He grasped her shoulders and held her slightly away from him, so that he could see her face. "Never mind that. What did you say? The man…?"
Color flooded her face, and Linc knew she'd only now realized what she'd said. She lowered her head. He quickly reached for her chin, tilting it back, but still she looked downward, avoiding his gaze.
"What did you say, Channie?"
She bit her lip. He saw a drop of moisture start to trace its way down her cheek, then another.
"Please, Channie, I—" His own voice broke, and he swallowed tightly. He knew what courage it would take her to say it, just as he doubted he had that much courage himself. He waited, holding his breath.
"I love you," she whispered at last, with the resigned look of someone who knew they were admitting themselves a fool.
Joy kicked through him, a living, glowing thing. He tried to rein it in, tried to control the wild exultation that was rippling through him. Was this just reaction, too? Was it only gratitude, to the man who had helped her free herself from the prison Daniel Lansing had held her in? Or was it simply a need to put distance between her and the evil man who had held her in his clutches for so long? He could understand that, that she might feel … sullied somehow, even being that close to Lansing again. But Linc's elation was too great, too strong, and he didn't want to question or doubt her declaration now.
"Oh, God, mermaid," he said, shuddering as he crushed her to him. "I love you, too."
It was Chandra who froze then, tilting her head back to look up at him, wide-eyed and wondering. And disbelieving. "You? You can't … love me," she exclaimed. "I'm not—"
"I'm tired of hearing what you think you're not," he said, cutting her off. He'd meant his words, even though he'd never voiced them before, even to himself. He loved her, both what she was and what he knew she could be.
"Let's talk about what you are, Channie. And I don't mean just that you're the most beautiful woman I've ever known. I mean that you're smart and good and kind and brave, and all those things you don't believe you are. But you're going to believe it, Channie. I promise you, you're going to believe it."
She made a tiny, wondering sound, and buried her face against his chest. She would believe it, he vowed. She would learn to believe in herself, as much as he did.
A memory flashed through his mind, of words spoken by the man in Washington. He knew he should tell her, but the thought of what it would do to her right now made it impossible. And, he admitted selfishly, what it would do to him. It could wait, he thought. Then, as she hugged him tighter, her slender body pressing against him, he knew it would have to wait. Because he couldn't wait another second to kiss her.
And then he felt the soft, warm press of her lips against his chest, on the tender spot where, grateful for once for his general lack of chest hair, he'd ripped loose the tape that had held the microphone. His breath caught as she kissed the spot, again and again. Then she began to widen her path of tiny kisses, until she stopped just short of brushing his left nipple with her lips.
"Don't stop now," he said hoarsely, exerting a gentle pressure on the back of her head to urge her that last inch. And then her lips were on him, and as the flat disc of flesh puckered at her touch, a tiny dart of fire shot downward inside him. Her tongue flicked out, circling the tightening flesh, and he felt it as if she were licking some other, even more vital part of him.
A groan, low and harsh, escaped him at the thought of her mouth on him like that. His body hardened in a rush, and he knew, if he didn't halt this right now, it would be a repeat of yesterday.
"Channie, stop. You're driving me crazy."
"Good," she said dreamily, never ceasing in her ministrations, only moving to the other nipple.
"We're going to wind up on the table again," he warned.
She stopped then, looking up at him. "Is that … wrong?"
"How the hell do I know? All I know is that I've never wanted a woman so badly I took her on a damned table before. You deserve better. At least let me make up the bed."
"I don't need a bed," she said softly. "I need you."
He sucked in a quick, deep breath, his belly contracting at her words. She felt it, and in the next moment her hands were there, stroking, caressing, making the muscles ripple beneath her touch. When she pressed her hand flat over his navel, her fingers spread so that the tips of two of them slipped beneath his waistband, and he groaned aloud.
"Damn, Channie, stop. I'm so ready now, I—"
"Are you?" she said huskily, sliding her hand down a little farther, until her fingertips tangled in the thickening path of hair.
