by Robyn Grady
She could work on that speech, she supposed, or put on a movie, read a book. Or sit here all night wishing life weren’t so complicated. She’d been content before Alex Wolfe had inserted himself into her life. She’d been at peace with herself and what she’d accomplished.
Now it seemed she was weighed down with questions. Sometimes, like at lunch yesterday, she could almost convince herself that Alex was sincerely interested in her. But common sense said he was far more interested in how he could use her … what she could give: a free pass to China.
When the building entrance buzzer sounded, Libby stiffened. But then she siphoned down some air and got a grip. Her imagination would be the death of her. Of course it wasn’t Alex Wolfe buzzing. It was a friend dropped by. Or a delivery of some kind.
Chiding herself, she headed for the intercom, thumbed a button and said hello. The voice that resonated back was deep and hauntingly familiar.
‘I hoped I’d find you home.’
Libby held her stomach as her midsection double clutched and a lump of anxiety lodged in her throat. She took one shaky step back and clapped shut her hanging jaw. Then she got her thoughts and courage together and, resolute, leaned toward the speaker.
‘What are you doing here?’
‘I brought you something.’
She frowned. Brought her what exactly? But she didn’t want to know. He needed to leave.
He needed to leave now.
‘You can give me whatever it is on Monday.’
‘It might be dead by then.’
She stopped to think. Did he say dead?
His voice lowered. ‘Please, Libby, let me up.’
She hugged herself as her stomach looped again and her thoughts scurried on. She ought to tell him to get in his limo, if that’s how he’d got here, and cruise straight back to his palatial home. God knows she didn’t need this aggravation.
The intercom crackled. ‘Libby, I need to apologise for today.’
Her chest twisted and she screwed her eyes shut. She raised her voice. ‘Go away.’
‘Five minutes, then I promise to leave.’
Feeling ill, she bowed over. She didn’t want to let him in. But then she wanted to so much. More to the point, Alex’s mind seemed set. He wanted to apologise in person for his behaviour this morning and instinct warned her that he wouldn’t leave until he did. That kind of one-eyed determination was a big part of the reason he was a World Number One.
Groaning, she hit the entry button, then retrieved a wrap from her wardrobe to cover her negligee. By the time she made it back, a knock was sounding on her door. After driving her damp palms down her sides, for better or worse, she reached for the handle and prepared to open up.
Alex waited outside the apartment door, clearing his throat, rocking on his heels, more nervous than he’d been in a long time. Since Eli had revealed Libby’s secret earlier today, he’d thought of nothing but. The fact he’d seen her only in those long white pants, the way she wove away if ever he got too close … now it all made sense.
His interest in her had started out as purely mercenary. He’d been determined to do what was necessary to keep his pretty physio onside and willing to sign off early on his injury.
But even before this week’s lunch date, he’d begun to see Libby Henderson differently. After that first kiss—the way she’d cut him off and strode away—he’d told himself no matter how much she intrigued him, it would be wiser to play the attraction down and forget that caress had ever happened.
Not possible.
This morning he’d kissed her again. After the initial merging of mouths and climbing of heat, she had broken away and served up an even frostier dismissal. Don’t ever try to touch me again.
He couldn’t do that.
Shifting his weight, he told his jangling nerves to quieten at the same time he looked down to inspect what he’d brought. A way to break the ice, get them talking. Hopefully get beyond this impasse.
God, he hoped she liked it.
Libby fanned open the door to find Alex standing on her threshold, looking as amazing as he had the other day when he’d appeared at her office out of nowhere. But tonight the sight of his tall broad-shouldered frame was beyond overwhelming. That slanted smile became more alluring—more tempting—every time they met.
Stepping closer, he held out his gift. ‘This is for you.’
Her gaze dropped and, perplexed, she lifted one shoulder and let it drop. ‘You’re giving me a stick of bamboo?’
‘It’s a peace offering.’
