LET ME CALL YOU SWEETHEART

by Nancy Gideon

  He wondered what kind of father she'd had.

  And that led to the uncomfortable curiosity over what kind he'd be. What kind of parents he and Bess might have been together if fate and their families hadn't stood in the way.

  Thirty-five wasn't too old to be thinking along those lines. Unwittingly he started the sweep hand on his biological clock ticking.

  For the first hour, Zach purposefully kept away from the upstairs room where Bess lay sleeping. He called Melody to check on things there, watched the news, ate two bowls of surprisingly savory stew, then stored the rest and cleaned up the kitchen. He paced. The house made him uncomfortable with its heavy furniture and drab antique decor. He felt Joan Carrey's fierce disapproving eyes upon him as he prowled from room to room, examining everything, touching nothing. This was where Bess grew up, where she continued to live. It was every bit as oppressive as the bookstore; both prisons created by her domineering mother to suck all hope for joy out of her life.

  Her mother's fall and subsequent helplessness explained why Bess hadn't left Sweetheart. He thought of her at the old lady's smothering beck and call and wished—

  What good did it do to wish things had been different? The only changes he could make were here and now. If it wasn't already too late.

  Too restless in the gloomy downstairs rooms, Zach climbed the stairs and walked toward the back bedroom. Double windows were open to invite the warm night air in. Light from a small desk lamp cast a tiny pool of illumination beneath it and left the rest of the room in deepening degrees of shadow. Where Bess lay, her hair shone like pale fine-spun gold. Her lashes feathered along her cheeks, appearing thicker, longer in the slant of light. An angel in repose. Her slender hand tucked beneath her jaw, its ring finger meaningfully bare of anyone's claim. He doubted that any man had ever been privy to such a glorious sight, and to be the first, and hopefully only, to draw it in, to revel in it, filled him with a possessive panic.

  He might have lost her. To the fire. To his lies. That notion savaged him.

  He tried sitting at her bedside in the thinly stuffed chair, but the rigid position brought an ache to his back where the skin was scorched and still sensitive. Though fatigue pulled at his eyelids, he was reluctant to retire to the couch downstairs. What if she woke? What if she needed something?

  Finally he did the only sensible thing. He stretched out on his side beside her, his long form atop the covers, her tempting one safely beneath them. Resting his head on his out-flung arm, he studied her profile while his thoughts slowed and gradually sank into slumber.

  * * *

  Bess jerked awake with a gasp, her hand going to her throat. Her frantic gaze flashed about, grasping at familiar surfaces to contain her hysteria. Beneath the sheet, her cotton gown clung damply, absorbing a sheen of cold sweat and icy chills. A dream. A terrible dream, one of fire and fear, one where a smoky hand seemed to clutch about her neck, strangling the air out of her. One of unseen threat and seeping death.

  Just a dream.

  To drive the horrible reality of it away, she drew a deep breath. Air scraped rawly down the abused passage to her lungs, a match head igniting flame in its wake.

  Oh, God.

  It wasn't a dream.

  The smoke … the store … the bludgeoning explosion in her head … all of it happened!

  She tried to sit up. Her outcry clawed up painfully into a raspy moan as she struggled against the tangle of covers and an immobilizing weight lying across her middle. A desperate fear of being trapped, of being burned, of being helpless flooded her sensibilities until a low reassurance sounded beside her.

  "Shhh, Bess. It's all right. It's over. You're safe now."

  "Zach?"

  Wild eyes darted to the left, to where he lay close. His arm draped over her waist, creating the weight that at first panicked, then comforted her as she rolled toward him. It made a firm bolster along her back, holding her tight against him. Her arms banded his shoulders, her face burrowing into the open collar of his shirt.

  "You're fine, Bess. Everything's going to be fine."

  His crooning claim couldn't blot out the image of the billowing clouds, darkening all around her as they slowly devoured her air just as the flames devoured—

  "The store…?"

  "I'm sorry. The fire's out, but I don't know what the damage is." His words, spoken gruffly into her hair did little to quiet her anxiousness. She hung on to him like a life ring, her slender body beginning to quake along his hard lines.

