by Nora Roberts
“Did you get enough?”
Bess was in no mood to fight. Her emotions, always close to the surface, had been wrung dry by what she’d seen and heard that day. She would let him yell, if that was what he needed, but she was tired, she was aching, and her heart went out to him.
“Let me get you a drink,” she said quietly, but he snagged her arm and whirled her back.
“Is it all in your notes?” That cold, terribly controlled fury swiped out at her. “Can you find a way to use it to entertain those millions of daytime viewers?”
“I’m sorry.” It was all she could think of. “Alexi, I’m so sorry.” She took a deep breath. “I want a brandy. I’ll get us both one.”
“Fine. A nice, civilized brandy is just what we need.”
She walked away to choose a bottle from an old lacquered cabinet. “I don’t know what you want me to say.” Very carefully, very deliberately, she poured two snifters. “I’ll apologize for choosing today to do this, if that helps. I’ll apologize for making it more difficult for you by being there when this happened.” She brought the snifter to him, but he didn’t take it. “Right now, I’d be willing to say anything you’d like to hear.”
He couldn’t get beyond it, no matter what she said. He couldn’t get beyond knowing he’d opened the door on the kind of horror she’d never be able to forget. “You had no business being there. You had no business seeing any of that.”
With a sigh, she set both snifters aside. Maybe brandy wouldn’t help after all. “You were there. You saw it.”
His eyes flashed white heat. “It’s my damn job.”
“I know.” She lifted a hand to his cheek, soothing. “I know.”
Compelled, he grabbed her wrist, held tight a moment before he turned away. “I don’t want you touched by it. I don’t want you touched by it ever again.”
“I can’t promise that.” Because it was her way, she wrapped her arms around his waist, rested her cheek against his back. He was rigid as steel, unyielding as granite. “Not if you want something between us.”
“It’s because I do want something between us.”
“Alexi.” So many emotions, she thought. Always before it had been easy to sort them out, to drift with them. But this time… It had been a long, hard day, she reminded herself. There would be time to think later. “If what you want is someone you can tuck in a comfortable corner, it isn’t me. What you do is part of what you are.” When he turned, she brushed her hands over his cheeks again, refusing to let him retreat. “You want me to say I was appalled by what I saw in that room? I was. I was appalled by the cruelty of it, sickened by the terrible, terrible waste.”
That sliced at him, a long, thin blade through the heart. “I shouldn’t have let you go with me. That part of my life isn’t ever going to be part of yours.”
“Stop.” The sorrow that had paled her face hardened into determination. “Do you think that because I write fantasy I don’t know anything about the real world? You’re wrong. I know, it just doesn’t overwhelm my life. And I know that what you faced today you may face tomorrow. Or worse. I know that every time you walk out the door you may not come back.” The quick lick of fear reminded her to slow down and speak carefully. “What you are makes that a very real possibility. But I won’t let that overwhelm me, either. Because there’s nothing about you I’d change.”
For a moment, he simply stared at her, a hundred different feelings fighting for control inside him. Then, slowly, he lowered his brow to hers and shut her eyes. “I don’t know what to say to you.”
“You don’t have to say anything. We don’t have to talk at all.”
He knew what she was offering, even before she tilted her head and touched her lips to his. He wanted it, and her. More than anything, he wanted to steep himself in her until the rest of the world went away.
He took his hands through her hair, letting his fingers toy with those loose, vivid curls. “We haven’t come up with those rules.”
Her lips curved, slanted over his. “We’ll figure them out later.”
He murmured his agreement, drawing her closer. “I want you. I need to be with you. I think I’d go crazy if I couldn’t be with you tonight.”
“I’m here. Right here.”
“Bess.” His mouth moved from hers to skim along those sharp cheekbones. “I’m in love with you.”
