He eased her back on the bed, pausing long enough to jerk his shirt off, still in control enough to leave his jeans on, not sure how long he would be able to hold off without that barrier. And then he was stroking her. Touching. And every place he brushed seemed to catch fire.
He slid his hands over the quivering muscles of her belly, sUding his finger through the nest of soft curls at the top of her thighs, feeUng her jolt as he cupped his palm over her, found her all sleek heat and moisture. Soon, he thought, his heart hammering against his breastbone. Soon. But not quite yet. Not. Quite. Ah, there. He moved his hand on her with wicked knowledge, watching her face as her eyes went blind, the breath shuddering in and out of her.
*Tlease. I don't— I can't—" Her hands came up, her fingemails biting into his shoulders as her body arched, trembling, caught on the sharp pinnacle.
'*Let go, sweetheart. I want to watch you go over." He slid one long finger into her, at the same
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time brushing his thumb over the swollen nub of flesh at the top of her sex.
Her breath exploded from her on a sob as she shattered. He could feel the delicate contractions grip his finger, and he thought he'd never felt anything more exquisite. And if he didn't have her now, he was going to die.
Limp and trembling, Anne watched through dazed eyes as he rose and stripped off his jeans, his movements quick and almost clumsy. He was beautiful, she thought. His chest was broad, the muscles rippling as he shoved his jeans over his thighs. Her eyes followed that tantalizing line of dark hair as it arrowed across the washboard flatness of his stomach to join the swirling mat of hair at his loins.
Her eyes widened a little as she stared at his erection. She'd seen naked men in magazines, but nothing could have prepared her for this first sight of a fiilly aroused man. Neill had one knee braced on the bed, but he stopped when he saw her looking at him. He waited, wondering if she was going to change her mind, wondering if he would lose his if she did.
Then she lifted her hand and touched him, her fingertips featherlight as they trailed from base to
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tip and back again. Neill's teeth ground together in a desperate bid for control. He didn't want to do anything to startle her, but he was starting to think she really might be the death of him. His head fell back, his breath leaving him on a groan when her hand closed around him, testing, stroking in a way that had need clawing like daggers in his chest
**Later," he growled, catching her hand and drawing it away from his straining flesh.
He came down onto the bed next to her, and she could feel him all along her side, his skin fever warm, his body so much harder than hers. She hadn't thought she could respond again so soon, but he was touching her, stroking, teasing, and she could feel the hunger rising again, drawing her upward, pressing her against him. She heard herself whimpering, pleading, and then he was over her, his legs sliding heavy between hers, and she was arching to meet him. Wanting. Needing,
His pulse drununing in his ears, his muscles tight with control, Neill fought the urge to drive himself into her. Her first time, he reminded himself, and felt his blood sizzle at the thought. He pressed forward, finding the slick heat of her, easing inward, testing.
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''Hold on," he murmured, and bent to take her mouth even as he took her body.
There was heat, an instant of resistance, and then he was sheathed in the damp velvet warmth of her and it was better than his darkest fantasy. He pressed his forehead to hers, his muscles screaming as he struggled to give her the time she needed to accept his invasion.
Anne held herself very still beneath him. She'd thought she knew what to expect, but knowing the mechanics of it didn't tell her what it felt like to share her body with a man. There had been pain, but that had been gone in an instant. What she was left with was an aching sense of being filled, stretched almost beyond bearing, and yet there was a sense of satisfaction in the filling, a need at least partially fulfilled.
Experimentally, she contracted the muscles that held him and felt a surge of purely feminine triumph when Neill groaned. There was power in being wanted this much, a dark, primal thrill in knowing she could make him tremble. She rocked her hips, taking him deeper, urging him, wanting., .more. And then he was moving on her, his hips easing back, sUding forward, back and for-
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ward, the rhythm increasing as the pressure built within her, within him.
Anne whimpered, her head tossing back and forth on the pillow as the tension grew, more powerful than it had been before. She arched to meet each powerful thrust, wanting more, her body stretched as if on a rack, needs and hunger swirling within her, driving her.
Neill wrapped his fist around her hair, stopping the restless movement of her head, pinning her with the feverish blue of his eyes.
**Look at me." He shifted the angle of his thrusts so that each stroke rubbed across the tiny knot of nerves he'd touched before. There was an instant when the tension was nearly unbearable, and then it shattered, taking her with it She heard him groan, a harsh, guttural sound tom from his throat, and then he was shuddering in her arms.
A very long time later, his face still buried in her hair, his breathing ragged, Neill said her name.
**Anner'
*'Hmmr'
*1 don't think you should ask for your money back on that fancy underwear."
And that was another thing she hadn't known— that laughter could be a part of the mix.
Chapter Eleven
Anne came awake slowly. The first thing she noticed was that she was too warm, and she frowned fretfully at the weight of the covers around her waist and hips. Why on earth would she have piled so many covers on the bed in the middle of summer? Barely awake, she moved to push them away, but what she touched wasn't soft Unen and wool but warm, hard muscle and sinew. Memory rolled over her in a wave, her breath rushing out as her eyes flew open to stare at an unfamiliar ceiling.