  "Someone was inside," she told him, her voice all scratchy and weakened by hoarse gasps of shock. "The place was all torn up. I tried to call—to call you but the ph-phone wouldn't work. And I heard someone behind me."

  The calming rock of his breathing became a heaving storm, mirroring the surging terror.

  "And?" came his lethally soft prompt.

  "And somebody hit me. Knocked me down. And then the smoke, the fire. I couldn't move." Tremors raced along their entwined limbs, hers pressing against his, his becoming shock absorbers. "Oh, Zach, I thought I was going to die."

  His eyes squeezed shut, shoving away the swelling panic that came with the remembered sight of her pale, pale face and that small, still hand. "I wouldn't let that happen. You know I wouldn't. Nothing's going to happen to you, Bess. I swear it."

  She continued to weep in fractured snatches, her hands kneading the hair at his nape and the collar of his shirt. Her fear was a fist to his gut.

  "Who? Why?"

  He shook his head, taking the opportunity to caress the tousle of baby-fine gold with his lips. "I don't know, baby, but I'll find out. I'll find out and there'll be hell to pay. Hell to pay."

  The harsh strength in his tone was like a swallow of straight scotch. Searing, then warming, quieting her chills, calming her frazzled concentration.

  Giving her a chance to concentrate on other things.

  Like him in her bed beside her.

  Her fingers went from a frenzied clutching to a restless combing. She pressed closer to feel the hardness of his buttons, his buckle, of his awareness lengthening behind his zipper as he realized the changing direction of her thoughts.

  "I'd better—"

  "Stay," she finished for him. "Stay with me." Aw, hell. She couldn't have asked for anything easy … like donating both his kidneys.

  "I will, baby. I'll stay. But you have to promise you'll rest. You need—"

  "I need you."

  "You need your sleep."

  She allowed him to push her over onto her back, but the sight of her features, all tear washed and beseeching purged his nobility. Still, he hung on by his fingernails, resisting for the both of them.

  "Bess—"

  "Zach."

  Her fingertips trailed along the rough terrain of one unshaven cheek, creating a sandpapery sound and a flurry of urgent agitation.

  "Bess—"

  Her fingers hooked behind his ear as her thumb rode the broad ridge of his cheekbone. Intuition shouted for him to get the hell out while he could, but his treacherous body had already begun to surrender.

  What if he'd lost her?

  His lips parted. His eyes drifted shut.

  They kissed, a butterfly-light whisper, touching, lifting away, settling again for slightly longer, then flitting away again. There was nothing delicate about the way his heart slammed against his ribs. He stroked her face with his fingers, filling his palm with her obstinate jaw. And he stared down at her, his gaze an overcast sky, slated, mysterious, seething with unchecked danger.

  "Bess, this isn't the time."

  "Where's Faith?" Her touch skimmed down his neck to dip into the hollow of his collarbone. Testing the savage thunder there.

  "She's spending the night with Kathy."

  "We're alone."

  It wasn't a question, but she answered it anyway.

  "Good."

  Her succinct reply stripped her intentions bare of subtlety. She wanted him. Here, now. In her mother's house. In her spin
ster's bed. There was no hesitation in that single word. None at all in her direct-to-the-soul stare. His restraint developed a hairline crack against the building pressure. When her lips grazed his, he sandbagged with logic to stand firm. Then she undercut his barricade, dipping down, swirling her tongue over hot skin above his top shirt button. He fractured like the San Andreas.

  Hauling her up to him in a twist of sheets, Zach crushed her mouth with rough possession. She tasted of smoke and sweetness. He took her down to the mattress, pushing her into it as he leveled himself atop her gentle curves. His hands fisted in her hair on either side of her head as his kiss grew fierce, devouring and openmouthed. He kissed her to the edge of reason, letting her dangle there in teetering peril when he lifted away. His glare was hot, naked except for hunger, challenging her to stop him before it was too late.

  Too late.

