Then strumming across the tight focus of her pleasure.
She couldn’t breathe.
She couldn’t move.
She couldn’t think.
Oh god, oh god, oh god.
And then, a low keening cry tore from her in soft gasps, the tremors rippled through her, radiating in ever widening circles of shuddering pleasure, until she was nothing but a pool of quivering sensation, helpless to his will.
Stop, she wanted to say, but she didn’t want him to, didn’t want to admit it, couldn’t. Then, when she was certain she’d tear apart if he didn’t stop, she was sinking, dropping, then pressed against his chest, her heart thundering with his as his hands explored, soothed, spread warm comfort, took away the shock, the embarrassment.
“Oh, my,” she whimpered softly. “I’ve never... I didn’t know it would—” And then, lest he misunderstand she hurriedly added, “Of course I have, but oh wow, never that good!” She caught her breath again as he brushed her breast with one palm, watched her nipple harden, whispered his palm across its tip again, watching it rise and fall with her quickening breath. “Oh, my,” she said, sighing again, reaching to unbutton his shirt.
He tore it off, popping off a button in the process, and jerked his belt free with one hand. She found herself watching, devouring him with her eyes, realizing that none of her adolescent fantasies had prepared her for the reality of Jefferson Smith. Adolescent fantasies... She felt herself flush with embarrassment, and turned her head as he began removing his trousers. In all her life, she’d seen only one man naked, and he had been her husband. She was a grown woman, yet she felt naive. Jeff’s legs were long and dusted with dark hair, his chest silky with it.
This was no fantasy, and she was no shy young miss, asking for more than she was willing to give. She wasn’t afraid; she wasn’t ashamed; she was simply... aware. Aware of a boundary crossed, and as his hands touched her again, she shivered with longing and acceptance. She wanted it all, everything he had to give her.
He carried her into the dark bedroom, his arms tightening around her as he lowered her to his bed, the thin shaft of light from the hallway touching their bodies with golden light amidst the shadows. She liked the darkness and the freedom it gave her to touch and explore, to slide her hands over his chest and feel his muscles tense as she explored lower and found the hard, rampant heat of him and felt him shudder at her touch. The magic night seemed to surround them, to pulse between them, hungry and urgent, feeding off their longings, and then he was stretching over her, his hard body pressed against the length of hers, his kisses devouring her neck, her breasts, stoking her with the flames of his desperation.
When his lips finally closed over hers there was no finesse, no gentleness, but a raging desire burning out of control, unrestrained need, a desperate binding of lips and tongues. She burned with a wildfire that had had its gentle kindling years before, but now raged beyond the limits of reason.
She reached for him, found him hard and hot and already encased tightly in a condom, and she thanked the heavens for his practical efficiency because she wanted him, wanted him without any more preliminaries, wanted him—
“Now,” she grated, and gasped at the exquisite pressure as he settled between her thighs, prolonging the agony for an excruciating moment.
She arched against him, felt him enter and fill her, their joining one of a sensual fulfillment as he stroked, first slowly, then faster, then slowly again, on and on, until she felt herself shattering again and again, clutching his body with hers, arching against him, into him, loving him, heaven help her, loving him, taking whatever he gave her and more, until he, too, was gasping, crying out, rigid and holding himself deep within until he was spent.
She spiraled slowly back into the waiting arms of reality. Their movements slowed until they lay together in a gentle rest.
She caressed the lean planes of his face while her lips murmured lovingly against his own, until he finally rolled to her side, his hand lingering on her stomach. Cecilia stared at the ceiling, and felt her silky sensations subside and feelings of unease surface. She toyed with a corner of the sheet. The silence stretched between them, until finally she blurted, “What comes next?”
“What?” Jeff stirred beside her, his fingers flexing across her stomach, then relaxing again.
“I’ve never done this before.”
“You’ve never done what before? I mean—Cecil, what are you talking about?” He raised up on his elbow, his expression one of disbelief and astonishment.
She felt a flush creeping across her body. “I’ve never made love with anyone who wasn’t my husband. I mean, I’m lying here in a strange bed, staring at a strange ceiling—”
“If you call me a strange man, I’m throwing you out of this bed.”
