from the hallway, but she could see the concern in his expression.
"And you had two and a half glasses of wine with dinner."
Had she? She hadn't kept track, was surprised to find that he had. "I'm not drunk, Stephen."
His thumb brushed the darkened skin below her eyes. "You're tired."
She nodded. Tired, deliriously warm and aroused, her head spinning just a bit, but that was more from him than the wine.
"I'm not drunk," she said again, lifting her hand to his face and pulling him to her. He kissed her again, those sweet, deep, drugging kisses that had her tingling all over and deliriously warm once again. "Stay with me tonight, Stephen."
He groaned.
"Would that be so wrong?" she asked. "I have to admit, I'm not very good at this. I'm not sure of the proper procedures here..."
"Procedures?"
"Of two people who don't know each other that well going to bed together."
"There's no reason you should be," he said, sounding thoroughly irritated. "And it's certainly not something I'm going to explain to you."
"You want me," she said, but somehow it came out like a question.
"God, yes," he said. "But I'm not going to take you to bed with me tonight."
Still, he leaned over her and kissed her slowly, soothingly. His hand skimmed down her throat. He palmed her breast for a moment, his fingers spread wide, his touch as gentle as it was arousing. She put her hand over his, to keep it there, to keep him cl
ose.
"Allie," he said raggedly. "It's going to be hard enough to walk away from you, as is."
"Then don't," she urged, ready to plead with him if that's what it took.
"You need to think about what you want."
"I've done nothing but think and worry since I got here," she said. "I don't want to do that anymore."
"This morning you hated me, and God knows, you had the right."
"I don't hate you," she said. "I can't."
"But you don't know me. Not well enough for this."
Her face burned at that. She couldn't quite believe he was calling a halt to this. In her admittedly meager experience with men, they took what was offered, took it eagerly and without any twinge of conscience.
"I'll still be here tomorrow and the day after. I'm not going anywhere," he said. "I want you to be sure, Allie."
She groaned and turned her face away, humiliation soaking through her.
He sat there beside her for a long time. She hoped he'd change his mind, that he'd stay, but all he said was, "Will you be all right here?"
"Of course I will," she lied.
He stood up, looked around the darkened room, then back to her. "Allie, why are you sleeping down here?"
Damn. He saw too much.
"It's comfortable," she lied.
"There are five bedrooms in this house, and I assume five beds. Are you telling me there isn't a comfortable one in the bunch?"
She waited there in the darkness, not wanting to admit how foolish she'd been, coming here for answers and then finding herself afraid to look for them.
"Why do you want me to stay so badly?" he asked.
"I thought it was obvious...."
She wanted to die. Her pleasantly warm buzz from the wine was gone, and she wasn't so sleepy anymore, just mortified. He'd come frighteningly close to figuring out her motivations in calling him this afternoon and asking him to spend the evening with her. But somewhere along the way this evening, she'd known she didn't simply want to lose herself in a man. She wanted to lose herself in him. Allie wasn't the kind of woman to go to bed with a man just because she was feeling lonely and afraid. She was too reserved to use sex as a substitute for companionship.