  Her fingertips touched his parted lips, feeling the almost-angry thrust of his breath pulsing against them. She sensed the danger involved in provoking such a man, the consequences that once frightened her into second thoughts. The point of no return, once reached, once breached that could mean only commitment. She didn't back away.

  "Make it a dream that never ends, Zach."

  He caved in upon that quiet request.

  "I'll do my best."

  His lips hovered over hers, sharing her breath, her shivery expectation, pausing not with caution, but with care, until sinking down to let her taste paradise in the soft, slanting union. She opened for him, welcoming the next level of intimacy as their tongues touched and stroked and teased to the very last ounce of breath.

  He lifted up slightly, his husky words blowing seducingly warm against the moisture on her mouth.

  "I want to see you, Bess. All of you. And I want you to see me. I want you to know what you're getting, the whole package. If you're ready."

  Ready and so willing she hurt.

  But as he turned down the sheet and gathered the hem of her gown in one hand to lift it upward, exposing her to the night breeze and his caressing study, eagerness was no match for inexperience. They'd never been naked together. No one had ever seen her without clothing and somehow, right now, that was more intimidating than the explicit secrets they'd already shared.

  As the material bunched beneath her breasts, she tucked her knees up tight, and the clench of her hand over his halted her unveiling. Anxious and embarrassed, she didn't expect him to anticipate her modest reaction. But he did.

  He returned to the mind-drugging kisses, smoothing her nightgown down to her waist, soothing her fears as he simply held her until her tension eased. She gave herself over to the manipulations of his mouth, sighing into his lapping kisses, moaning as he sucked on an earlobe, licked across the tender flutter of her eyelids and nipped down her neck, distracted from what his hands were doing. They rubbed and kneaded her shoulders, her arms, her rib cage until her legs relaxed and unbent to shift restlessly against his.

  His palm rested upon one bare hip, circling in easy revolutions that widened when she didn't resist. He cupped her bottom briefly, moving on when she stiffened, stroking down her thigh and up again, letting her get used to the rough burr of his palm the way he'd gentle a wild horse to the feel of a saddle blanket.

  And all the while, he whispered husky encouragements against her mouth, into her hurried breaths, telling her how good she tasted, how good she felt, how beautiful she was, until she quivered with feverish longing, having hungered for those words since their very first kiss. So consumed she didn't think to shut out the glide of his hand up her inner thigh.

  That first contact sent a shock of sensation sizzling through her. Her breath caught and held in an agony of suspense as he rubbed her with his palm then began a probing exploration with his fingers. A moralistic alarm tightened the muscles in her thighs but she didn't pull away.

  "Trust me, Bess," he murmured alongside her ear as he slipped his fingers inside her. She tensed and sucked a startled breath making him aware that though she wasn't a virgin, in some ways she was still so innocent. He lifted his head, commanding her gaze with the quiet intensity of his own. Her eyes were huge, dark-centered, scared, yet bright with wanting. Rich with trust.

  "You wanted to know what it's like being free." He kissed her once softly before adding, "Let me show you how to fly."

  Bess closed her eyes and let herself go. She let him coax her with the seductive rhythm of his touch, a rhythm her body already understood, for soon it was moving to the tempo, rocking to an insistent beat not unlike that of her heart. The cadence deepened, drawing untried and unexpected responses, a vibrant thrumming pulled up from a primal source that was woman. Encouraging seismic tremors gathered with cataclysmic force along her legs, through her belly, until they were taut and trembling. Until her breathing began to shudder. Confused, alarmed and gasping, she tried to squirm away and contrarily arched up against his hand as the movement quickened, demanding some answer from her.

  "Let go, Bess," he urged, breathing hard and fast.

  And she did, peaking in shattering waves of glory, as Zach praised, "Oh, yeah, baby, that's it," until the last fiery spasm rode through her. She stared up at him, her eyes dazed and unfocused, her slender form shivery in the aftermath. He scooped back her hair to kiss her brow, her temple, her cheek before settling for a long, lush sampling of her lips. Her palms pressed to the sides of his face, holding him there until they were forced to part for air. He watched her expression for clues, anxious despite all the evidence.