Neill. She was with Neill, in Chicago, in the suite he'd brought her to the day before, in the bed where he'd made love to her the night before. Several times. Cautiously, half-afraid she might have
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dreamed it all, she turned her head on the pillow. He was sleeping on his side, one arm thrown across her stomach, one leg resting between hers with a casual intimacy that made her flush with pleasure and a touch of embarrassment.
Not that she had any business feeling embarrassed after the night just past, she thought, her flush deepening as the memories rushed over her, warming her skin. It seemed incredible that a man like this could want her so much, but she'd had unmistakable proof in the way he'd reached for her again and again during the night. The last time had been somewhere near dawn, because she remembered the pearl gray light seeping through the windows, shadowing his face as he moved above her, the newly famiUar weight of him pressing her gently back into the yielding mattress as he loved her with long, slow strokes that seemed to reach all the way to her soul, making it last until she was clinging to him with damp hands, his name leaving her on a sob as he took her over the edge, burying his face in her hair as he fell with her.
Oh yes, he definitely wanted her.
She smiled at the thought, a small, feline curve of her lips. So this was the morning after. She'd always wondered what it would be like to wake up
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in a man's arms, to know herself wanted. Now she knew, and it felt simply incredible. Her skin felt sensitized, as if his touch had brought new nerve endings to life. There was a delicious tenderness in her breasts and between her thighs. With every breath, she could smell the warm, musky scent of sex, a scent she knew on some primal level.
Her fingers moved gently on Neill's arm. She felt different, not just physically, but within herself. She felt...womanly. Her smile took on a sheepish edge. It seemed a ridiculously old-fashioned i
dea, like something out of an old novel where the heroine loses her virginity and suddenly, in an amazing transformation, changes overnight from girl to woman. But it wasn't the loss of her virginity that made her feel different. It was what this weekend represented. She'd finally stepped outside the cushioned box in which she'd spent most of her life. She was taking a chance, actually having a life. It was a heady thought.
Neill stirred beside her, and all her newfound courage vanished in a flash. A giddy wave of panic surged through her at the thought of facing those clear blue eyes this morning. Cautiously, she eased her way out from under the weight of his arm and leg, sUding toward the edge of the bed. She started
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to swing her legs over the edge of the bed, only to feel a hard arm slide around her waist and drag her back to land against the pillows in a flushed heap.
Sleepy, s^phire eyes smiled down at her. His voice was a husky rasp. '*Where were you sneak-mg off tor*
**I...um...just to. ..I wasn't sneaking,'* she lied, staring at his collarbone. It had been easy to be bold last night, riding high on his kisses and maybe just a little on the wine, knowing she looked her best It was something else altogether this morning, with the memories of the night just past tumbling through her brain and both of them naked in the sunlight that spilled through the curtains that neither of them had thought to pull.
**You were definitely sneaking,'' he accused. He lowered his head to nuzzle her neck. His jaw felt rough against her tender skin, a new, unfamiliar intimacy that sent a shiver up her spine. **Sneaking is a punishable crime in Chicago."
*'Is it?" He was nibbling his way down her throat, sending every logical thought spinning out of her head. *'Don't I...oh!" Her back arched as his mouth slid across her breast, his tongue swirling over her nipple. *'Isn't there some sort of trial?" she got out breathlessly.
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*'In the case of sneaking, the victim gets to hand out whatever he feels is a fitting punishment.'' Neill's tongue probed the shallow indentation of her belly button, his mouth curving against her skin as he felt her arch, her legs parting in unconscious invitation. She was so incredibly responsive— warm and trembling and his. Only his. After the night they'd just shared, it hardly seemed possible, but he was as hard as if he'd never touched her, every muscle quivering with the need to have her again.
"What...what sort of punishment?"
*'This," he whispered, lowering his head to taste her sweet, moist flesh. She jerked in shock, her breath exploding from her.
**Oh my God! Neill, you—" Her fingers slid into his hair, tensed as if to pull him away, but he lifted her, opening her more fully, his tongue stabbing into her, and her hands dropped away in mute surrender.
By the time he gave in to the howling demands of his own flesh and slid up her body, Anne was limp and trembUng beneath him. Her big gray eyes held a glazed look as he positioned himself against her, entering the first tiny bit and then stopping long enough to wrap his hand in her hair, holding
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her eyes as he thrast his aching hardness into the yielding warmth of her.
*'Mine," he whispered gutturally and bent to kiss her, letting her taste herself on his mouth as he drove her ruthlessly to climax.
It seemed a long time later when he summoned every ounce of strength left in him to roll to the side. She was definitely going to be the death of him, he decided, listening to the ragged sound of his own breathing. But what a hell of a way to go.
*'If that's what I got for just trying to sneak out of bed," she said huskily, **I can't wait to see what happens if I actually make it out of the room.''
Laughing a little shakily, Neill pulled her close against his side. "Don't make me get tough with you. At least, not until I've had time to recover."
They ordered lunch from room service. Neill grinned at Anne's obvious deUght in having a white-clothed table rolled into the room with everything covered by silver-domed lids. He'd spent enough time in hotel rooms that he took such things for granted, but her pleasure made him remember the publicity tour for his first book and the wonderful novelty of having a black-jacketed waiter bring breakfast to his room.
