by Teresa Hill
“I was going to say I’ll take care of everything, but I don’t have a condom.”
“Well, it’s not like you’re going to get me pregnant.”
“I’m not going to give you anything, either,” he said. “I’m very, very careful.”
“And I made the obstetrician do all sorts of tests, just to make sure. It’s…all I have is the baby.”
He eased away from her, far enough to get his hand in between them, over the slight mound of her belly. “What about that? I don’t want to hurt you. Or the baby.”
“The baby will be just fine. The doctor offered that information on her own.”
He took her mouth again, more gently this time, lingering, teasing. “Then I guess we don’t have anything to worry about.”
“No, we don’t.”
His hands skimmed down her arms, taking down the straps of her gown, and his mouth made a leisurely journey to her neck and her shoulders, along the neckline of her gown.
“It’s so pretty. You are so pretty,” he said, his hand skimming over one of her breasts. “It makes me almost afraid to touch you.”
He stood for a minute, just looking at her. The gown was caught on her breasts, barely. He left it hanging, using his mouth and his tongue as if he might need to memorize the entire shape and weight of what he’d managed to uncover of her breasts.
She clutched at him, thinking her legs were going to give out any minute, and that if he didn’t get his mouth or his hand over her nipple soon, she was going to have to beg. His breath skimmed across one nipple, and it was like someone had wound a coil inside of her entire body even tighter.
She wanted him there and between her legs and deep inside of her body. She wanted him on top of her, holding her tight and straining to get closer, and she didn’t want to ever have to let go.
“Matt, please.”
“I will. Promise.”
“Soon?”
“Soon.”
He took her nipple through the thin silk of her gown and, if possible, the touch was even more erotic.
She whimpered and clutched at his hair.
How much could a woman truly want a man? There had to be some limit. What happened when she reached it? When she couldn’t stand it anymore and all the sensations got to be too much?
She’d beg, she supposed.
He’d said all she had to do was ask, and he’d grant her every wish.
“I don’t know if I can stand it,” she said.
“Because you like it so much?”
“Yes.”
“You can.” And he went right on doing what he was doing.
Her body throbbed and throbbed, everything going tighter and tighter. His body was rocking against hers in the most arousing way. It would be like this, later, when he was finally inside of her. It would be just like this.
“Matt?” she said urgently. “I don’t…well…I think I’m…”
Gently, he pushed her back onto the bed and followed her down, still not pulling the gown from her body, just pushing a hand up beneath the long skirt. Then he was back, teasing her breast at first, and then sucking hard through her gown. His hand teased ever so lightly at the heat between her legs.
Honestly, he barely touched her.
That was all it took.
She cried out, and then clamped a hand over her mouth to stifle the sound.
“It’s all right,” he said, still working over her breast. “There’s no one to hear but me, and I want to hear it, Cath. Just trust me. And let go.”
She cried out again, her body taking over. She couldn’t have stopped if she’d tried. It scared her a little and embarrassed her, later, when she thought about it. Because he’d barely touched her, and she was gone.
He drove her on, up and over, her body going tighter and tighter like a spring, and then she took off and could have sworn she was floating. All she could do was lay there and breathe.
He finally pushed the gown down with his mouth and stroked her breasts ever so delicately with his lips, kissing the little beads of sweat off her breastbone. She shivered and held onto him, waiting until she could feel the bed beneath her back and knew she was back on the ground.
When he lifted his head, there was a hard stamp of pure satisfaction on his handsome face, and she knew what was coming out of his mouth next.
Embarrassed, she said, “I know what you’re about to ask me, and I’m not saying a word—”
“Cathie, I don’t have to ask.”
If she hadn’t been so satisfied, she’d have smacked him. She didn’t think she’d ever seen him look so sure of himself in his life.
Okay, so he was good at this. That wasn’t exactly a revelation. Although, what he made her feel certainly was, and if he could take satisfaction in that, he was welcome to it. She’d thought she’d known what one of those was, had been pretty sure she’d had one. But it hadn’t been like that. Nothing had ever been like that. And he knew it.
He stretched out beside her, rolling her up onto her side, beginning again to build on the heat simmering inside of her.
She felt as if they’d come a thousand miles already and wondered how much farther he could possibly take her. But it was a long, long time before he stripped off the rest of his clothes and settled himself ever-so-carefully on top of her.
She’d cried both in satisfaction and frustration by the time he did, felt absolutely powerless against the sensations he aroused in her. His body was a wonder. Absolutely beautiful and big and powerful, and the way he moved against her, the way they fit together…it was like the universe had shifted and made a place just for her, and it was with him.
He’d made this just for her, just about pleasing her, showing her the way it would have been if he’d been her very first lover. But she wasn’t going to beat herself up about that. Not now that he was here. Not when her body was absolutely aching for him.
He moved carefully, keeping most of his weight on his powerful arms. She felt him moving at the opening of her body, rocking ever so gently against her, pushing a little more inside with every stroke.