‘An unusual one,’ she decided, accepting the stick. Then she noticed a fan of delicate flowers hanging from a shoot.
‘Most bamboo only flower once every few decades.’
Really? ‘I didn’t know that.’
‘It has deep symbolic meaning in Asian countries.’
Understanding the connection, she half grinned. ‘You mean like Malaysia.’
‘There they speak of a legend where a man dreams of a beautiful woman while he sleeps under a bamboo plant. When he wakes, he breaks the bamboo stem and discovers that the woman is inside.’
Libby’s heart beat high in her throat. Was he in some way comparing the couple in the legend to them? Gathering herself, she cleared her throat.
‘That’s a lovely story.’
‘An old man in Sepang once told me that bamboo bends in a storm—’ he took the top of the stem she now held and slanted it to the left ‘—and when the storm is over it stands straight again.’ He set it right. ‘It never loses its original ground … its integrity.’
She held her breath against a push of emotion. Now he was definitely talking about her
… telling her that bending here, now, with him, wouldn’t affect the respect she’d earned in her profession. He’d gone to a lot of trouble—finding this flowering piece of bamboo, looking into legends and symbols of the East. She was touched, and yet the voice of caution implored her to beware.
‘Alex, why are you here?’
His gaze lingered over her lips and his voice dropped to that deep drawl that sent her heart pounding and common sense melting into a puddle.
‘You know why I’m here.’
When his hand slid down the stem and covered hers, his skin on hers felt so good. In a strange way, familiar. Two minutes together, one small touch, and already she felt about to crumple.
But then she bit her lip and shook her head. She wanted to believe what she felt when they’d kissed was real. She wanted to be like so many other women who took a chance and were willing to see where things led. But she couldn’t take the next step.
She was frightened to.
She lifted her chin. ‘This shouldn’t happen. We shouldn’t get involved.’
The back of his free hand brushed her cheek. ‘Too late.’
She was shaking inside and when his head lowered and his mouth skimmed her brow, overcome with deepest longing, she quivered to her toes.
Against her hair, he murmured, ‘Say you’re not angry with me.’
When his lips grazed her temple and his warm breath brushed her ear, torn in two, she groaned. ‘I’m angrier with myself.’
‘Let it go,’ he told her.
And then she was lost in his kiss, a caress more beautiful, more erotic, than any she’d known. Perhaps because this time she’d almost surrendered. Almost submitted to what seemed inevitable. But was this what she wanted? Did she need to open up this much to a man she’d known only two weeks? Even if he seemed so sincere?
Needing air—needing space—she broke away and held her forehead.
‘Alex, you’re confusing me.’
‘I’m trying to be clear.’
His hands wound around her waist and his mouth claimed hers again. But she wanted to explain … needed to let him know …
The rest of that thought evaporated when reality ceased to exist and both her arms floated up to coil around his neck. His chest rumbled with satisfaction and she felt his smile as she liqu
efied like a dollop of creamy butter in the sun. But as his palm slid down over her hip, then her thigh, a sliver of reason shone through the drugging fog. If she truly intended to go through with this—make love—there was something he needed to know.
Reluctantly this time she drew away. His breathing heavy, he rested his brow against hers and smiled into her eyes. ‘You’re not going to say you’re still confused.’
‘There’s something I need to tell you.’
His lips nipped hers as he brought her gently flush against his body. ‘You don’t need to tell me anything.’
Her stomach pitched. ‘I really do.’
Stepping back, she caught her skirts and began to ease the satin up. But Alex kept his eyes on hers.
‘Libby … I know.’
Her hands curled more tightly into the satin and, as her throat thickened, she frowned.
‘You … know?’ About my accident? About my leg? When he nodded, her throat swelled more, cutting off her air. Growing light-headed, she shook her head. ‘You knew all the time?’
‘Only after you left this morning. I guessed there had to be more to the way you’d acted. I ended up discovering that you and I are more alike than you know.’
