On a groan, she dropped her head into her hands, as if his compliments were too much to bear. He sat beside her, confused by her reaction. “That upsets you?”
She nodded, keeping her face covered with her hands.
“I don’t understand. You were terrific.”
“I don’t want to be terrific.” Her bare shoulders rolled forward as she bent to take her heels off, setting them neatly on the floor. “Not at that. I never wanted that. Not when I was five or ten or fifteen. And most certainly not now.”
He heard a sad weariness in her voice, saw a vulnerability in her that he’d never seen before. Wanting only to reassure her, he slipped an arm around her waist and tucked her against his chest. “What do you want, Abby?”
“The same thing I’ve always wanted. To be normal, to be like everyone else.”
She wasn’t like anyone else, Callan thought. She was the most amazing woman he’d ever met. But somehow he didn’t think she wanted to hear that right now. “You don’t think you’re normal?”
She lowered her hands back to her lap and stared at them. “When other little girls were having tea parties and playing with dolls, I was either rehearsing or performing. Until I was sixteen, we moved and traveled so often, I just kept my clothes in a suitcase.”
Callan had spent a good portion of the past two years on the road, had lived out of his own suitcase. It was hard enough as an adult, but as a child? He was beginning to understand why she was so orderly, so precise and efficient. She simply wanted what she’d never had as a child—stability.
“And when you were sixteen?”
“My father ran off with a pretty, young understudy from The King and I.” She looked up at him, her red lips set tight. “To this day when I hear the word et cetera I want to punch something.”
“Maybe you should.” He smiled at her. “You might feel a whole lot better.”
“I don’t think so,” she said with sigh. “I’d probably just end up feeling worse.” She flipped open the top of the wooden birdhouse she kept on the end table beside her sofa, pulled out a tissue from the box hidden inside, then dabbed at her red lips.
“My mom and I went to live with Aunt Emerald and Ruby after my dad left. As you can imagine, living with my aunts was hardly what I’d call normal, but at least we never moved again. And I made everyone happy by performing in the drama class productions at school.”
“Everyone but yourself,” he said evenly.
“I was happy living in the same house, going to the same school.” She shrugged. “That was good enough for me.”
“You shouldn’t have to settle for good enough, Abby,” he said thoughtfully. “Did you ever tell them how you felt?”
“I wanted to, but after my mother got sick when I was a senior, I just couldn’t. It was too important to her that I carry on the family tradition. I was in my second year of college, theater arts major, when she died.”
She stared at the red lipstick on the tissue, then folded it neatly and set it on the coffee table.
“She was so proud.” Abby dragged both hands through her hair to smooth it down. “So happy I had the lead in the school’s production of Grease, with good enough reviews to land several offers for bigger roles. I couldn’t take that away from her. But after she was gone, I saw no reason to continue. I finished my commitment to the play, switched my major to business, then eventually took a job with a large accounting firm.”
She looked up at him and smiled. “You should have seen the look on my aunts’ faces when I told them. You’d have thought that I’d joined a cult.”
He thought of Emerald and Ruby and smiled back at her. “I can imagine.”
Her smile faded. “Unfortunately, that’s when they decided that if I wasn’t going into show business, then I needed a man to take care of me. For the next year they brought home every available bachelor within a hundred-mile radius. When they signed me up for that television dating show, The Perfect Match, I decided I’d had enough and moved into my own apartment in New Jersey. When they started showing up there, too, with men in tow, I knew I had to go somewhere they wouldn’t follow. Someplace quiet and small and far enough away from the theater and nightlife they love so much.”
“Bloomfield?”
She nodded. “I’d been reading want ads in out-of-town newspapers when I saw yours. ‘Need hardworking, organized office manager with sharp mind, for growing, busy construction company,”’ she quoted from memory. “‘Only the best need apply.”’
She remembered the ad he’d placed? Good Lord, he’d thought that by this time nothing Abby said or did could amaze him more than she already had. And yet she still did, almost as much as she fascinated him.
“Do you know what it’s like to never fit in anywhere?” she asked softly. “To never feel that you belong? Working for you, in your office, made me feel as if I was part of something important. Something solid and permanent. I know that probably sounds silly to you, but it’s exactly what I was looking for, what I wanted. This past year has been very special to me, and I want to thank you for that.”
Callan’s gaze dropped to Abby’s lips, lips that he’d kissed only an hour ago. That he wanted to kiss again.
“It’s not over,” he murmured, ran his fingers over her jaw, then splayed his fingers on her slim white neck. So incredibly soft. “Not by a long shot.”
Covering her mouth with his, he felt the shudder move from her body to his. The ache that had been slowly spreading through him quickened, then tightened as she parted her lips for him.
He deepened the kiss, was certain he’d never tasted anything so sweet. So intoxicating. Her hands slid tentatively up his chest, then around his neck. He crushed her to him, groaned at the feel of her soft breasts pressed against his chest. He felt her heart beating erratically against his own; pleasure ripped through him, as intense as it was endless.