She wanted him so bad she’d taken to begging. Please, please, please over and over again.
“I’m there, Cathie. I’m right there. Tell me if anything hurts.”
“Nothing hurts.”
She lifted her hips, meeting his tiny thrust with one of her own. He slid just a bit farther, her body working to accommodate him. She could feel little shivery contractions, and the strength in his arms and his back, in his hips and his legs. In every bit of him.
His forehead came down to rest on hers. He kissed her temple. “I hurt. I ache.”
“What can I do?” Instinctively, she let her legs fall open even more and pushed up and against him.
He groaned. “That. Do that.”
She swiveled her hips, taking him inch by inch, wishing she could make him as crazy as he made her.
He came down on his elbows, so that their bodies were brushing against each other from head to toe, and let her set the pace, finally bringing himself fully inside of her. And with him, it was simply a beautiful thing, all-encompassing and overwhelming and exhausting.
She cried out and sank her nails into his hips and tears seeped from the corners of her eyes. Satisfaction came over her in deep, powerful waves, her body clutching his.
She wasn’t sure she had the power to do that to him, but finally that iron control of his broke, and he nearly crushed her to him, thrusting long and hard, crying out himself, shuddering against her.
His face was next to hers, their cheeks pressed together, his mouth on hers. She held him so tight, and felt like he’d taken her completely out of this world, into a place she’d never imagined.
“Oh, Matt.”
It was all she could do not to tell him she’d been in love with him for most of her life and probably would be forever.
He went to pull away, gazing down at her. “You okay?”
“Much better than that.”
&n
bsp; “You sure? I got a little carried away, there at the end.”
“I know.” She grinned, fighting the urge to ask if it could possibly always be like that for him, wanting to know that what they shared was something very, very special.
Surely it was.
He eased his weight off her by edging ever so slightly to one side, so he wasn’t really leaving her. Not that she would have let him. Not yet.
“I don’t ever want you to move,” she said.
“You will. I’ll make sure of it.”
He said it with a slow, satisfied smile that sent pure joy rushing through her. She didn’t think she’d ever seen Matt this relaxed or this happy, knew she’d never felt this good herself.
She took his face in her hands and kissed him one more time, saying with her body what she couldn’t put into words. That she loved him.
He eased off her, pulled the covers up over her shoulders and then stretched out flat on the bed beside her, holding out his arms to her.
She snuggled against him, his arms locked around her, and they both sank into the pillowy softness of the bed.
Contentment like she’d never known washed over her, and she drifted into sleep, having the sweetest dream of her life.
Chapter Seven
Matt woke once again with an armful of woman. Smooth, sweet-smelling, bare skin and soft curves, her breath stirring across his chest, her body pressed against his side.
He’d been here before, but not like this.
Not with Cathie.
Her father’s face flashed through his memory. All four of her brothers’. Mary’s. Cathie’s when she was much younger and so determined to save him, and he groaned.
How had he ended up here? How had she?
He had sworn to her entire family and to himself that he would never, ever hurt her. He never wanted anything in this world to hurt her, and if he could have protected her that way, he would have.
And now he was married to her, kind of, and in her bed, and no amount of guilt was going to be able to make him leave her alone now that he’d had her.
She stirred in his arms, stretching a bit and then going still, probably once she realized she wasn’t alone. She leaned back and tilted her head up to his, grimacing as she forced open her eyes and stared at him.
He stared right back, not at all sure what kind of reaction he’d get from her this morning or where they’d go from here. He hadn’t been a part of a lot of morning-after scenes. He tended not to stay that long, even when he got into a regular relationship with a woman. Or as regular as his relationships got.
So he had no idea what to expect from a morning-after with Cathie.
“I might have to pinch you,” she said.
“What?”
“You know…to see if you’re real.”
“Be my guest.”
She pinched a bit of skin on his belly. Or tried to. Everything in him stirred at her touch. He wanted her again, already, had wanted more of her last night but hadn’t wanted to hurt her or the baby. He’d forgotten all about the baby there in the end. And she’d been exhausted.
So she’d slept, and he’d worried and felt guilty and thought about how incredible it was to sink into this pillowy-soft bed with her wrapped around him and wondered what the morning would bring. And wanted her some more.
“You don’t pinch very well, but the muscles feel familiar,” she said, her palm stretched out flat, low on his abdomen. “I think you did spend the night in my bed.”
“I did,” he admitted.
“Well, do you have to look so grim about it? I thought you liked it.” She rolled over onto her side, pulling covers up and over her pretty curves, staring at him with the bluest, most innocent eyes he’d ever seen.
Her hair was in disarray, and he tucked a strand behind one ear. Maybe he had to touch her, too, to make sure this was real. He’d had his hands in those silken locks last night, holding her to him by a handful of her hair, brushing it away from her face, so he could get to her mouth.
“I liked it,” he said. “A lot.”
“So, what is this? You’re just not a morning person?” she tried. “Because you used to be.”