Her mind was caught in a whirlpool. She didn’t know which way to turn or how to respond, especially to that last remark.
‘Don’t tell me you wear a prosthesis because that’s something I wouldn’t have missed.’
His smile was brief and … understanding. ‘I know what it’s like to live with the consequences of the past. To want to whitewash or, better yet, forget they ever happened.’
Her defences sprang up. ‘I don’t have anything to prove,’ she lied.
‘Then let me prove something to you.’
He kissed her again, this time with a deliberate care that asked for her consideration and her trust. When he angled down and swept her off her feet, this time she surrendered and didn’t shy away. She did, however, think to murmur, ‘Carrying me … you might hurt your shoulder.’
He began to walk. ‘It’d be worth it.’
With her cradled in his arms, Alex crossed to the centre of the living room, then spotted a quilted bed beyond an opened door. Moving through, he manoeuvred to flick the light switch with his shoulder, but Libby stiffened.
‘Could we leave the light off?’
Alex studied the concern in her gaze. Perhaps it was the bond they shared through love of their individual sports. Maybe it was as simple as sexual chemistry combining and setting off sparks that wouldn’t die. Whatever the reason, in a short time Libby had come to mean far more than an early ticket back on the track or just another available female. What he’d learned about her accident made no difference to those feelings. But he needed to let her discover that in her own time. In her own way.
In the shadows he smiled into her eyes. ‘Whatever you want.’
He crossed the room and, beside the bed, he set her on her feet, eased back the covers, then returned to trail a series of soft kisses around her jaw while he untied the gown’s sash and carefully peeled the sleeves from her arms. The tip of his tongue drew a deliberate line from the tilt of her chin down the curve of her throat while his touch drifted and cupped to measure the sensual swell of her breasts. Groaning at the jolt of pleasure, he grazed the pads of his thumbs over her nipples, making the already tight beads harder still.
While her fingers combed his hair and she told him with a breathy sigh how wonderful he felt, he bit down against the urge to go about this consummation with a little more haste. If she thought he felt good, she felt better than heaven. Better than anyone, or anything, he’d known before.
He tugged the silk bow beneath her bust as his mouth worked soft scorching kisses along the sweep of her collarbone. When he slid the thin straps from her shoulders and her satin sheath fell to the floor, he lifted his head to hold her with his eyes while his erection throbbed and hardened more. In the dim light, he saw the wince, her gaze drop away, and all the breath left his lungs.
She’d never wanted him to know about her leg. Now she was worried over what he might say or think when she had nothing to hide behind. And for a terrifying heartbeat, he wasn’t certain what to do. Libby was beautiful. More than anything, he wanted to make her feel that way. What if he somehow botched this by saying or doing something unintentionally thoughtless? Where his apprehensions over Annabelle were concerned, that had translated into saying and doing very little indeed. Damned if he’d turn away from this, but how should he reassure Libby?
But then a feeling—a unique sense of awareness—settled over him and, like a light turning green, he knew and could go forward. He only needed to be honest. In coming here tonight, he’d put himself out on a limb. Now he would do everything in his power to let her know it was safe to do the same. With every stroke, every kiss, he’d let her know he was glad their meeting had come to this. Most important, he hoped she felt the same way.
He cupped her shoulders and murmured close to her ear, ‘I’m one very lucky man.’
He heard her intake of air at the same time she tipped slightly back. In the shadows, her wide luminous gaze met his, then, gradually, a guarded smile touched the corners of her mouth.
‘I should warn you … it’s been a while.’
He grazed his cheek tenderly against hers. ‘Then we’d best make up for lost time.’
He swept her up and laid her on the sheet.
Libby was a quaking bundle of nerves. She wanted to do this, be with Alex this way, but she was also terrified to the marrow of her bones. One part of her cried out to trust him.
