by Diana Palmer
"You looked as though you were being tortured to death."
"And you can't imagine pleasure so intense?" he chided her gently. He laughed, but it wasn't a taunting laugh. His hands caressed her back. "When I've rested for a few minutes F m going to watch it happen to you."
"Will it?"
"Oh, yes. You just needed a few more seconds than I could give you. The second time," he added, easing her away from him, "always takes longer, for a man."
She looked into his eyes. "You're my lover now," she declared.
He looked down where they were still joined. Her eyes followed his and she blushed furiously.
"I'm still your lover," he told her. His hands pressed against her thighs, dragging her even closer, and all at once something happened that even her inexperienced body understood immediately.
He laughed softly. "Yes, you know what's going to happen now, don't you?" he growled. He shifted, easing her down onto the mattress as he loomed over her.
"Now," he said hotly, blazing with renewed passion. "Now watch what I'm going to do to you. Look!"
Her eyes dilated as she watched him. But the sensations were unexpected, and she cried out helplessly, her body lifting toward him as if it recognized its master.
"Shh," he hissed, smiling as her face began to contort. "Yes, you're going to feel it for me this time. I'm going to make you feel it, just as it happened to me. Yes, Dani, yes, yes...!"
She throbbed with a new rhythm. She moved and twisted and tried to throw him off, and tried to bring him back; she cried and pleaded and bit and whimpered and finally threw back her head and moaned so harshly that she sounded as if every bone in her body had snapped suddenly. And then it was all freefall. Bonelessness. Purple oblivion.
When her eyes opened again she was exhausted. He sat on the bed beside her with a warm, damp cloth in his hands, bathing her gently.
"Is it always like that for men?" she asked, needing to know.
He shook his head. "It's never been like that for me with anyone. The second time was even more intense. I cried out."
Tears touched her eyes as she looked up at him. "Thank you."
"Oh, God, don't," he implored her, bending to kiss her. Once he kissed her he couldn't seem to stop. He put the cloth aside and took her into his arms, holding her, touching her face, brushing his lips over every soft, flushed inch of her face with a touch that was more heal-mg than passionate.
She trembled in his arms, and they tightened, and she gloried in the delicious warmth of his skin against hers, the feel of her soft breasts being gently crushed by his hard-muscled chest.
"You cried out, too," he said at her ear. "Just as you felt it. I had to cover your mouth with mine so that no one would hear."
"Even in my dreams it never happened like that," she confessed.
"I'm glad it happened with me," he told her, lifting his head. "Thank you for waiting for me."
She smiled slowly. "I'm glad I waited."
"I didn't use anything," he said then. "Do you want to see a doctor tomorrow, or do you want me to take care of it until we get back to the States? A wife I can handle, but not a baby. Not yet."
"Then, could you...?" She hesitated. "I'd rather see my own doctor."
"Okay." He bent and brushed his mouth over hers.
"Do you want children eventually?" she asked because it was important.
He brushed the hair away from her eyes. "Perhaps," he said finally. "Someday."
'Too much, too soon?" she murmured dryly.
"Getting used to a wife is enough for now," he said. He let his eyes wander slowly over her. "You have a beautiful body."
"So have you."
He kissed her softly. "We'd better get some sleep-And, sadly enough, I do mean sleep." He sighed as he
rose, cloth in hand. "I'm not prepared for anything else until we go into town. Unless.. .there are other ways if you really want..."
She blushed wildly and changed the subject. "Where are we getting married?"
"In a little chapel down the street." He grinned. "They're open at ten o'clock. We'll be waiting on the doorstep."
"You aren't sorry?" she asked as he started into the bathroom.
He turned, his body open for her inspection, his face faintly smiling. He shook his head. "Are you?"
She shook her head, too. He laughed and went on into the bathroom. Minutes later she was curled up in his arms, both of them without a stitch on, the lights off and the sounds of the city at night purring in through the window.
"You can have one of my undershirts if you like," he said gently.
"I'd rather sleep like this, if it won't bother you," she murmured.
"I prefer it this way, too," he confessed. He drew her closer. "Breathing may be a little difficult, and I may die of a heart attack trying not to indulge myself a third time, but I prefer it like this. Good night, lieveling."
"Good night, Eric." She curled up against him with a trusting sigh and was surprised to find herself drifting off to sleep only seconds later.
CHAPTER FIVE
DANI WAS DREAMING. She felt as if she were floating, drifting, her body bare and fulfilled. She stretched, smiling, and a voice brought her awake.
"Don't struggle, darling," a male voice chuckled. "You'll make me drop you."
Her gray eyes flew open along with her mouth, and she realized that Dutch was carrying her into the bathroom, where a huge steaming bathtub waited.
"Don't you want a bath?" he murmured dryly.
"Oh, yes," she said sleepily. "I had planned on waking up before I got in the water." She curled into his chest, snuggled her face against his throat, and closed her eyes with a sigh. "But my pillow started moving."
He laughed, realizing with a start that he'd laughed more in the past two days than in the past ten years. He looked down at her creamy body, her full breasts pressed into the rippling muscle and feathery hair of his chest. She was vuhierable with him. Yet, he sensed that she was much like him in her independence, her wild spirit.