When his mouth moved to her neck, her head fell back in surrender. He blazed hot kisses down the long, smooth column, tasted every dip and curve, felt the wild pounding of her pulse beside the hollow of her neck as he nipped her gently with his teeth.
She gasped at the scrape of his teeth on her skin, and her small whimper made his blood boil. He reined himself in, wanting to slow things down, to savor the taste and feel of her.
Shaken by the force of the need pumping through him, he put his hands on her shoulders and eased her away. “Abby,” he said raggedly, “we’re not pretending this time.”
She opened her eyes slowly. They were deep-green, smoky and glazed with passion. It was all he could do not to take her that instant, hard and fast.
“What?” she murmured.
“This time it’s real.” He held her face in his hands, brushed his thumbs over her kiss-swollen lips. “This has nothing to do with your aunts or work or anything else. Do you understand? This is between you and me.”
Her eyes widened as his words sank in. “You and me?”
He nodded. “You and me. If you don’t want this, if you don’t want me to make love to you, tell me now, before this goes any further.”
Not want him to make love to her? Abby thought dimly. How could he possibly think that? Didn’t he know, couldn’t he see?
To please her aunts, she’d gone out on countless dates, and she couldn’t remember even one of those faces, remember even one of their names. And though several had been nice enough, not one of them had ever made her feel like this. Not even close.
She almost laughed at the absurdity of his question. Of course she wanted him to make love to her!
But she wouldn’t tell him that she wanted him more than her next breath. She would show him.
Sliding a hand behind his head, she tugged him toward her, brought his mouth back to hers.
On a moan he crushed her to him, and the feel of his hard, strong body against hers made her bones turn to taffy. She felt as if she were melting into the sofa as he pushed her back onto the soft cushions.
He kissed her like he�
�d never kissed her before, with a hunger that startled and excited at the same time. Her skin felt hot and cold, as if she’d been turned inside out, with every nerve exposed. He could kiss her like this forever, she thought.
Until his hands started to move.
And then she knew she wanted more. So much more.
His callused palms skimmed her bare shoulders, slid down her arms, where he linked his hands with hers, then raised them over her head. With her body pinned beneath his, she felt completely powerless, and yet somehow that aroused her beyond anything she could have ever imagined.
She was breathing hard when his mouth left hers and moved to nuzzle her earlobe, then trailed over her shoulder. Finally his lips made their way to the rise of her breast. She arched under him, impatient, biting her lip to hold back the groan hovering in her throat. Her skin felt tight and swollen and when he nipped gently at the soft flesh, she gasped. He used his teeth to tug her tight black top down, and she lay open to him, exposed.
When he took her in his mouth, she cried out.
He responded by laving her hardened nipple with his hot, wet tongue. Like an arrow of fire, desire shot from the tip of her breast to the ache between her legs. Sensations too intense to control rolled through her like a tidal wave, and she shuddered from the force of them. When he moved to her other breast, she sucked in a sharp breath.
“I…I need to touch you,” she gasped. “Please.”
Keeping his attention on the tight, sensitive bud of her breast, he loosened his hold on her, slowly slid his roughened hands down the underside of her arms until he cupped her fully in his palms. Shivering, she dragged her fingers over his scalp, down his neck and shoulders, strained her body upward to fit more closely to his.
His mouth moved upward again, caressed the rise of her breast, then slid toward her neck. “Abby,” he murmured, “that thing you did with your legs tonight, at the end of your dance, can you do that now?”
“Thing?” She struggled to understand his words, but her mind spun like a child’s colorful top. She breathed in sharply as his thumbs stroked her nipples. “What thing?”
He slid his hands to her rear end, pulled the vee of her legs directly against the hard length of him. Blood pounded in her head, and the ache between her thighs became unbearable.
Oh, that thing.
She wrapped her legs tightly around him.
On a moan, he slid his arms around her and stood, then carried her to the bedroom.
He only bumped into two walls before they finally managed to tumble onto her bed.
Arms and bodies linked, laughing, they rolled together on the mattress. Never had she felt so incredibly alive, so aware of herself and everything around her. The thick cotton comforter against her back, the chirp of crickets outside her window, the masculine scent of Callan’s skin.
The taste of desire.
A kaleidoscope of sensations washed over her, and she let herself be swept away in the rippling colors and textures. With Callan, she felt no inhibitions, no stage fright, no shyness. He made her feel what she’d never felt before, sexy and powerful and sure of herself. When he rolled her on top of him, she raised her arms and drew the tight band of black spandex over her head and tossed it away. He reared up, stroked her with his hands, his mouth, then they were rolling again.
Buttons flew, a zipper hissed in the darkness and then there was only bare skin against bare skin.
She’d waited for this all her life, waited for him. He moved over her; she slid her hands up his strong muscular arms. It made no difference she’d never done this before. Nothing could have felt more natural, more right.
Callan’s breathing was hard and ragged as he crushed his lips to hers. She sucked in a breath at the brush of his thumbs over her nipples, and when his mouth moved down her neck and replaced his thumbs, she cried out. The urgency to have him inside her overwhelmed her. She slid her legs over his, then around his waist, pulling him closer.