  "Wow," she whispered in awe.

  Zach's arrogant grin split wide and white in the semidarkness. "You're damn right, wow!"

  She drew a quick breath and smiled shyly. "I had no idea."

  "That's because you don't read the right kind of books." His grin muted, becoming a look of unguarded emotion, too complex, too fiercely intense for easy deciphering. His voice rumbled. "And now that you know?"

  "I want to know everything."

  She sat up slightly, her gaze never leaving his as she pulled her gown off over her head and tossed it aside. She sank back into the covers, her arms opening then curling about him as they kissed again. Her tongue touched his in silky persuasion. A low sound growled through him as he cinched her up tight, his mouth grinding down on hers, pushing the limits of his control. His hands fit over her breasts, the heated contact making her pulse leap then pound faster.

  His lips tore from hers, lowering to capture a turgid nipple. He was less than gentle. Her fingers sieved through his hair, tightening, twisting, as pleasure intensified to the brink of torment. He turned his head, his tongue rasping a wet trail up to the other peak as her spine bowed, lifting it for his tender savagery. Her hands pushed over his shoulders and down his back, over muscles so taut they trembled with the effort of control. She tugged his shirttail loose and skimmed her palms beneath it, reveling in the hot, hard feel of him.

  "Zach," she said breathlessly, "I want to see you."

  He sat up, shucking off his shirt in a single move, his pale eyes glittering like blue flame. As he reached for his belt, Bess's hands were already there, tugging, unbuckling, unsnapping, unzipping, slipping in next to skin, diving deep as if for treasure. Not coming up empty-handed. His breath purged in a harsh rattle, control close to threadbare. Maybe she'd read some of the right kind of books after all.

  "Bess, let me do that."

  He wiggled off the edge of the bed, away from the gliding touch that had him close to a nuclear disaster. He skimmed out of his jeans, briefs and socks with remarkable speed, drawing Bess's attention from his heavily furred chest to the rocketing eagerness of his sex. The longer she stared, saying nothing, the more uncomfortable he became, not sure of her reaction to her first confrontation with male nudity.

  She exhaled slowly through her teeth then rose up to her knees. He didn't move, letting her come to him. Her hands rested on the jut of his hipbones as she leaned ever so slowly into him. Her face nestled into the dark hair covering his breast
bone as she melted along him, her pebbled nipples poking his ribs, his hardness pressing into her soft belly, their bodies conforming to a sinfully perfect fit.

  His senses were knife sharp, honed to an atom-splitting edge from waiting half his life for this moment, for these exact sensations that were suddenly so much more than he'd ever dared expect.

  Show me everything. He meant to, in exquisite detail. At least, that was the plan until her hot little mouth scorched his skin, trickling kisses across his chest. He could have stood even that with a degree of self-control.

  But then her tongue curled about the nub of his nipple where it was half-hidden in whorls of black hair and his willpower snapped under the pressure.

  The mattress gave under their combined weight. Bess's legs lassoed about him before they finished the first hard bounce. By the second, he was embedded deep inside her, trying not to burst at the feel of her, hot and snug about him. He took her mouth in a series of hard, ragged kisses, his big hands anchoring her hips to greet his explosive thrusts. He wouldn't have believed anything could slow his race toward fulfillment until her fingers dug into one of the raw patches on his back, and the shock of pain jolted through him.

  Bess felt his recoil, so sharp and sudden it broke the frantic pace of their passion. He took a moment to blink rapidly, wrestling the hurt back under his control, and would have continued if she hadn't twisted half out from under him. The sight of the blistering burns on his lower back could mean only one thing.

  He was blowing hard into the squashed pillow, trying to get his momentum slowed down when he heard her fragile cry. Lifting up onto his elbows so he could see her face was a mistake. Her eyes were round and luminous. Her cheeks shimmered with quicksilver tears.

  "Bess?"

  She touched his face, her fingertips trembling. "You went in after me."

  He didn't want to make a big thing out of it, not as big a thing as she obviously was. He shrugged. "Faith went to call the fire department so I—"