Her echo of his own thoughts sent a shiver of preternatural awareness up his neck, like nothing he had ever felt before. He knew himself to be on the edge of an emotional precipice, and to block out the danger he sensed there he fell back on the solid reality of two bodies alone in a room, male and female.
He dug his hands into her hair and kissed her, using his weight to push her back onto the bed until she lay beneath him, one of his knees between hers. Her hand on his chest moved up to wrap around his neck, but he captured it along with her other in one of his own hands, pinning them above her head as he kissed her, slowly and deeply, letting her feel his weight on her, his control.
His free hand went to the hem of her skirt, her thigh smooth and supple beneath his hand as he slowly slid his way up to her panties. The thin cotton stretched tight across her mound felt heated and damp to his touch. He massaged a slow circle against her, and her thighs parted, asking him for more.
He moved his mouth, nipping and sucking his way down her neck, licking along her collarbone and then over the rise of her breast, half-exposed by the twisted neckline. He found her nipple through bra and dress, and pinched it gently between his teeth, nibbling at her as his fingers below pushed aside the crotch of her panties and sank into the humid, rough curls, finding the tender, smooth folds of flesh hidden within the springy covering.
Eliza shut her eyes as Sebastian stroked her, her arms still stretched above her, offering herself. She felt as if she were one of those chocolate sculptures, melting to Sebastian's touch, willing him to consume her with his mouth. The last of her reservations gave way as his fingertip played at the opening to her, dipping slightly within, then in one long, smooth slide entering her completely, his fingertip pressing up against some hidden spot within her, making her arch against the heel of his hand.
His hand withdrew to tug at the hips of her panties, and she helped him to draw them off, then obeyed his hands again by removing her dress and bra. He stood to strip off his clothes, and she sat naked in the middle of the bedspread with her legs folded to the side, watching as each new expanse of his body came into view.
She felt a quiver inside her when at last he stood bare before her, his erection huge, half a threat and half a promise of what was to come.
Her eyes crept up the carved, sanded planes of his stomach and chest, his muscled shoulders, and up to his face, where the curve of his lips was a warning of the intent she saw in his eyes.
The quiver came again, stronger, reminding her how vulnerable she was naked on the bed, and that she had agreed to give herself over to this man and his body's desires.
He did not make her wait. He laid his big hands over her ankles and slowly, relentlessly pulled her legs out straight, then off the bed until her hips were at the edge. He knelt between her thighs, sliding his hands across them, then around her back to hold her lightly against him, her nipples brushing through the hair on his chest, his hands and forearms warm and strong against her back. He kissed her gently, lips capturing and releasing her own, tongue running lightly over hers.
He pushed her back until she lay again on the bedspread, his hands moving down to her hips, pulling her forward. He kissed her belly, small kisses, painting little trails with his tongue down to where the curls began. She felt his fingers as they pushed aside her hair, opening her like a flower to the touch of his tongue.
She moaned, a quiet sound of pleasure in the back of her throat that she had never made before. He tasted the length of her, slowly at first, then faster. He took the nub of her arousal between his lips and did something magical, his tongue working the tender flesh in and out as he sucked against her. The moan rose in her throat, her back arching off the bed.
His mouth released her. "Turn over," he commanded.
She obeyed without question, and was rewarded with his tongue along the top of the crease in her buttocks, licking up to the base of her spine. She heard the faint crinkle of a condom wrapper, and then he moved her forward until she was lying full on the bed. With his mouth at the side of her neck he lay against her and then took her from behind, forcing her thighs to close around the one leg he had between them, tightening the fit as he slid slowly within her.
The position brought flashes to mind of lions mating, the male holding the female in place with his teeth, keeping her under control while he took her. She felt him stretching her, filling her, and she moaned again as he began his slow thrusts, the angle and her body's tight sheathing of him sending sensation to places she didn't know she had, deep within where his fingertip had earlier pressed.
He pulled out and turned her over, propping himself above her with his locked arms on either side. He held her eyes with his own, and as he did she reached down with her own hand and guided him to her.
He watched her as he thrust within her, altering his movements according to what he saw on her face, his whispered words of "There?" and "Like this?" answered by her own "Yes, oh, yes," again and again. And then he brought his hand down and touched her, and she was aware of nothing but the rippling contractions of pleasure.
As the last waves gripped her, he came to his own summit, grasping her tightly against him, her name a muffled cry against her neck.
She lay beneath him, his body a heavy, warm weight on her, his lips against the sensitive spot under her ear, listening to their mingled breathing, and she knew that there was nothing to regret.
The dream was drawing to a close, but it had been the sweetest she had ever had.
Chapter Nine
Eliza bit the corner off her chocolate bar and chewed without enthusiasm. It tasted like dirt. Making an unhappy face, she wrapped it back in its foil and dropped it into her purse, there to join the remains of four other bars, all equally as unsatisfying.
Nothing tasted the same since coming home.
She slouched into her desk chair, unfinished paperwork spread before her, and stared at nothing.