She felt her heart stutter. That was the only way she could describe this sensation she’d never experienced before. “Alexi—”
“Don’t.” He closed his mouth over hers again. “Don’t say it. It comes too easy to you. Just come to bed.” He buried his face against her neck. “For God’s sake, let me take you to bed.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
Hurt. Oh, she’d read the stories and the poetry, watched the movies. She’d even written the scenes. But she’d never believed that love and pain existed together, could twine into one clenched fist to batter the soul.
Yet his words had hurt her—immeasurably—even as her heart opened to give and accept.
This time it was different. How could she possibly explain that to him, when she was still groping for the answers herself? And what good were words now, when there was so much need?
A touch would be enough, she promised herself as they swayed toward the steps. Tonight would be enough, and tomorrow all the aches would only be memories.
His mouth came back to hers, restless, insistent, as they began the climb. The first helpless sigh caught in her throat as he pulled her close and aroused her unbearably with a long, sumptuous meeting of lips.
Her fingers trembled when she tugged at his jacket. Had they ever trembled for a man before? she wondered. No. And as the leather slid away, leaving her free to grip those magnificent shoulders, she knew that none of this had happened before. Not the trembling, not the raw scrape of nerves, not the sting of bright tears, not the sweet, slow throb of her blood.
This was the first time for so many things.
He didn’t know how much longer he could perform the simple act of drawing breath in and out of his lungs. Not when her body was shivering against his. Not when he could hear those small, desperately needy sounds in her throat. The staircase seemed to stretch interminably. With a muffled oath, he swept her up into his arms.
Her eyes met his, and though her heart seemed ready to burst, she managed to smile. She knew he needed smiles tonight. “And I said you weren’t romantic.”
“I have my moments.”
Shaky, she nuzzled her face into the curve of his neck. “I’m awfully glad I’m here for this one.”
“Keep it up,” he said in a strained voice as she ran nibbling kisses from throat to ear, “and I’ll do something really romantic, like falling on my face and dropping you.”
“Oh, I trust you, Detective.” She caught the lobe of his ear in her teeth and felt the quick jerk of reaction. “Completely.”
With his heart roaring in his head, he reached the top. She was teasing his jawline now, making little murmurs of approval as she sampled his flesh. He headed for the first door. “This better be the bedroom.”
“Mmm-hmm…” While she worked her way to his mouth, her fingers were busy unbuttoning his shirt.
He recognized her scent first. Even as he passed through the doorway, it wrapped its alluring woman’s fingers around him. That cheerful, sexy fragrance hung in the air, the result, no doubt, of spilled powder and an unstoppered bottle of perfume. Her clothes were a colorful mess of silk blouses, bright cotton pants, tangled hose. His quick scan passed over a life-size stuffed ostrich, a pair of thriving ficus trees flanking the wide window, and a collection of antique bottles, elegant in jewel colors, before he focused on the bed.
It was a long, wide ocean of cool blue sheets, topped by a lush mountain of vivid-toned pillows. All satins and silks.
Because his mouth was beginning to water, he took one long, slow breath. But the air, so fragrant, burned his lungs. “That looks big enough for six close friends.”
; “I like a lot of room.” Even as his stomach quivered at the images that evoked, she was continuing. “I used to fall out of bed a lot when I was a kid.”
“Is that how you broke your nose?”
“No. But I chipped a tooth once.”
He set her down beside the bed, pleased that her arms stayed linked around his neck. “I think we can probably keep from falling out of this one. If we work on it.”
She raised up on her toes, just a little, just enough to bring them eye-to-eye. “I’m willing to risk it.”
Determined to steady himself, he kissed her brow, her cheeks. “Let me take my gun off.”
He stripped off the holster, set it on the floor. With fingers that were suddenly numb and awkward, she reached for the buttons of her blazer.
“No.” It was that one quick flash of nerves in her eyes that had settled his own. He closed his hands over hers. “Let me.” He unfastened buttons, then took his hands slowly up her sides, his thumbs just brushing her breasts. “You’re shaking.”
“I know.”
Watching her, he slid the jacket from her shoulders. “Are you afraid of me?”
“No.” She couldn’t swallow. “Of this, a little. It’s silly.”