He choked out her name, hot and hoarse, as he grabbed her hand and pulled it away. Or at least, he meant to; instead, he found himself pressing her palm over his zipper, so she would know just how ready he was. When she caressed him through the soft denim, and reached for the snap of his jeans with her other hand, he knew he was lost.
He clawed at their clothes, desperate. He no longer cared if this was merely reaction, or gratitude; he would take what he could get from her. She helped him, slipping quickly out of her own snug jeans and kicking off her shoes while he wrestled with his own.
He let out a low sound at the exquisite release of pressure as his swollen fresh sprang free of the constraints of his clothing. When he saw Chandra looking at him, her lips parted, her eyes hot as they visually caressed the hardened length of him, his last chance for any kind of restraint deserted him.
"I'm sorry," he grated out as he ripped her T-shirt up over her head, baring her naked breasts to him. He grasped her slender waist and lifted her, easily, until he could nuzzle those full curves with his mouth.
Chandra let out a tiny gasp when he raised her as if her hundred pounds were negligible. It emphasized to her his power, his strength, and how he could do what he wished with her, and she would be helpless to stop him. Yet she felt perfectly safe, as she never had in her life, knowing without doubt that he would never do anything to hurt her. And then she felt his mouth on her breasts, and thought dizzily that anything he wanted to do to her, she would welcome.
He began to lower her, with exquisite slowness, letting her body slide over his. She felt something cool and smooth beneath her buttocks, and realized that he had moved to the table. A wave of heat flooded her as she remembered the last time, and she bent at the hip to sit willingly on the edge.
Linc straightened, staring down at her. Her legs had already parted for him, and he could feel the welcoming heat of her just as he'd felt her slick readiness as she'd slid down his body. It was an invitation, a lure he had no will or strength to resist. The memory of how her diminutive body had gloved him so tightly, yet, despite his size, taken all of him so deeply made him quiver with anticipation.
"I can't wait, mermaid," he said thickly, "I've got to … be inside you."
"Please," she whispered, parting her legs farther as she lay back on the table, resting on her elbows as she let her head loll back. The position thrust her breasts upward, the tight, pink crests still glistening from his mouth, and the sight was Linc's undoing. He grasped her hips and lifted her to him, then drove home, a guttural cry ripping from his throat. It was hot, fast, and fierce, and no less explosive for being over so quickly.
It was a long time before he moved afterward, and Chandra was only vaguely aware when he did. Only when he leaned over to gather her up into his arms did she raise her lashes to look at him.
He lifted her as if she were some precious, fragile thing he was afraid of breaking. Automatically she rested her head against his chest, content to listen to the steady thud of his heart without thinking of where he was taking her.
When he gently set her down again, she looked in surprise at the teak shower grate under her feet. Without a word he reached around her and picked up the hand-held shower, flipping the water on to a comfortable temperature. He ran it over her, rinsing away all traces of her earlier tears, then shut off the flow of fresh water and reached for the soap.
How had he known? she wondered numbly. How had he known that even coming only that close to Daniel would make her feel the need to be cleansed? And how had he known that her soul had needed it even more urgently than her body? She couldn't doubt that he had, because he had cleansed her soul first, with the heat of his passion searing away all the bitter memories of other times when her body had been merely an object. He had cleansed it as surely as his hands now washed the soft skin of her back. She felt as if she'd been reborn, as if she'd been granted a miracle.
And then, as his soap-slick hands began to slide over her buttocks, new sensations began to overtake her. When Linc carefully turned her around and began once more at her shoulders, she felt her pulse begin to race. She couldn't control the heat that swept through her when he methodically began to soap her breasts. He seemed so detached, so intent on merely a task, that she blushed at the way her nipples rose to taut erectness at his slightest touch, as if begging for more.
When his hands slipped to her stomach, moving in slow, soapy circles, she risked a glance at him; only the set of his jaw betrayed anything other than a casual interest in what he was doing.
