by Rita Herron
“I’d love to see Elton John,” Emma said. “I know he doesn’t dress as wildly as he used to, but his music is still great.”
Grant hesitated, not wanting to spoil the moment, but he had to be honest with her. “We saw him at UNC when you came up one weekend. It was our first date.”
Her smile faded slightly, but he threaded his fingers through hers. “We’ll go and pretend it’s our first date again, okay.”
She smiled at his effort and the ice seemed to be broken. They sipped their wine and enjoyed the perfectly prepared steaks, their conversation less of a struggle as the evening wore on. “How about cherries jubilee for dessert,” he suggested. “It’s steeped in rum and they serve it flambé.”
“Sounds wonderful.” Emma glanced at the dance floor as the band began to play a litany of soft classic rock.
“I can see why we came here,” Emma said. “This place has a wonderful atmosphere.”
A woman carrying a basket of flowers wove through the tables, and Grant motioned for her to stop. He pulled out a couple of bills. “I’d like a white carnation.”
He handed it to Emma, and her eyes sparkled with pleasure. “I know these past few weeks have been difficult for you, Grant. And I appreciate how wonderful you’ve been.”
He swallowed, the guilt thick in his throat. “God, Emma, don’t thank me. You wouldn’t have been hurt in the first place if it wasn’t for me.” He tucked the flower in her hair and caressed her cheek with the pad of his thumb. Emma leaned into his hand.
“Don’t blame yourself,” she said softly. “It isn’t your fault, Grant.”
He shook his head, his voice lost in the turmoil in his head. After the last incident he couldn’t escape the truth. He knew it was his fault, but Emma squeezed his hand and he remembered they’d decided to enjoy the night, so he sipped his wine, then brought her hand to his mouth and kissed it.
“You look lovely tonight, Emma. I appreciate the fact that you made the reservations here.”
“I told you I wanted to be with you.” Her gaze of approval flicked over him, sending shards of wicked sensations through his body. It had been so long since he’d been with her, since he’d held and poured his love into her body, that he wondered if he was mistaking the gleam of sexual interest in her eyes for love. Maybe she was starting to have feelings for him. Or remembering the old ones…
The waiter came with their dessert, a showcase of flaming cherries in a syrupy rich sauce with whipped cream. He placed it between them, making a show of extinguishing the flame. The dessert was meant to be shared. Grant dug into the whipped cream with his spoon, then lifted it to her mouth, teasing her with the pillowy white concoction. Then she treated him to cherries covered in tangy rum sauce, licking her lips as she watched him savor the sweet heady flavors.
Her eyes glowed with appreciation for the dessert, and his were mesmerized by the soft tilt of her chin, the slight curve of her button nose, the glowing cheeks that dimpled every time she smiled. He’d almost forgotten what it was like to see her happy and free of worry. When the last bite of cherries sat temptingly on the plate, she scooped it up and he bit off the end, his tongue lapping at the syrup. He imagined dribbling the cherry juice over her naked body and licking it off. Her breath hitched as if she’d read his mind, then a tiny subtle moan of desire erupted from her throat that flamed his body with raw desire. He turned the spoon and she licked the syrup off after him, her slitted dark gaze pinned to his mouth. Heat raced through him, and her brown eyes darkened to black pools he felt himself drowning in.
A soothing love song drifted from the piano and he held out his hand. “Would you like to dance?”
She hesitated and he remembered her injured leg.
“You can lean on me, Emma,” he said quietly.
The vulnerability shadowing her eyes eased slightly and she nodded. He led her to the dance floor and she practically glided into his arms, as if she’d always been there, as if she always would be. He wrapped his arm around her waist and pulled her against him, sucking in a breath of her jasmine fragrance, elated at the way she fit perfectly into his hungry embrace. He guided her around the dance floor, their bodies swaying slowly in perfect time to the piano, the heat between them swirling into a fire. She lay her head against his chest, and he was sure she heard his heart pounding with hunger, his blood sizzling through his veins. When she nuzzled into his embrace, he thought he was going to explode with want.