He toyed with the first button of her blouse, then the second. Her skin quivered as his knuckle skimmed over it. “I like it.”
“That’s good.” She tried to laugh, but only managed one trembling breath. “Because I can’t seem to stop.”
“There’s plenty of time to relax.” The blouses lipped away, and desire curled its powerful fist in his stomach. Midnight-blue silk shimmered in the dimming light, gleaming against ivory skin. “There’s no hurry.”
“I—” Her head fell back as he traced a finger over the silk. Gently, so gently, over the swell of her breasts, as though hers was the first body he’d touched. The only one he wanted to touch. “God, Alexi…”
“I’ve spent a lot of time imagining this. Step out of your shoes,” he suggested while he unhooked her slacks. In a daze, she obeyed as the slacks slithered down her legs. “I’m going to spend a lot more time enjoying it. I want all of you.” Lazily, testingly, he ran a finger under the lace cut high on her thigh. Ah, the skin there was like rose petals dewed with morning. Her eyes went wide and dark; her body quaked. “All of you,” he repeated.
She couldn’t move. Every muscle in her body had turned to water. Hot, rushing water. She couldn’t speak, not when so many emotions clogged her throat. As she stood swaying, helplessly seduced, he watched her. Touched her. Clever fingers brushing, stroking, exploring. He trailed them up her arms, slid them over her shoulders. Then back to silk, until her body burned like fever.
His eyes never left hers. Even when he kissed her, lightly, tormenting her hungry lips with the barest of tastes, his eyes stayed open and aware.
“You’re making me crazy.” Her voice hitched out through trembling lips.
“I know. I want to.”
He caught her wrists when she reached for him, then ran their tangled fingers over her, so that she felt her own response to him, inside and out, as he touched his mouth to hers again. Patiently, erotically, he deepened the kiss, until her hands went limp and her pulse thundered. Then he brought her hands up, spread them over his chest. Together they spread his open shirt apart. With his mouth still clinging to hers, he tugged it off. His heart gave a quick, hard lurch as her hands, hot and eager, raced over him.
Yanking her close, he took off his shoes. His skin was already damp when he fumbled for the snap of his jeans.
“I want you under me.” He tore his mouth from hers to savor her throat. “I want to feel you move under me.”
They lowered to the bed, rolled once, then twice, over silk. He used every ounce of control, every degree of will, to keep himself from plunging into her and taking the quick, desperate release his body craved. His mind, his soul, wanted more than that.
She seemed smaller like this. Slighter. It helped him remember that passion could outstrip tenderness. So, while the blood pounded and burned in his veins, he loved her slowly.
She discovered that a woman could drown willingly in sweetness. She knew there was a gun on the floor beside them and that he had used it at least once to kill. But the hands that moved over her were those of a gentle man. One who cared. She rested a palm on his cheek as she floated away on the kiss. One who loved.
Who loved her.
Staggered by the knowledge, she poured everything she had into the kiss, needing to show him that whatever he felt was returned, equally. Then his mouth slid from hers to trail down her throat, over her shoulder. All thought, all reason, skittered away.
In a warm, slippery pool of silk and satin, he showed her what it was to ache for someone. To yearn for the sharp, thin point of pain the poets call ecstasy. Her hips arched under his, desperately offering. But he only continued that tormenting journey over her with teasing lips and gentle hands.
When his tongue flicked under the line of lace that clung tenuously to her breasts, she moaned, pressing an urgent hand to the back of his head. The taste there—honey, dampened by her arousal—nearly unraveled the taut knot of his control. So he pleased them both, closing a greedy mouth over that firm, scented swell.
Gasping out with pleasure, she bucked under him, straining for more, her nails digging heedlessly into his back as she whimpered and struggled for what was just out of reach. Maddened by her response, he brought his mouth to hers again, crushing her lips as he slithered a hand down to cup the heat between her thighs. Prayers and pleas trembled on her tongue, but before she could voice them, he slipped under the silk to stroke.