“No, I wouldn’t say that, but—well, you are—”
“A man who isn’t your husband. I got that part. Go on.”
She couldn’t tell if the strain in his voice was from irritation or suppressed amusement. “I don’t even know the color of the walls. Not that it makes any difference, mind you, but it just makes me feel so strange. I don’t want you to get the wrong idea about me.” She shifted, dislodging his hand, rolling to face him. “This isn’t the kind of thing I usually do. Even for old times’ sake. Especially not for old times’ sake. You believe that, don’t you?”
“Cecil?”
“Yes?”
“You’re babbling. You babble when you’re nervous.”
“I know.” She sighed.
“Don’t be nervous. Don’t explain. I never for one moment thought that you were... easy. In fact, I rather hope that what just happened between us was kind of special.”
“Oh, it was,” she said, more vehemently than she’d intended. His dark silhouette bent toward her. His lips brushed blindly across her cheek, feeling their way to her mouth. It was so much easier just to relax, she decided, and stop worrying about everything. When he kissed her, it felt as if the whole world settled back into place. And when he finally ended the kiss he curled around her, drawing her closer until their bodies were nestled together like spoons. “Beige.”
“What?”
“Beige. The walls are beige.”
“Oh. Well, I said it really didn’t matter—”
“Sleep.”
“Huh? You’ve totally lost me, Jeff.”
“Sleep comes next.” His arm curled protectively around her, but his voice was hesitant. “I’d really like you to stay.”
“I must be getting decadent in my old age, because... I’d like to.”
He slowly rubbed the soft skin of her stomach.
Her laughter came in a spurt, cleansing giggles of relieved tension. “Dinner between old friends, my foot.” She sank against him and sighed.
This time it was his laughter that rocked the bed and, after a time, his heartbeat that echoed in her sleep.
~o0o~
A diffused shaft of sunlight teased her eyelids open. She tensed herself to stretch, and her sleep-befuddled mind couldn’t fathom the obstruction in the path of where her arms and legs wanted to go. Cautiously she arched her back, and felt strong arms tighten around her. Her heart pounded out of control when she saw the dark swirl of hair on the arm draped around her middle. Dark hair. Not blond. Not that she wanted it to be Robert. Oh, hell no. But still.
Dear heaven, how could she feel so warm, so secure, so totally and completely natural in this man’s arms? If she was beyond understanding, she also was beyond caring. It was too late to do anything but let the chips fall where they would.
She lifted his arm carefully and began to slide from under the covers. Mission accomplished, she told herself when he rolled back over to his side of the bed. He frowned and mumbled, pulling his pillow to his chest and settling back into sleep. Thank goodness. She needed some time to think.
She padded into the spare room. Ignoring her rumpled dress, she slipped on his shirt. Luckily the missing button wasn’t in too disastrous a location, u
nless one was particularly sensitive about exposing one’s navel.
After a visit to the bathroom downstairs, she wandered into the kitchen, its white quartz countertops gleaming in the morning sunlight. The designer range looked as if it had never felt the heat of a fire or suffered the indignity of a grease spatter. The floor shone cleaner than her glassware, She guessed he must have a maid. She couldn’t picture him waxing and mopping.
“Where’s the food?’ she muttered, surveying the near empty shelves of the refrigerator.
“That is food,” Jeff said from the doorway.
Cecilia jumped at the sound of his voice. His hands were braced against the top of the doorjamb as he stretched.
Wearing only a pair of faded jeans, his body narrowed from wide shoulders to narrow hips. A thin line of dark hair tapered from his flat stomach and disappeared beneath the waistband. Cecilia quickly turned back to the refrigerator, letting the cold air cool her flaming cheeks. She had no business being embarrassed at the sight of a bare chest after all that had transpired the night before. Her cheeks burned a few degrees higher. It wasn’t the sight that startled her; it was her reaction to it.
She cleared her throat. “I certainly don’t call grape jelly, green olives, cocktail onions and picante sauce a smorgasbord.”