But he held his libido in check and simply stroked her back, the curve of her waist. He whispered sweet nonsense words at the nape of her neck, reveling in the tiny shiver that rippled through her when he kissed the sensitive spot behind her ear. Her body brushed against his, her hands massaged his arms, found their way to his hairline, where she toyed with the strands, her tentative touches like scorching coals to his cold and lonely soul.
By the time the song mellowed and the next one began, he was so tormented with lust and want he thought he wasn’t going to be able to walk back to the table. Then Emma leaned up and kissed his cheek, and after all they’d been through, the sweetness of her trust nearly brought him to his knees.
The music drifted into an instrumental, and he felt her pull slightly away and look into his eyes. “I…I booked us a room,” she said so low he almost didn’t hear her.
“You what?” He searched her face.
“I want us to be together tonight, Grant, but—”
He heard the slight quaver in her voice and his heart pounded. “But what?” Her chin trembled just the tiniest bit and his gut clenched. He wanted her so badly he thought he’d explode. “I’m not pushing you, sweetheart. I can wait—”
She pressed her finger to his lips. “I know you’re not pushing me, but I want to be with you.” Her voice dropped to a strained whisper. “But I have scars now, Grant.” She lowered her head. “I’m not the same. My leg—”
He crushed her to him and closed his eyes, the sound of her uncertainty slicing into him like a razor. “Don’t you know it doesn’t matter?” he said in a voice so rough with emotion he was afraid she didn’t catch the words.
But she must have because he saw tears fill her eyes. “It’s the reason…I stopped you the last time,” she whispered. “It’s not pretty, Grant, the skin is red and—”
He silenced her with a gentle kiss, shame hitting him hard for not realizing before the reason for her reservations. He cupped her face in his hands, vaguely aware the music had stopped playing and they were still in the middle of the dance floor, swaying and hugging one another, their bodies mating in the rhythm of a seductive slow dance. “You are the most beautiful woman I’ve ever known, Emma, and you always will be. You’re my wife, and I love you. Don’t you know by now how much you mean to me?”
A tear slid down her cheek and he caught it with his lips. “Don’t cry, sweetheart. I love you and nothing, I mean nothing, can change that. Especially not a scar.”
She pulled back and looked into his eyes. “I don’t want to disappoint you, Grant.”
He chuckled, a husky sound filled with desire. “Honey, I know you don’t want me to tell you about the past, but if you could remember how shamelessly I chased you, you’d know you couldn’t disappoint me. Not ever.”
“But it’s different now,” Emma murmured. “I’m different.”
He cupped her face in his hands. “No, you’re the same woman I begged to go out with me, the same one I actually serenaded in front of the dorm…”
“You serenaded me?” she asked, her lips quirking into a tentative smile.
He nodded. “I sang that Seger song to you. The guys in the dorm laughed their heads off.”
“Tell me what else you did,” she said, the dim light softening the shadows beneath her eyes.
“I used to play soccer on an intramural team.” He ran his hand down to her waist, pulling her into him as they swayed to the strains of an Eric Clapton melody. “Later you came to spend the weekend with Kate. It was my big chance to impress you,
only I sprained my ankle at the beginning of the game—”
“And you didn’t get to play?”
He chuckled again. “No, I played all right. You’d just gotten there, so I wouldn’t let them take me out.”
“You played the game knowing you had a sprained ankle to impress me?”
“Actually I found out later it was fractured. I was on crutches for three weeks.”
Emma threaded her fingers into the tips of his thick hair. “That’s really romantic, Grant.”
“It was really dumb, but it should tell you how much I wanted you then.”
She grew silent, her expression once again worried, but she held him more tightly. He felt a sense of longing so deep it hurt.
“But it was nothing compared to how much I want you now, Emma. Or how much I love you.” He brought her hands to his chest as he’d done before. “At the hospital I told you that you might not remember me in your head, but you’d always be in my heart, didn’t I?”