The unbearable pleasure shattered. Fractured lights, whirling colors, spun behind her eyes to blind her. She heard herself cry out; his name was nearly a sob. Then there was his groan, a sound of sweet satisfaction as her body went limp in release.
Never before. Her hands slid away from him, boneless. Sweet Lord, never like this. She felt weak, wrecked, weepy. As her breath sobbed out, as her eyes fluttered closed, they both knew that her mind, her body, were totally his for the taking.
He’d never felt stronger. Her wild response, her absolute surrender, filled him with a kind of intense power he’d never experienced before. Silk rustled against silk as he drew the teddy down, tossed it aside. Her skin, slick with passion, glowed in the shadows. He touched where he chose, watching, fascinated, as his own hands molded her. Gold against ivory. He tasted wherever he liked, feeling her muscles quiver involuntarily as he traced openmouthed kisses over her rib cage, down to her stomach. Heat to heat.
Then, wanting that instant of sheer pleasure again, he drove her up a second time, shuddering himself as her body convulsed and flowed with the crest of the wave.
At last, unable to wait a moment longer, he slipped inside that hot, moist sheath. Her groan of stunned delight echoed his own.
Slowly, as in a dream, her arms lifted to wrap around him. She rose to meet him, to take him deep. They moved gently at first, treasuring the intimacy, willing to prolong it. But need outpaced them, driving them faster, until, thrust for thrust, they sprinted toward the final crest.
His hand fisted in her hair as the last link of control snapped clean. Her name exploded from his lips like an oath as he emptied himself into her.
She wondered how she could ever have thought herself experienced. While it was true she hadn’t been with as many men as some thought, she hadn’t come to Alexi an innocent.
Yet things had happened tonight that had never happened before. And, because she was a woman who understood herself well, she knew that nothing she had experienced here would happen again—unless it was with him.
Relaxed now, she rubbed her cheek over his chest, content to remain as she’d been since he rolled over and dragged her across him. Tucked in the cocoon of his arms, she felt as cozy as a cat, and she arched lazily as he ran a hand down her spine.
“Will you tell me again?” she asked.
“Wha
t?”
She pressed her lips against him, feeling his heart beating strong and fast beneath them. “What every woman wants to hear.”
“I love you.” When she lifted her head, he laid a hand gently over her lips. He knew it would hurt to hear her say it, when she didn’t mean it as he did.
Suddenly she was glad it was dark, and he couldn’t see the smile fade away from her face. “Even after this,” she said carefully, “you don’t want me to love you back.”
More than anything, he thought. More than life. “Let’s just leave things as they are.” He traced her face with a fingertip, enjoying those odd angles. “Tell me how you broke your nose.”
She was silent a moment, gathering her composure. She couldn’t offer what he didn’t want to take. “Fistfight.”
He chuckled and drew her back to cuddle, instinctively soothing the tension out of her. “I should have figured.”
She made an effort to relax against him. There was time to convince him. Hadn’t he said they had plenty of time? “At boarding school,” she added. “I was twelve and homely as a duck. Too skinny, funny hair, dumb face.”
“I like your face. And your hair.” His hand cupped her breast comfortably. “And your body.”
“You didn’t know me when I was twelve. When you’re odd in any way, you’re a target.”
“I know.”
Interested, she lifted her head again. “Do you?”
“I didn’t learn English until I was five. Before my father’s business got off the ground, times were rough.” He turned his face into her hair to breathe in the scent. “I was this little Ukrainian kid, wearing my brother’s hand-me-downs. And back then, Soviets weren’t particularly popular with Americans.”
“Well, you made such great villains.” She kissed his cheek, comforting the small boy he’d been. “It must have been difficult for you.”
“I had the family. We had each other. School was a little rugged at first. Name-calling, playground scuffles. Even some of the parents weren’t too keen on having their kids play with the Russkie. No point in trying to explain we were Ukrainian.” He shifted, tangled his legs with hers. “So, after a few black eyes and bloody noses, I earned a reputation for being tough. After a while, we kind of got absorbed into the neighborhood.”