Her color deepened. Where had this come from, this sudden, unslakable hunger? Was it simply because she'd never experienced it before, had known only the perfunctory touch of a man bent only on his own pleasure? Or was it simply because it was Linc, and she loved him, as she'd never thought herself capable of loving anyone?
And he'd said he loved her, too. She shivered at the memory. He couldn't, not really, could he? It was just the kind of thing a man said when he thought he should, to spare feelings. He certainly didn't seem as affected as she was by this intimacy he was performing.
Quite suddenly she knew she was wrong. Linc had reached her thighs, and the tangle of pale blond curls, and as he delicately washed away the traces of their passion a shudder rippled visibly through him. He didn't move for a moment, then she saw his jaw clench tighter. Only then did she dare glance down his nude body to see just how wrong she had been about this affecting him. Relief filled her.
Linc stepped back and took up the shower again. He knew she couldn't not see what touching her like this had done to him, but he tried to ignore it, to disregard the little rockets of flame that shot through him whenever his rapidly distending flesh accidentally brushed her silken skin.
Slowly, deliberately, he rinsed the soap from her body, his blood beginning to pound in his ears as he watched the water cascade over her, separated into streams by the curves of her flesh. He wanted to lower his mouth to the rivulet that was running temptingly over the peak of one breast, divided yet again by the rosy, thrusting nipple. He wanted to let loose the iron restraint he had clamped on his body, to let himself surge to full arousal. He wanted to push her up against that wall and bury himself inside her once more, and never leave her again. But he'd taken her twice in a frenzy, and he was determined it wouldn't happen again.
"Linc?"
He raised his gaze from her breasts to her face. And then looked at the slender hand she held out. "I think it's my turn now."
His stomach knotted, and the muscles of his abdomen rippled convulsively. He swallowed tightly, and with a hand that he couldn't quite believe wasn't shaking, he put the soap on her upturned palm.
Chandra stood for a moment, soap in hand, unable to quite believe what she was doing—standing naked in the small shower with this tall, rugged, equally naked man, about to do something so intimate as bathe that hard, muscled body. As absurd as it seemed after the intensity of what they had just shared, she felt shy. Daniel would never have dreamed of doing anything like this. But then, she never would have wanted to do it, either. She couldn't imagine doing it with anyone, except Linc.
As if sensing her uncertainty, Linc reached for her hand and placed it flat on his chest. He was wet from the spray that had bounced off her, and her fingers slid easily over his skin. He released her hand, and watched her fingers as she worked the lather over him. She soaped his shoulders, then turned to do his back, and thrilled to the low sound he made when she reached his buttocks and thighs.
It was a sound that echoed in some deep, primal place inside her as she began to wash his chest, both hands moving in slow, ever-widening circles. She marveled at how the sleek, tanned skin felt as smooth as it looked, and at the feel of the firm, solid muscle beneath it. When she reached his nipples, she traced them both with a slender finger, lightly raking the centers with careful nails. He let out a ragged sigh, closed his eyes and let his head loll back.
Chandra was suffused with that sudden, heady sense of feminine power she'd never known before Linc. He was so hard, so tough, so strong, yet she could do this, could make him shiver at a touch.
With both hands she followed the trail of lather down over his flat belly. At the moment her fingers reached the thicket of sandy curls below his belly, she felt him go tense, every muscle tightening, and she lifted her eyes to his. They were open now, gold flecks glinting hotly in the hazel, and fastened on the slender hand that was mere inches away from his engorged flesh.
Linc smothered a protest when she stopped. He knew the moment she touched him he would be out of control again, yet he wanted that touch, wanted her hands on him like he'd never wanted anything in his life. He'd felt the reaction to a near brush with death before; it was nothing compared to this. The harsh, low word escaped him almost unawares.
"Please…"
A little shiver of pleasure rippled through Chandra at the husky plea. She rolled the soap in her hands, then set it aside before she reached down once again.