She'd lost five pounds since coming home two weeks ago. She tried to eat— she bought baguettes and Brie; she bought Belgian beer and frozen bags of French fries— but there was something missing from her meals, and she left them untouched on her plate.
It was Sebastian that was missing, of course. That was easy enough to recognize. What she couldn't accept was that she should be longing for him, when she had been so careful to frame their three days as a foreign affair, a fling. It wasn't supposed to continue beyond the borders of Belgium and of her vacation. She hadn't meant to think of him as anything but a fond memory.
She wasn't supposed to want him here, in the United States, for as far into the future as she could see.
At least she had no regrets; that was something. Not about what she had done with him, not even about the shocking sum on her credit card statement. Every time she opened her closet door, she ran her fingers down the airy fabric of the green dress. Given the chance, she'd relive those three days again, from their first encounter on the train to the morning they had said good-bye.
She'd relive them again and again, only maybe this time, instead of kissing Sebastian on the cheek and wishing him well when they parted, perhaps she would tell him she would write, or call, or she would ask him to visit her in Seattle, or maybe she would even offer to meet him in San Francisco.
But perhaps it was best to have ended it as she had, with neither promise nor plea. He had asked for her number and address, but she had known it was mere politeness on his part. She was as much a holiday fling for him as she had thought he was to her.
"Eliza?" Sister Agnes asked, poking her head into the small office the dieticians shared. "Are you all right? You've been looking down lately. Is everything okay?"
Eliza tried to smile for her. "I haven't been eating well."
Sister Agnes made a tsk sound, her real-life self always much kinder and cheerier than Eliza's mental version. "There's something for you in the break room. It might pique your appetite," Sister Agnes said. Her eyes fairly twinkled.
Probably another ca
se of samples from Ensure. Sister Agnes always got excited when they came out with a new flavor.
Eliza sighed and hauled herself out of her chair. Her feet shuffled on the floor as she blindly made her way to the break room, only vaguely wondering why the Ensure was put there instead of the nutrition room, as usual.
Chattering voices and laughter brought her out of her daze as she reached the room. Nurses were gathered around the table, and one was digging paper plates out of a cupboard, leftovers from someone's birthday.
"We should wait," a nurse said.
"I can't."
"Did someone go to get her?"
"Eliza wouldn't really mind if we had some, would she?"
"Some what?" Eliza asked, coming into the room and trying to see what was on the table. The nurses didn't usually get so excited about Ensure.
"Oh, you're here! Can we have some of your cake?" Tanya, a cardiac nurse, asked.
"It's gâteau," Kelly corrected her, pursing her lips to give the word the proper French effect. "It says right on the box."
"I didn't know it was your birthday," someone else said.
"It's not," Eliza said, at last making it to the table. A white cake box with pale blue and silver scrollwork in the corners dominated the table. The ribbons that had been tied around it had been cut by someone, and one flap of the lid was outside the box, testament to the peeking of an overeager nurse. In the center of the lid, written by hand in copperplate script, were the words Eliza's Gâteau.
She looked about the room, but there was no one there but nurses. "Who brought this?" she asked.
"I don't know," Tanya said.
"It was here when I came in," someone else said, shrugging.
"Open it!" said the others.
Her hand shaking, she reached out and did so. The cake inside was frosted in pure, smooth, snowy white, decorated with a spray of candied violets. Someone shoved a knife into her hand.
"It's almost too pretty to eat," Kelly said, sighing.
"Don't say that!" someone else protested. "I've only got five minutes of my break left."
Eliza cut into the cake, the texture thick and heavy enough that she had to use both hands. She pulled out the first wedge and dropped the dense, fudgy slice onto a paper plate.
"Chocolate!" someone said. "I was running low."
"That time of the month?"
"Doesn't matter when."
Eliza continued to serve, the plates whisked away as quickly as she filled them, while her mind was trapped in tripping circles of thought. Sebastian? Delivered? From where? Candied violets. Chocolate. Sebastian? Here? Delivered? She trembled, nervous sweat forming under her arms.
"Whoa, mama, what's in this?" Kelly asked.
"Bourbon, I think," Tanya said, taking another huge bite.
"And it looked so innocent, with all that white frosting and flowers."
"You think the flowers are edible?" someone asked.
The voices faded from her consciousness as Eliza stood and stared at the remains of the cake, remembering. Sebastian. The art museum.
"When I marry, I will spend my life getting to know my wife the way van Eyck knew his, and I will love her unto death."
"And will you find a way to make her immortal?"
"Perhaps I will name a gâteau after her."
The knife fell from her hand to the table.
"Hey, psst!" a nurse hissed from the doorway. "Come take a look at this guy."
Two nurses came to peek. "God, he's gorgeous. Think he's visiting his grandmother or something?"
"Maybe he's lost."
"New intern?"
"Definitely not a patient."
"Wouldn't mind giving him a bed bath."
"Back, back!" the first nurse said, shooing them back into the room. "He's coming down here."