She nodded, smiling slowly, then he curved his arm around her and she leaned into him as they walked slowly back to the table. He signed for the check, she retrieved her purse, and they barely made it to the hotel room before he lowered his head and took her mouth with all the urgency he had penned up inside. Before the night ended, she was going to know how strong his love was, and she would be his wife again, in every sense of the word.
EMMA LET HER HEAD drop back as Grant took possession of her, body, mind and soul. His kisses sent her into bliss, his hands caressed and loved and stoked her fire, his hunger a need she wanted to fill, again and again and again. In the far recesses of her mind, a tiny voice said she should have told him about her permanent memory loss, but the raw heat burning between them consumed her logic and the splendor of his lovemaking doused her worries. There would be time for talk later. After she’d sated his desire.
And hers.
She tore at his clothes, hungry to feel his bare chest with her fingers, and reveled in the way he caressed her breasts through her clothes. His hands cupped her bottom, pulling her into his arousal, and she felt him hard and hot and boldly pushing against her. She cradled him in her thighs and he moaned, sliding his hands up to remove her dress. She raised her arms, closing her eyes when he tossed the satin to the floor, and she felt his hands and mouth touching her bare shoulder and neck.
“You’re so lovely,” he said. “Look at me. Emma. I want you to see how much I love you.”
She opened her eyes and saw him feasting on her with his eyes, devouring every inch of her with his hot wanton looks, and she suddenly felt wanton and wicked and beautiful. He cupped her breasts over the lacy blue bra and then, with a flick of his fingers, unsnapped the front clasp and sent the bra falling to the floor. Her small round breasts ached for him, her nipples hardened to twin peaks of need. A sexy smile of self-satisfaction lit his handsome face. “You do want me, don’t you, Emma?”
She nodded, moved beyond reason.
He touched her nipples with his thumbs, slowly rotating the peaks until she moaned. “Say it,” he whispered. Then he licked his finger and brought it back to one nipple, teasing it mercilessly.
She gasped. “I want you, Grant.”
His breath hissed out, a guttural sound of male want that sent chills skating over her body. Then he brought his mouth to her nipple and licked, first one, then the other, until her belly burned with arousal and her legs quivered. He braced her back with his hand and dipped his head to suckle the tips, making loud sweet hungry sounds that made her swell with need. Then he rained kisses up and down her abdomen, his tongue flickering at the edges of her garter, nipping at the seam of her panties near her heat, then dove beneath the edges to tease her inner thighs. One finger slid inside her, tormenting her with long slow strokes, and her legs gave way, tremors of passion rocking through her.
He scooped her into his arms, tore off her garter and hose, then shucked his slacks and briefs in one quick motion. He was strong, his bronzed body a picture of virility, like a Roman soldier bared for the trusting eyes of his woman, and she reached out to draw him near. She threaded her fingers through his hair, then found him with her hands and nearly came apart in his arms when she felt his hot flesh swell in her hands.
“Emma, I don’t know how long I can last,” he whispered in a rough voice. “And you’re so ready.”
She cupped his buttocks and dug her fingernails into his skin, pulling him closer. “I know, Grant. I need you.”
He lowered his head, pushed her thighs apart and tasted her with his tongue, the sweet wonderful sounds of hunger he whispered making her convulse with pleasure. Then he rose above her, teasing her softness with the strength of his manhood. She groaned and felt the fine tremors of satisfaction lapping at her.
“I love you, Emma.” He lowered his mouth to hers, parted her lips with his tongue, tantalizing her breasts with his fingers, then slipped into her. He said what he wanted from her in such a husky lust-filled voice that the fiery sensations stirred within her middle. The fire rose to a crescendo, rocking through her with the most intense pleasure she could ever imagine. And just before she cried out his name and he came inside her, she told him she loved him.
Chapter Twelve
Making love to Emma once had only whetted his appetite for more. Like an imprisoned man suddenly set free, Grant felt exalted and so damn humble he didn’t know what to say. She’d said she loved him. Whether she’d remembered any part of their past life or not, he didn’t know. And he was afraid to ask, afraid to break the closeness their silent words of intimacy had forged.