"Wake up or you'll drown," he said.
"I thought I already had, and gone to heaven," she replied, smiling against his throat. She wasn't even
surprised to find herself with him. She seemed to have dreamed about him all night long.
"We have to get married," he said.
"Going to make an honest woman of me, hmm?" she teased, peeking up at him.
But he didn't smile. "You're already an honest woman. The first I've ever known. Hold on."
He eased her down into the warm silky water and then climbed in beside her. They soaped each other lazily, enjoying the different textures of their bodies, exploring openly.
"I feel like a child playing doctor," he told her with a wicked glance.
"It's old hat to you, I suppose," she said, watching her hands move on his muscular chest, "but I've never touched a man like this. It's all very new to me just now."
He moved her hands down, watching the flush on her face and the panic in her yes. "All right," he said gently as she resisted. "You're still shy with me. I won't insist."
"Old maids have lots of hang-ups," she said quietly.
"I'll get rid of yours before the week's out," he promised. "Want some more soap?"
She let him lather her back. Something was niggling at the back of her mind, and she glanced at him worriedly as he rinsed her.
"What is it?" he asked gently.
'Something you said last night. About...about precautions."
"There's no problem," he said carelessly. "I'll stop in a drugstore. When we get back to the States, if you'd
rather not risk the pill, there's some minor surgery a man can have—"
Her eyes were horrified. The drawn look on her face stopped him in mid-sentence.
"You don't ever want children, do you?" she asked, choking on the words.
He looked hunted. "Hell," he bit off. Why had she brought up the subject! He watched her scramble out of the tub and fumble a towel around he
rself.
"We aren't even married yet, and you're harping about a family," he burst out, rising to his feet, his handsome face hard with anger. "What the hell do we need kids for? They're a permanent tie. A bond."
"Isn't marriage?" she asked huskily.
"Of course," he grumbled, grabbing up a towel. "But not like kids."
"You never answered me," she said quietly. "You don't ever want them, do you?"
"No," he said flatly, tired of the pretense, hating the memories the discussion was bringing back. "Not ever."
She turned and walked back into the bedroom. She didn't know him at all. And the first thing she was going to do was cut her losses. She'd go back to her room and forget him. How could she expect to live all her life without a child? What kind of man was he?
Tears blinded her. She got as far as the bed and sat down, feeling empty and sick and alone. She'd dreamed of children. Since she was eighteen she'd haunted baby shops, quietly touching the little crocheted things and imagining her own baby in her arms. She had no one of
her own, but a baby would be part of her. The tears rippled down her cheeks in silvery streams, and she closed
her eyes.
The man at the bathroom door, watching her, saw them, and something painful exploded inside him. She was snaring him, he thought furiously. Swallowing him up whole with her unexpected vulnerabilities. With a muffled curse he threw the towel aside and went to the bed.
He caught her by the waist, lowering her back against the rumpled covers so quickly that she gasped.
"Eric!" she called uncertainly.
His mouth covered hers, but there was none of the violence she'd expected. His lips played with hers, so gentle that she barely felt them, while his hands removed the towel and whispered over her body until she trembled.
"Draw your legs up," he breathed. He helped her, positioning his body so that they were curled together, his knees beside her, his chest on hers, his hips against her hips and thighs.
She looked up, fascinated at the look in his dark eyes.
His big, warm hands cupped her face. "Open your mouth now," he whispered, bending, "and kiss me the way I taught you last night."
She obeyed him, liking the way her tongue tangled softly with his, liking the intimacy of this slow, tender kissing.
His knuckles brushed over her breasts, making their tips hard and sensitive, and when she gasped, his mouth took advantage of it to make the kiss even deeper. His
hands searched over her, sliding under her hips to lift her to the slow descent of his body.
She felt his fingers contract on her thighs and caught her breath at their steely strength. And still he kissed her, whispery contacts that drained her of will, that made her weak. Her body trembled as he explored it with even more intimacy than the night before, each new touch intensifying her hunger for him.
He paused, hesitated, his lips touching hers. His eyes opened, holding hers, and his body lowered.
She caught her breath at the intensity of feeling she knew as he let her experience the very texture of his body with the slowness of his movement.
"Now," he said, closing his eyes, "we really make love for the first time."
She didn't understand at first. And then it began to make sense. He was so tender, so exquisitely gentle, that every movement seemed to stroke a nerve of pleasure. She clung to him, matching his tenderness, trying to give him back the beauty he was giving her. Her eyes fluttered closed and her fingers tangled in his cool blond hair, her body trembling under the expert movements of his. As the pleasure built slowly she began to writhe helplessly. And as fulfillment came closer, she wondered if she was going to survive it.
"Eric?" she whimpered against his mouth.
His own body was trembling, too. "Lieveling," he said huskily. "Mijn lieveling, mijn vrouw!"
The hands holding her clenched, and he rocked with her, smooth, tender movements that were exquisitely
oft He whispered to her in Dutch, words that she couldn't understand, but they were breathlessly tender.