Jeff finished his yawn before explaining patiently, “But if you put the grape jelly with the peanut butter in the cabinet—”
“You’ll get a meal my kids would love.” She closed the refrigerator door.
“But not you?” He seemed distressed. “I—I wasn’t planning breakfast for two, you know.”
“Peanut butter on toast is my favorite breakfast,” she lied.
“I didn’t realize the bread was so old,” he said sheepishly. She drew closer and saw the green mold through the plastic. Jeff dropped the bag into the trash can and shrugged.
“Well, here’s a banana,” she offered, trying to be a good sport.
“Sorry. That’s for Toulouse. How about doughnuts?”
Cecilia wrapped her arms around her middle, the cool silk of Jeff’s shirt a luxurious sensation compared to her oversize T-shirt nighties. “With raspberry jelly?”
“That can be arranged.”
“Sounds wonderful.” She started to move around him. “Let me get dressed and—”
“No, I’ll go get them while you relax.” He snaked his arm around her waist and pulled her back against him. “I get the feeling that rest is something you don’t get nearly enough of.”
Cecilia felt the tension ebb from her body as she leaned against him, a smile teasing the corners of her lips. He felt warm and solid behind her, his chin resting atop her head. “And you?”
“This time of year, too damned little. Fourteen hour days, sometimes sixteen, weekends—until the fifteenth of April.”
Cecilia stiffened guiltily. “You need to be working don’t you? I should leave.”
“God, no.” The stricken expression on his face did more to reassure her than all the protestations in the world. “I want you here.”
Cecilia folded her arms over his. “I’m glad.”
He planted a kiss on her temple. “But we’d better make the best of today, because for the next two weeks I’ll be up to my ears in W2s.”
“Yuk.” She twisted in his arms to face him. “Doughnuts?” she reminded him.
“And coffee.”
“Fantastic.”
A loud squawk sounded from the living room. “Rise and shine!”
“I’m coming,” Jeff called, giving Cecilia’s bottom a good-natured pat.
The bird responded with a series of ill-natured noises.
“He’s just hungry and wants his cover off,” Jeff apologized, grabbing the banana. “Want to help feed him?”
Cecilia managed a tight smile. “You go right ahead. I’ll stay in here. That bird’s idea of breakfast is my pinkie finger.”
But minutes later Jeff appeared in the doorway again, Toulouse perched imperiously on his shoulder. “See? Now that he’s fed and—” The bird took one look at Cecilia, spread his wings and screeched.
“I see.” She graciously refrained from a much deserved “I told you so,” as Jeff hustled the bird back into the living room.
When he reappeared, he had the good grace to appear abashed. “He’s really never behaved this way before.”
“Have you got him locked up?”
“No, that’s not necessary. He’s on his perch by the window, and his wings are clipped so he can’t fly.”
Cecilia didn’t bother to tell him she wouldn’t trust that bird not to chew his perch down to the ground, splinter by splinter, to get a chance at her toes.
Jeff flipped the switch on the coffeepot. “I didn’t set the timer last night, or it would already be brewed,” he apologized. “Now just relax, and I’ll be back in a jiffy.”
Cecilia plopped into a chair, thinking rebelliously of the massive leather one in the living room, of the stereo system she’d seen, of the collection of vinyl and CDs she’d love to snoop through.
Damned bird.
~o0o~
The wind was chilly, but it never occurred to Jeff to put the top of the car up. He needed the bracing effects of a cool April morning to clear his head. Doughnuts, for pete’s sake. The box on the seat beside him seemed so boring, so staid. Why hadn’t he offered croissants or bagels or... anything but boring doughnuts.
He pulled up at a stop sign beneath a spreading catalpa tree. Other than the low roar of his engine, the morning was silent and clean. A gust of wind sent a spray of the large white catalpa blossoms fluttering into the car. He plucked one off his collar and brushed it against his cheek, then held it under his nose to sniff. Not as sweet as Cecil’s gardenia, he thought as he accelerated.