He was a mature man who, better than many, understood about life; that she wore a prosthesis didn’t factor into his feelings here. Another part, however, had reverted back to the uncertain, confused girl she’d been the first year after her accident. She felt lacking. Odd and incomplete.
But then he undressed, lay down, gathered her close and when his mouth covered hers again, those torturous dark feelings little by little fell away. Soon her arms went out, wrapping around his neck, then her fingers were splaying up through the back of his hair as they kissed hungrily, with all the passion they’d both tried at one time or another to deny.
Sighing into his mouth, she gave herself over to the magic. Let all her inhibitions wash away. The way he stroked her, adored her, was the highest form of bliss. Making love— being loved—had never felt like this.
When his lips left hers and his teeth grazed down one side of her throat, every nerve ending sizzled and her mind went to mush. Then he was dabbing warm firm kisses over her breasts, drawing one nipple into his mouth while he teased the other between a forefinger and thumb. All her other sensibilities fell away. She only knew his flesh on her flesh. Only felt his mounting desire stirring with hers. But when the caress of his mouth slid lower, and the glide of his hand did the same, all Libby’s fears plumed up again, so thick and fast that they cut off her air.
On reflex, she gripped his hand.
In the misty light, his gaze snapped up and she saw his eyes round in surprise. He’d forgotten. Heck, she’d almost forgotten too.
Now, however, every muscle and tendon was gridlocked. Her heart was galloping but with an anticipation that had nothing to do with desire. In good faith, Alex might want to believe the state of her leg didn’t matter, but, truth was, experience said that it did. And yet she hated herself for doubting his sincerity, for feeling this … diminished.
With a raw ache pressing on her chest and her stomach sinking fast, she closed her eyes, turned her head and gently but firmly urged his hand away.
Alex froze, as rigid and tense as Libby clearly was. He hadn’t planned any moves. He was doing what felt good. What felt right. But as Libby had said, for her it had been a while.
Had she not made love since her accident?
He wanted her to be comfortable with this. With him. At the same time, he wanted this joining to be everything it could be. Everything she deserved. For
that to happen—to reassure her—he needed to persist. He wasn’t giving up.
Tenderly, he brushed her cheek with the back of his hand. ‘Did I hurt you?’
Keeping her eyes closed, facing away, she inhaled and shook her head. ‘No.’
He tipped her chin toward him and waited until her glistening eyes dragged open.
Then he willed her to feel, to understand. To find the kind of confidence in deep affection that could be borrowed from and fostered by another. That was here. She only needed to accept it.
In the soft shadows, he searched her eyes. ‘Trust me, Libby. Trust yourself.’
Prepared to wait all night if need be, he smiled into her eyes and bit by bit the worry faded and her physical tension unlocked and eased. As he continued to stroke her cheek, gradually she began to smile too. When he was certain she was ready, when there was little chance she’d flinch again, he nuzzled against her neck and as his touch trailed lower—down her thigh, past that knee—he murmured near the shell of her ear.
‘It makes no difference … it doesn’t matter….’
He gave her more time, letting his fingers glide, pressing meaningful kisses over her brow, at her temple. When her breathing had changed and he felt her stirring in that way that said she was drifting again, he let his mouth trail from her throat to the dip between her breasts. Finally his mouth closed over that pert tip again. As he drew her deeply in, her hips gradually arced up and his touch slid across.
He groaned with unreserved want.
She was so ready for him, wet and swollen.
He drew a flowing line up and down her cleft, then slowly circled and pressed that sensitive bud. When her hand wrapped around his and she trembled, he imagined her fire building, leaping higher, almost ready to consume. He could barely wait for the flames to take them both.
As her free palm fanned over and kneaded one shoulder, he moved up and stole another penetrating kiss while he brought her to the teetering brink. When she was trembling beneath him, he wove down the length of her body until he was kissing her again and hoping she could hold out longer even while feeling compelled to do everything within his power to make sure she couldn’t.