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After lunch, he resisted the urge to take her back to bed and swept her out to see something of the city. The weather was in a cooperative mood. It was sunmier, which meant heat, but the humidity was down and clear blue skies arched over the city.
He took her to the Miracle Mile, where they window shopped, along with hordes of tourists and residents. He bought her a bumper sticker that said '*I Love Chicago" and a tacky plastic figure, purporting to represent Mrs. O'Leary's cow, presumably in the days before it kicked over the lamp that started the Great Chicago Fire. He saw a dozen other things he wanted to buy her— sl dress she admired, a diamond bracelet that made her sigh— but, even if she would have accepted ihem, expensive gifts would mean explanations, and that was the last thing he wanted.
Sometime during the night, he'd decided that explanations could wait. It might have been when she'd told him she was wearing lingerie that came with a guarantee. Or maybe it was before that, when they'd stood suspended high over the city and he'd kissed her. Or maybe he'd never really intended to make explanations until the weekend was over. He was no longer sure what his thinking had been, and it didn't really matter. He didn't re-
ally care about anything right now except seeing the happy glow in Anne's eyes. The real world would simply have to wait a day or two.
Neill didn't tell Anne that they were having dinner at his brother's restaurant until he was pulling the Vette into a parking place marked Employees Only.
"I knew parking would be at a premium on Saturday night," he explained as he handed her out of the low-slung car. "But Tony promised not to have the car towed."
'T didn't expect to be meeting your family," Anne said, hanging back.
"Just my brother." He tugged on her hand. "If it was going to be the whole bunch, I'd have provided you with earplugs. We tend to be a little noisy when we get together."
"I didn't really dress for meeting people," she said uneasily. The thought of meeting Neill's family, even if it was just one member, had nerves fluttering in the pit of her stomach.
"You look great," he assured her truthfully. The apricot-colored dress, with its nipped-in waist and gentle scooped neckline, suited her. She'd pulled her hair up into a soft knot, leaving little curls free
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to tease the nape of her neck. It was a style that never failed to make his fingers twitch with the urge to pull the pins loose and see her hair tumble down around her face. Then again, just looking at her made him twitch with the urge to do any number of things, all of them highly unsuitable at the moment. *'You'll like Tony and his family.''
*'rm sure they're very nice." But she still hung back, eyeing the building nervously.
"You owe me," Neill said. *1 ate dinner with your parents and survived to tell the tale."
Reluctantly, Anne let him pull her forward. She could only hope that his brother wasn't as intimidating as her mother.
The sign on the restaurant read **Devlin's" in neat black script. The interior was rough-cut wood and sawdust on the floor, but there were fresh flowers on every table, and the wait staff wore trim black trousers and crisp white shirts. It was an interesting mix of caf6 casual and understated elegance. Judging by the fact that almost every table was fuU, Anne assumed that business was good.
When Neill gave his name to the girl standing behind the wooden podium near the front door, she smiled and immediately led them to a table near the kitchen door.
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*'Most popular table in the house," she said, running an expert eye over it to make sure everything was as it should be. *'Tony had us hold it for you. m let him know you're here."
As they sat down, Anne gave Neill a questioning look. '*Sinc
e when is a table right next to the kitchen the most popular one in the house?"
*'Since you're eating at Devlin's." He pulled a long bread stick from the glass in the middle of the table, broke it in half and handed one half to her. *Teople don't just come here because the food's great, which it is. They come here because Tony makes them feel like their presence was the one thing he needed to make his life perfect. He makes it a point to leave the kitchen and meet the customers, talk to them about what they like, what they don't like, ask how their grandmother in Cleveland is doing and how does their daughter like the new school. He has an incredible memory, and he never forgets a face.
**This table is the best in the house because he always stops here, and, if he's working out a new dish, there's a pretty good chance that, whoever is sitting here is going to get to sample it and offer conunents. Not that he pays any attention to what they say," he added with a grin. "When it comes
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to his food, Tony doesn't listen to anyone but himself, but it makes people feel like they're a part of things, like they're—"
*'Family," Anne muraiured.
^'Exactly."
Before he could say anything else, the kitchen door swung open and a horde of people spilled out. Grinning, Neill shot to his feet. For a few minutes all was laughter and chaos, at least to Anne's dazzled eyes, but after a bit she managed to sort the horde into three people—^four if you counted the big-eyed baby perched on the woman's hip. Neill reached out to catch her hand, drawing her out of her chair.
**Come meet the guy who made my childhood a living hell."
**That's the privilege of being an older brother." Tony Devlin smiled as he said it, but the look he gave her was assessing, questioning. '*Don't be-Ueve everything he tells you," he advised. **The truth is, he was always my mother's favorite, and she spoiled him hideously. I was just trying to balance things out a Uttle."
"Jealousy rears its ugly head," Neill said, shaking his head sadly.
Anne shook hands with Tony, his wife Mary El-
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len, their daughter, Sophy, who had just celebrated her fourteenth birthday the previous month, and received a toothless smile from the baby, who was six months old and named Timothy.
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