His senses were filled with her. He could smell her, taste her, feel her. There had never been a woman so soft, so warm. Curves. She was all soft curves. Funny how he’d always been drawn to long and slender, legs that went on forever. Cecil’s calf was plump where it should be plump, but it was firm, and her ankles were slender. Her waist nipped in exactly as it should, but her hips, even her bottom, had the most delightfully feminine contours—
And the sound of her. When she got excited, her voice soared, then dropped, half rasp, half chuckle as she rattled on; in his arms her sighs had been throaty, husky.
Her voice, her face, her hands—they fluttered with excitement, flared with quick anger, softened with exquisite temptation when he least expected it. Did she even know what she was doing to him? And why was he letting it happen?
Why? Because from the moment he’d broken off the Houston trip, he’d felt displaced, not real. He had a merciless workload, yet he couldn’t keep his mind on work, and as yet he felt no twinge of guilt. By Monday morning he’d probably be gnashing his teeth in the face of last-minute reality.
But not today. Not while Cecilia waited for him.
He pulled into the small, covered parking spot in front of his town house and cut off the engine. He grabbed the box of doughnuts and bounded up the front steps two at a time. He pushed the front door open and walked into a solid wall of country and western music, with an occasional squawking contribution from Toulouse.
The morning newspaper was scattered across the carpet, the business section tossed to one side, the front page to another. The sports page was spread open and Cecilia lay sprawled on her stomach in front of it, her chin propped on her fists. She raised her head and greeted him with a wide smile. “Nelson Cruz hit two home runs.”
Toulouse glared from his spot high on top of the perch, seemingly enraged by Cecilia’s bare, swaying legs, perhaps even contemplating snatching her painted toenails. Jeff, too, found them distracting, but he was certain the nibbles the bird was anticipating were quite different from his own.
“You don’t like baseball?” She turned the page.
“Oh, yeah. It’s great. I just didn’t realize the Rangers’ season had started.”
She
crossed her feet, pointing them ceilingward. “Spring training,” she explained, examining the basketball box scores.
“I thought you were afraid of Toulouse.”
The bird squawked at the sound of his name, and sidestepped restlessly on the perch.
Cecilia gave the bird a cursory glance then aimed a wicked grin at Jeff. “His perch is brass,” she said, as if that were supposed to mean something.
“You’re driving him crazy,” Jeff remarked.
“Yes. Isn’t it grand?” She flashed an evil smile, stuck a tongue out at the parrot, then returned to the newspaper.
“Wait. The Mavericks game is on cable? Damn.”
“I’ve got tickets.”
“What?” She stared at him, her lips parted in surprise. He wanted to kiss her. “You’ve got tickets to the Mavs and Spurs game?”
“If that’s who they’re playing today. A friend at the office gave them to me, when, er, her plans were changed. She had to leave town unexpectedly.” He remembered McVay’s snarl as she’d pitched them onto his desk. But she was a trooper. She hadn’t complained, only reminded him how much they would have cost from a scalper. “Want to go?”
“The game starts in three hours. By the time I go home and change clothes and we fight the traffic—” She pulled to her feet.
He got a quick flash of navel as his shirtfront flared. Not enough time. Good. They could go back to bed.
"Are you serious? she asked. "You’d take me?"
“Serious as a heart attack,” he agreed reluctantly, preceding her into the kitchen. He grabbed the coffeepot and poured each of them a cup, grabbed the creamer and sugar bowl from the shelf. "Here. Make it fast."
“Do you have any artificial sweetener?” she asked.
“No" What was the point of running all those damned laps if he couldn’t eat and drink what he wanted to? “You’re eating a jelly doughnut and you think artificial sweetener will help?.”
“Smart ass." She stirred sugar into her coffee. "So, where are the seats?”
“I’ll have to look and see.” He wasn’t about to tell her he hadn’t planned to use them. Why the hell had he mentioned those tickets? He didn’t want Cecilia in the middle of 20,000 other screaming fans, no matter how terrific the game. He didn’t want to share her with them or with anybody. He wanted her here, to turn his apartment upside down with scattered clothes and newspapers. To turn him upside down.
Beguiled Again: A Romantic Comedy Page 12