She kissed his tanned cheek, his mouth, his chin, and he lifted his head for an instant, his dark eyes glazed, his lips parted.
"Yes," he told her. "Yes, like that."
He closed his eyes and let her kiss him, savoring the softness of her mouth on his eyes, his cheeks, his straight nose, his lips.
She moved, trembling with need, letting him feel her body as she drew it with smooth sweetness to either side.
His eyes opened again, reading the intensity of hunger in hers.
"Yes," he said. "Yes, now it happens. Now..."
His voice didn't change, but his breathing did. He looked down at her, lengthening his movements, deepening them, so that although the tenderness remained, the urgency grew.
Something was happening to her that she didn't understand. Terrifying tension, hands buffeting her, a blazing tide of warmth that speared through her like tiny needles. Her mouth opened because she could no longer breathe. Her body began to shudder helplessly, tiny little shudders that matched the tenderness that was devouring her.
I'm...afraid..." she managed, and her fingers clenched at his back as she felt her body beginning to contract.
Hush," he said softly. His movements deepened, and still he watched. "Yes, feel it. Feel it now. There's
nothing to be.. .afraid of, lieveling. No, don't turn away, let me see you...."
He turned her head back to him, and his face blurred. She thought he smiled, but she was all bursting fireworks, a flare lighting up the night sky. She felt gentle explosions all through her body, and for a moment her heart stopped, her breathing stopped. And then she cried, because it had been so beautiful, and so brief.
Even as the tears came, she felt his own body go rigid, heard the tender, surprised exclamation at her ear, and then her name....
He didn't move for a long time. Neither did she. She felt incapable of movement. What had happened surprised her. He'd said they wouldn't make love again until they got married, so why had he done it? And why that way? So tenderly, so gently, as if he cared about her.
Experimentally, her hands moved on the damp muscles of his shoulders.
He lifted his head and searched her eyes slowly. He touched her face with gentle fingers. "In my life there was never such a tender loving before," he said. "I didn't know that men and women were capable of it." He brushed away the tears. "I hurt you?" he asked.
"No." She swallowed. "It was...so beautiful," she faltered.
"Yes. For me, too." He drew away from her with exquisite slowness, watching her. He sighed heavily, and frowned. After a minute he turned back to the bathroom. "We'd better get dressed."
She got up, too, a little shaky and puzzled by his odd
behavior. He'd meant to comfort her, she was certain of it But the comfort had gotten out of hand. And the way he'd loved her...
As she dressed she wondered if she was doing the right thing, marrying a total stranger. Then he came out of the bathroom, wearing nothing except his slacks, his blond hair neatly combed, his face slowly curving into a smile. And she knew that she'd die to wear his ring, babies or no babies. She smiled back.
They were married in a small chapel, with people all around them who spoke little English. The minister beamed at them when it was over, inviting the new husband to kiss his bride.
Dutch bent and brushed his mouth softly against hers, smiling at his own folly. Well, it was done now. And it wouldn't be so bad, he told himself as he studied her radiant young face. She could wait for him at home, and they'd see each other whenever he was there. It might even be good that way. No routine to bore him. She could go on with her life, and there would be no ties. He frowned for a minute as he thought of what had happened this morning, then he shook off the instant fear of consequences. Surely to God, he hadn't made her pregnant. He'd just have to be careful from now on. No more lapses. The thought of a child terrified him. That would make a tie he couldn't break.
Dani saw that frown, and worried about it. She wondered why he'd really married her, when he seemed the kind of man who was self-sufficient and didn't need anyone else.
"You aren't sorry?" she asked finally when they were walking back to the hotel.
He stopped, lifted his blond head and smiled, a little puzzled. "What?"
"Sorry that you married me," she continued. She searched his eyes nervously. "You've been so quiet. I know I'm not much to look at, and we don't know each other at all. I...we can always get a divorce," she finished miserably.
"I'm quiet because I have a logistical problem to work out," he said then. "Not because I'm regretting that we got married. When you know me better, you'll learn that I never do things unless I want to. I can't be pushed or coerced." He reached out and curled her fingers into his. "I like being with you," he said, meeting her eyes. "Like this, and in bed. We're both old enough to want someone to be with."
"Yes," she confessed. Tears stung her eyes and she lowered her lids before he could read her thoughts. "I never thought it would happen to me," she added. "I thought I'd be alone all my life."
"So did I." He smoothed his fingers across the back of her hand. She had pretty hands, he mused. "Do you play anything?" he asked unexpectedly. She laughed. "The piano. Badly." "I like piano. I play a little, too." He slid his fingers in between hers, feeling oddly possessive as he saw the bright little gold band that encircled her ring finger. "A wedding ring suits you. Feel better now about what we did last night?" he asked with a slow smile, as if he
understood her uneasiness about intimacy without marriage.
"I'm old-fashioned." She sighed miserably.
"You don't have to apologize for it, not to me." His eyes gleamed suddenly as he looked at her. Short brown hair, creamy, oval face, wide gray eyes. "I liked being the first."
There was a deep, possessive note in his voice that surprised her. She smiled slowly. Her fingers squeezed his, and she looked into his eyes for so long that she flushed.