“Cathie, what are we going to do?”
She thought about it for a minute and then said, in all seriousness, “Find breakfast?”
He frowned at her.
“What else do we need to do?” she asked. “I mean, if you really have to worry some more and analyze everything and tell me how things are supposed to be, I suppose I can’t stop you. But what I’d really like is some tea and toast, to settle my stomach, and then I want to see the island.”
Bewildered, he said, “That’s it?”
“Well, we never had a problem getting along before. Not until we were wanting each other and not doing anything about it,” she reasoned. “So, I was thinking now that we are…doing something about it…maybe we could just go back to being friends. The way we used to be? Friends and lovers? It doesn’t have to be any more complicated than that, does it?”
He didn’t buy that for a minute. She wasn’t made that way. But she was the last person on earth he’d expected to ever end up pregnant and all alone, too. So he supposed that maybe—just maybe—in a universe where she could end up that way, she could also end up with him, temporarily. That he wouldn’t have to worry about her falling in love with him and him making her miserable, because someone else had already done that. Surely she’d learned from that mistake.
“Don’t make it any more complicated than it has to be, Matt,” she said. “We’re going to be together, and I know exactly why. I won’t forget. But we can make it a good time, can’t we?”
Again, this was not her. Not her at all. She was not a good-time girl.
Nevertheless, here he was, in a bed that was like a big, puffy cloud, with her. All that bare skin and long, loose hair, the sheet clutched to her chest as she looked at him invitingly from across the stark-white of the sheets.
It was one of the strangest places he’d ever been and the best.
There’d been times in the past few years, when his company had taken off and he’d realized he’d never again have to worry about money or respectability, when he’d felt a sense of pride that bordered on sheer arrogance.
But there’d been something missing.
The happiest times in his life, he’d spent with Cathie.
She’d taught him to laugh, taught him to enjoy the simple pleasures to be had in a summer’s day. She’d been sunshine and warmth, trust and hope. She’d shown a faith in him that no one ever had before. She’d tamed him, when he’d thought he was going to turn absolutely wild and live on the streets for the rest of his life, roaming from place to place, never knowing what a home was.
She’d given him all that, and, dammit, life should have been a breeze for her.
She never should have ended up in his bed.
“Just let it be, Matt,” she said, her hand coming to rest on his chest, near the vicinity of his battered heart. “We were good together once. We can be like that again.”
It was indeed that easy to be with her, to slip back into their old, familiar friendship, one he’d missed so much over the years.
Cathie had a way of finding delight in anything new, especially new places. He loved being able to show her the island, which truly was beautiful. He ran on the beach in the mornings, and she walked, meeting him for the last mile of his cool-down, the two of them walking back to their bungalow together. They usually managed to get in some sight-seeing in the mornings. They went horseback riding through the lush hillsides, water-skiing, sailing, snorkeling. Anything she wanted.
Afternoons, they spent in bed.
They’d get dressed and have dinner at the hotel, maybe go dancing until he couldn’t stand it anymore and hustled her back to the bungalow.
He wanted her indecently often, having to keep reminding himself that she was pregnant, and that he needed to be careful with her. That she needed to rest.
/> She came into his arms eagerly, sometimes a bit shyly, with an innocence, an honesty and openness he’d never known. He kept waiting for the need he had for her to ease, for the urgency to fade away, but it hadn’t.
They’d only been scheduled to stay for ten days, but he found he didn’t want to leave and neither did she. So he managed to extend the trip to fourteen days, for once not thinking about all he should be doing at the office. Nothing about responsibilities or duties or obligations. Just what he wanted, which was more time here with her.
On their next-to-last day, she pleaded fatigue one morning and told him all she really wanted to do was lie in the sun, and sent him off to play golf, which he’d only done once on the entire trip. She’d come with him then. He’d spent more time laughing at her efforts to play than thinking about his game, couldn’t have even said what he shot that day, hadn’t cared.
Truthfully, he didn’t care that next-to-last day, either.
He looked at the trees and the green grass, the turquoise-blue ocean and the puffy clouds overhead that reminded them of their bed at the bungalow. He’d never forget that bed.
Or the time he’d spent in it with her.
He didn’t even finish the round. Just quit playing on the fourteenth green without even making his putt.
Time was short. He wanted to be with her, and there’d been damned few times in his life when it had been possible to simply have what he wanted. Once the work he’d done had made it possible, there’d been too few times when he’d allowed himself that luxury. Discipline and hard work had always taken precedence, and now, for once, it wasn’t.
He got to the bungalow and went room-to-room, looking for her but not finding her. Maybe she was at the beach. He went out the back door and down to the water, not seeing her, telling himself not to worry. She wouldn’t have gone anywhere.
Coming back, he almost missed her.
The trees and the foliage closed in around the tiny backyard of the bungalow, creating something of a courtyard, open in the back to the ocean. Off to the side in the shade, was a generous-sized wooden lounge chair with a pretty, bright yellow cushion.