“Abby.” He gasped her name once, then again.
At the first press of velvet-steel, Abby wrapped her arms tightly around his shoulders and opened to him.
Callan hesitated at the resistance, lifted his head in confusion and looked at her. “Wait, you—”
She dragged her mouth to his and surged upward, completely joining their bodies.
“Abby…dammit…hold on—”
“I am holding on,” she murmured huskily, and started to move her hips.
On an oath his control broke. He thrust deeply, burying himself inside her.
Abby felt more pleasure than pain, but with that pleasure was an intense pressure, a desperate need that demanded release.
When it came, she fell apart, shattered into tiny, shimmering pieces. On a deep groan, he followed her.
“Abby, you could have told me.”
He’d tucked her tightly against his body, held her close while he waited for the world to straighten again. He felt the beating of her heart against his chest and the warmth of her breath on his skin as she snuggled closer.
“I don’t recall that particular question on my job application,” she breathed. “Check appropriate box—virgin…nonvirgin.”
How could she joke at a time like this? This was…important. “You know what I mean. Tonight. You should have told me tonight. Before things… escalated.”
“And if I had told you?” she asked quietly. “What would you have done?”
Honest to God, he didn’t know. “We should have at least discussed it.”
She laughed at that, leaned her elbow on his chest and braced her head with her hand while she looked up at him. “All right. Let’s discuss it now. Tell me about your previous sexual relations.”
He frowned at her. “We aren’t talking about me. We’re talking about you.”
She arched one eyebrow. “So you think that I should have discussed my sexual encounters, or lack of, with you, before we made love, but you, of course, wouldn’t discuss yours with me.”
He was getting her point, loud and clear, but that didn’t mean he had to like it. “Don’t twist this around, Abby. You’re twenty-six years old. You told me you dated a lot of men. What was I supposed to think?”
She went still at his words, then said quietly, too quietly, “I don’t know about the women you dated, but just because I went out with a lot of men, doesn’t mean I slept around.” She sat, covering herself with the sheet as she turned her back to him. “I think you’d better go.”
God, he was an idiot. He’d certainly never meant to hurt her. That was the last thing he wanted.
“Abby.” He ran his fingers up and down her arm, felt her shiver in spite of her anger. “I’m just a little off balance here. No, a lot off balance. Not just because you were a virgin, but because that was the single most incredible experience I’ve ever had in my life.”
Her head came up, but she stayed where she was, her back stiff. “You’re just saying that.”
She resisted, but he tugged her back to him. “No, I’m not just saying that. I mean it.”
Her eyes were bright with moisture as she looked at him. “Really?”
He took her index finger and made an X over his chest, felt his body respond to her touch. “Cross my heart.”
Her lashes fluttered down. “It was for me, too,” she whispered. “Incredible, I mean.”
He brought her hand to his lips, kissed her knuckles. “It wouldn’t have changed anything if you’d told me,” he said with a sigh. “Nothing at all. I was foolish enough to think I could resist you, but the truth is, I’ve wanted you since the night you sat across the table from me in the tavern and told me that we were engaged. With your cheeks flushed and your glasses falling off, you were so damned cute I wanted to throw you over my shoulder and carry you out of there.”
He was certain she was blushing, though it was too dark to tell. He touched her cheek, felt the heat on his fingertips.
“I’ve made such a fool of myself,” she whispered.
&nb
sp; He shook his head. “You wanted to make your aunts happy. That doesn’t make you a fool. We wouldn’t be here right now if it wasn’t for them.”
She smiled, lifted her gaze to his. “No, I don’t suppose we would.”
He cupped her chin in his hand, lowered his face to hers. “We should be thanking them both.”
“Yes.” Her lips parted as he moved closer. “I’ll do that.”
When her mouth brushed his, he felt the fire leap in his blood again. So soon, he thought in amazement. He was already aching and hard for her.
“Abby,” he whispered, pulling her tightly against him. “That Roberto guy?”
Her breathing was shallow, her lips moist from his kiss. “What about him?”
“If he touches you again, I’ll break him in half.”
Before the laughter died in her throat, she was already moaning.
Eight
She woke slowly, a gradual ascent from the foggy depths of a dream. A wonderful, sexy dream about Callan that involved bare skin, slow, deep kisses and soft moans. Warm and cozy, she snuggled her cheek against her pillow and smiled.
Her smile froze when a callused palm skimmed over her hip.
Her bare hip.
Oh, dear.
As she opened her eyes slowly, the morning light glared at her. She felt the full length of Callan’s body pressed against her back, burning her skin.
She swallowed hard and remembered.
Abby had never spent the night with a man before, which certainly made sense, since she’d never made love with a man before.
She smiled again.
Amazing. Absolutely amazing.
Was he awake? she wondered. And how was she supposed to act? Casual? Nonchalant? Composed? She supposed that most women were comfortable waking up next to a man they’d made love to most of the night. They just accepted it in stride, stretched, yawned, said good-morning.
Abby wanted to belt out a song.
It had to be the Bliss-Thomas blood in her, she thought and was so afraid she might start singing, she bit her tongue.
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