They made love again and again during the night, and now with early-morning sunlight streaming through the lacy sheers and Emma lying in his arms, the soft weight of one breast in the palm of his hand, he didn’t think he’d ever be completely sated. She murmured something unintelligible, her sleepy eyelids barely fluttering open as she reached for him and drew him into the erotic sanctity of her bosom. He lay in her embrace, his head nestled against her warm flesh. He stroked the delicate skin of her thighs, mentally wincing when he contacted the scar she’d been so reluctant to reveal to him.
Tenderness welled inside him, and he rained kisses in a fiery path down to her belly, the curve of her hip and over the puckered skin. He instantly felt her stiffen. Her hands dug into his hair and she pleaded with him to stop. “No, let me love you,” he whispered. “I need you, Emma.”
She whimpered, but he brought his hands up and covered her fingers with his, rubbing his tongue across her sensitive skin and flicking it lower until he tasted the heady sense of her need. She made a soft sound, half plea to stop, half plea to end the torture he’d only begun. But he took his time, loving her, letting her know with his intimate touches and his whispered words, with his fingers and his tongue, how erotic he found her body.
Her hips bucked upward as he drove his mouth against her, her sweet feminine scent spiraling through his nerve endings, exciting him into a hardness only she could fulfill. And when she cried out her release, her body quivering with passion, he rose to look at her. She was awake now, the pupils of her eyes soft and dazed with longing, and he smiled with a male satisfaction that swelled in his manhood. She tucked her bottom lip between her teeth as if embarrassed, and he instantly nipped at it with his mouth, plunging his tongue into her mouth, letting her taste her own desire and feed his. Her fingernails scraped his shoulders, her hands moved down his back to cup his buttocks. Finally one hand closed around him, and he couldn’t stop the guttural groan that erupted from deep within him.
She smiled, her eyes raking over him as wickedly as his tongue had taken her body, then she pressed him over onto his back. He caught her hands and kissed her fingers, sucking on the tips as she lowered her head and flicked a tongue over his nipple. The ends of her silky hair tickled his chest and he sucked in a harsh breath, battling for control. Then she delved lower, into his navel, then lower still, until her tongue touched the tip of his manhood.
His l
egs quivered, his hips jerked up in primal response, and her breath whispered erotically against the juncture of his thighs. “Emma…”
“I told you earlier I wanted you,” she said in a husky edgy voice that reminded him of the first time they’d made love. Then he lost all coherent thought as she buried her head against him and loved him with her tongue. Her hair whispered against his belly, her fingers teased the hair on his legs and groped his thighs, holding him still for her pleasure, and her heated sighs of passion turned him on as much as the act itself.
The warm wetness of her mouth cradling him inside, the flicker of her tongue, the sweet wantonness of her hunger almost drove him over the edge. And when he thought he would burst in mindless pleasure, she lifted her head and moved above him, straddling his thighs. He groaned as he filled her, saw her eyes mellow and close as she rotated her hips and took the full length of him. Unable to resist touching her breasts, he rolled her erect nipples with his fingers until she cried out and rocked herself harder and faster, accepting him thrust for thrust as she strained around him. He slid one finger down and stroked the sensitive nub between her legs, and she threw her head back and cried his name.
He bucked upward, filling her until she whimpered with pleasure, until he was lost inside her. Her body quivered again with the strength of her release, then she collapsed on top of him, her breathing erratic, the strands of her golden hair draping over his chest like silk.
HAD MAKING LOVE with Grant always been this cataclysmic? And emotional? With no memory to compare it to, it was as if this was their first time. Blinking back the moisture in her eyes, Emma stroked the dark hair on his chest, traced circles over his hard flat stomach, drinking in the heady scent of him and their lovemaking on his skin. If they’d had problems before their marriage, she was sure they could have used their lovemaking to solve them. She’d never known or even thought sex could be such a splendid experience, so totally enthralling that she could forget the dangers around her, but the past twelve hours had proved otherwise.