She was aware of so many things at once that her mind had to race to keep up; the amazing swiftness with which he jumped to life in her hand, the low, strangled groan that burst from him at the first touch of her fingers, and the incredible, hot, satin texture of him as she cradled that throbbing weight in her palm. All too soon his hands shot down to grasp hers and pull them up and hold them tightly against his chest.
"The table was bad enough," he growled. "I'll be damned if I'm going to take you here, standing up, in the shower."
"Then don't take," she whispered. "Let me give."
She reached around him for the shower, and Linc sucked in his breath as her breasts, nipples hard and taut, brushed over him. She rinsed him, carefully—too carefully—until he thought he was going to explode if she touched him, stroked him, one more time.
"Damn!" It burst from him as he grabbed the shower-head and tossed it aside. He pulled her to him, his hands I slipping down her water-slick back to her trim buttocks, clasping her, pulling her hard against him. Her hand crept between them, to grasp and stroke him once more, and he surrendered in a flare of swelling, undeniable compulsion.
He bent over her, his hands moving to the backs of her thighs. He lifted her, parting her legs as he did so, and heard her eager little cry as he pressed her back against the shower wall. She was so small it was easy for him to hold her, yet be trembled when she wrapped her legs around his waist, bringing the heated core of her up against his aching, swollen shaft.
"Ah, mermaid, I didn't mean for this to happen again, I swear I didn't…"
"I did," she whispered, and shifted her hand to guide him home.
He lowered her slowly, his groans blending together with each successive inch he sank into her. He felt so hard, so swollen that it seemed impossible that his tiny mermaid could take him, but soon her heat surrounded him, caressed him, and he shook with the intensity of it.
He tried to move slowly, but she wouldn't let him. Every time he was afraid he'd driven too hard, too deep, she cried out for more, her fingers digging into his shoulders, her legs tightening around his hips. When she lifted her head and nipped at his shoulder, he went wild, plunging, slamming himself into her, the sound of her body sliding against the wet shower wall and her breathless cries of pleasure as she hit the peak the most erotic things he'd ever heard. When the tidal wave broke over him, driven by the convulsions of her hidden muscles ar
ound him, he felt it to the tips of his toes. His legs gave way under the swamping tide of sensation, and if it hadn't been for the shower bench, they would have both wound up in a heap on the floor.
"Next … time," he panted out between quick, harsh breaths, "I swear … it'll be … in bed."
"Don't bother," Chandra whispered, clinging to him.
But the next time was in the bed in the main cabin. And the next. And the next, until they lay, exhausted, in each other's arms.
"You knew this last night, didn't you?"
Linc winced at the sharpness of her tone, but he didn't try to lie. "The guy from the SEC said it … might be necessary."
"I can't do it. You know that."
"You have to, Channie. Can't you see that?"
"Are you saying that if I don't…"
She stopped and bit her lip. He could see she was trying to steady herself. She was sitting in the center of the converted dinette bunk, a blanket clutched in front of her nakedness. He wore only his jeans as he stood there looking down at her, wishing with all his heart that he hadn't had to shatter her fantasy world this morning.
"Are you saying," she began again, "that unless I testify against Daniel, he'll go free?"
"No. And even if he did, I'm not sure I'd give a damn anymore."
Her eyes widened in shock. "What?"
"Don't you see, Channie? It's not about Daniel, not any longer. It's about you. Until you face him, until you rip him out of your life with your own hands, he's always going to be there, hovering, making you think you're so much less than you are."
"But … I can't—"
"You can. You can't still be afraid of him. You drove a damned car through his house, for God's sake! You saved me from him, Channie. Now save yourself."
She stared at him for a long, silent moment. Linc had never seen such a mix of emotions in a person's eyes before—fear, hope, doubt, love. God, so much love. Was he about to destroy it? She looked away then, down at the blanket that covered her. She plucked at a loose thread.
"I don't know if I can," she whispered. "Just the thought of confronting Daniel, of testifying about what he's done, how he treated me…"
TO HOLD AN EAGLE Page 22