Eliza stood motionless at the table, eyes on the now-empty doorway. His footsteps became audible: measured, confident, at ease. And then he was there, her own James Bond, her van Eyck, her exotic, foreign lover.
"Eliza?" he said.
She sensed every eye in the room swiveling from his handsome face to her, the astonishment palpable.
"Sebastian," she said, and walked slowly toward him, the room silent, every ear perked and listening.
He stepped forward to meet her, then cupped his hands on either side of her neck, his thumbs running along her jawline. "Three days. It was not enough time."
"No."
"Would you like to give it thirty?" he asked.
"I'd like to give it three hundred."
"Perhaps even three thousand will not be long enough," he said softly. "Every time we part, I feel that we have left something unfinished. It might take a lifetime, and even then I don't think I will have had enough of you."
"Am I still dreaming, Sebastian? Or are you really here?"
His glance shifted, looking over at the decimated remains of the cake, then back to her. "Perhaps Seattle could use another dessert restaurant. Would you like that?"
"I'll get fat."
He bent his head, his mouth beside her ear. "I'll give you plenty of exercise."
She smiled, feeling the blush on her cheeks, and then he kissed her, and the room erupted in applause and leering hoots of appreciation.
When the kiss ended, Eliza opened her eyes and turned toward the room. Sister Agnes was standing by the table, a plate of cake in her hand.
"Sorry. I haven't had any lunch," Sister Agnes said around a full mouth. "Do you think I'm being terribly wicked?"
"Of course not," Eliza said. "Chocolate is good for the heart."
Meltdown
By
Thea Devine
To John who melted my heart.
Chapter One
He reminded her of chocolate: rich, dark, dangerous, delicious.
And that was in no small part due to the way he was dressed in his dark brown suit, a soft cream-colored shirt, and a coordinating tie shot through with warm neutral color.
He looked good enough to eat. And though when she looked at him closely she perceived that hand in hand with all his polish and ramrod-straight CEO posture there was a kind of raw edginess about him— his hair was too long, his face too austere, his eyes too sharp— there wasn't an ounce of any excess on him, not clothing, jewelry or body weight. He was a man anyone would give a second glance.
Especially a woman.
"Oh, I want him," Jessica Demont said breathily as she and Donna watched him approach their receptionist, Angie, through the dividing window wall.
Donna lifted the cup of hot cocoa she was nursing, and again eyed their prospective client over the rim. Typical Jessica comment, she thought. But Jessica wanted every attractive guy. It was one of the reasons she'd agreed to become Donna's partner: she wanted to meet men. And what better way than working in an upscale corporate events-planning company? Donna was always amused that, to Jessica, catching a husband was the real mission statement of the firm.
"He's yours," Donna murmured, easing away from the computer desk where she had been inputting the monthly expense reports.
Jessica's dark eyes narrowed. "Don't you even feel a little tingle? You're hopeless, Donna."
Oh, she felt a tingle all right. She even felt a little curl of anticipation, but she wasn't going to give in to it. "No, you are— still using the business to troll for a wealthy husband. You're damned lucky we've been this successful."
"That's because we've got a great front man— er— woman."
"And an uncluttered mind working behind the scenes," Donna retorted. "Well, he looks big-budget, so go sell our services, Jess, and then come back and tell me the good news." She gathered up a handful of folders, her mug, and her bag, and headed back toward her office just as Angie announced that a Mr. Matt Greer was waiting in the reception room.
Matt Greer. A man with one-syllable names, hard-hitting and to the point, just as a hero should have. A man of few words, by the look of him. A paladin, riding out alone on a quest for truth.
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Or at least that was how he looked to her.
And that was about all the look Donna was going to take. It was one thing to spend a moment salivating. It was quite another to pitch over into pure fantasy the way Jess was wont to do. Or to believe in perfect men.
Anyway, she'd done that once. She'd had a man she thought was the love of her life, and the sun, moon, stars, and heaven, too.
And she'd seen that love be torn away in the blink of an eye to a woman more aggressive than she.
It had been a defining moment, though. Beyond the pain and the nightmare of losing the man she'd thought she loved beyond all reason, she'd found lessons to be learned— about valuing herself, and restraint, respect, and moderation. She'd learned control, and perhaps the hard-won philosophical truth that there really were always other men.
And, she'd learned that she wanted stability from these men more than she wanted fireworks. And that chocolate was more necessary than sex.
So it was fine with Donna that Jess was the front woman, and got to meet all the attractive prospective clients. They'd worked it out between them when they'd started the company. Besides which, Jess loved the conceptual stages, the place where she could let her imagination go free-form, generating the wildest ideas, the most inimitable settings, the most outrageous themes.
Donna was the one who loved planning and coordinating and pulling the thing off. She was the one with the logical mind, the thick Rolodex with access to the magic, smoke, and mirrors that made every Cavalero and Demont affair such a surefire success.
And here on her desk were the plans for a half-dozen events in various stages of completion, and she wondered if they had the time and manpower to stretch themselves to take on one more thing.
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