by Janet Dailey
“I don’t need to. I want to take a chance.” She raised her head to him, her upturned lips seeking his mouth.
He had barely tasted the honeyed gloss of her lips when the band stopped playing and a scattering of faint applause broke around them. Chance pulled back slightly, breaking the contact but not letting her go. “Why don’t we continue this at a place that’s less crowded and infinitely more private than here? Like my suite.”
“I think that’s an excellent idea.”
Chance unlocked the door to his suite, then stepped back to let Flame precede him. Without hesitation, she walked by him and wandered into the sitting room, then paused and turned back to him with a model’s grace, the tiered flounces on the skirt of her slim black silk dress briefly flaring out. The collar of her fur jacket was high around her throat, the sooty black of it contrasting sharply with the copper-gold of her hair.
Deliberately she looked around the room, then brought her glance back to him, something playful about the soft line of her mouth. “I thought I might find a room full of orchids waiting for me again. Or, at the very least, peach champagne on ice.”
He went to her, a smoothness inside him that wouldn’t last any longer than it took to touch her. “We don’t need those props, Flame,” he said, his hands gliding along her jaw and into the hair behind her ears. “Not when we have this.”
He kissed her with a long, slow warmth that gradually took possession of both of them. For him, he knew there could be no orchid half as fragrant as the perfumed scent of her hair, and no wine half as intoxicating as the taste of her on his tongue.
This time there was no hesitation, no testing to see if the ground could support what was being built. Instead it was a meeting of two forces, each strong in its own right, and in the silent probing of the other’s strength, uncovering feelings that didn’t require passion to achieve intimacy.
As she leaned into his kiss, Chance felt the heaviness of her body settle against him, the thickness of the fur preventing him from feeling the womanly shape of her. Reluctantly he straightened, his hands sliding down to slip the jacket from her. He gave it a toss onto the closest chair, his gaze never leaving her face, all the while highly conscious of the nameless feelings that surged through him, powerfully aroused yet oddly tender, too.
For an instant, he searched for something to say, but all of it had been said before—in some other hotel room, to some other woman. He didn’t want to use those same words with Flame. There was a flicker of surprise at the realization that he wanted it to be different with her.
But there was a pattern to things that couldn’t be changed, and he recognized that, too, as he picked her up, cradling her in his arms, and carried her into the bedroom. There, he set her down and kissed her again, rediscovering the earthly and stimulating pressure of her lips.
When he pulled back to loosen his tie, she held his gaze with an eloquent ease and raised her hands, reaching behind her neck to unfasten the top hook of her dress. Leaving his tie half undone, Chance turned her around and slowly slid the zipper all the way down to the base of her spine, watching with interest the back of her dress separate and reveal the creamy white of her skin and the lacy black of her teddy. He slid the dress off her shoulders and down her arms, stimulated by the silken texture of her skin. As he bent to nibble at the white bareness of a wide, straight shoulder, the dress fell the rest of the way to the floor in a rustling whisper.
While his fingers edged the thin straps of her teddy off her shoulder, his mouth followed its ridge to the base of her neck. Her head was thrown back and to the side, allowing him to explore at length the rapidly pulsing vein in her neck. He was conscious of the disturbing, shallow breaths she took, and the faint tremors she tried to contain. He wanted more, so much more.
He turned her into his arms and found himself confronted with the rest of the racy nothingness of her teddy. “Black lace,” he murmured, gazing at the wispy pattern of dark threads that so thinly veiled the slow but agitatied rise and fall of her breasts.
“You said black lace on a woman did things to a man’s blood.” There was a disturbed edge to her voice that reached out to him. “And I wanted to affect you that way.”
“You do.” His own voice vibrated from some place deep inside him.
With infinite care, he dispensed with the fragile garment, prolonging the moment to heighten the anticipation for both of them. Anticipation became realization as she stood naked before him, pooled in the light coming from the doorway to the sitting room. For a moment it was enough just to gaze at the picture she made, her lips faintly parted, her eyes on him, the light shining on the rounded contours of her body and shadowing its hollows. Then he had to touch and prove that this statuesque figure was real.
He started at her neck, his fingertips gliding down the slender arc of her throat to the hollow at the base of it. Separating, his hands moved along twin paths to the jutting roundness of her breasts, their fullness a wondrous and lusty surprise to him as they spilled over the cup of his hands. He felt her breathe in sharply, deeply, then hold it, her lashes fluttering down. He rubbed his thumbs over the erect points of her nipples, drawing a tremor from her, followed by a sound that fell half way between a sigh and a moan, a purring quality to it that matched the way she arched her body toward him. He let his hands trail lower, onto the flatness of her stomach, muscles contracting inwardly at his touch. Then he spread them over the cradling protrusion of her pelvic bones and around, onto the firm cheeks of her bare bottom, and drew her to him.
There was no more doubt now. She was very real, the outline of her rounded breasts pressed firmly to his chest, the sensation of them penetrating through his clothes. She was all heated flesh moving under his hands as she came to him, her lips seeking his and breathing their drugging sweetness into his mouth. He gathered her in, briefly giving way to the pressures inside. Her lips parted under the stroke of his tongue, her own mating with his, hot and soft, tasting of wine and some other intoxicating flavor uniquely her own. At last, he set her away from him and his own clothes made a pile on the floor next to her, her admiring eyes watching him all the while, their look heavy-lidded with desire.
As he lifted her for the last time, her arms wound themselves around his neck. There was silence between them, their eyes, their hands, their bodies communicating much more eloquently than mere words could have done. Chance carried her to the bed, the covers already turned invitingly back. The mattress dipped under his weight centered on the point of one knee as he laid her down, then followed after her.
She rolled to him, her slim hand gliding across his bare chest, and running its fingers through the curling hairs, then sliding up to the back of his neck. The pull of her parted lips brought his mouth down to them, open and hot, eating at him with need.
He slid a leg between her thighs and instantly felt her push against it as he cupped a breast in his hand and played with its nipple, rolling it between his thumb and forefinger and marveling at its high erectness. Shifting his attention from her lips, he explored the perfumed hollow behind her ear. Taking her delicate lobe between his teeth, he nipped at it gently, then nibbled his way down the long cord in her neck. She was all motion against him, her hands running over his shoulders, neck and back, her body straining toward him, her hips arching in a rubbing rhythm until he was surrounded by heat, pressure pushing at him from inside as well as out.
With the thigh he had wedged between her legs, he lifted her higher in the bed, bringing her luscious breasts within easy range. Her fingers tangled with his hair, digging and flexing as his mouth moved from the hollow of her throat to a tautly erect nipple and traced its round tip with his tongue. Her back arched, her body urging him to take all of it, but he needed no such coercion as he drew it in. Aroused by the deep-throated sounds that came from her and the quickened rate of her breathing, Chance let his hand move lower, abandoning its fondling of her other breast to wander over the flatness of her stomach, pausing to investigate her nav
el then finally sliding into the silken nest of auburn-gold hair pressed so tightly against his thigh.
He wanted her. God, how he wanted her—right now—this minute. He almost let himself be swept away by the force of that need, then finally controlled it. This was their first time together and he wanted it to be theirs, together. He didn’t question the why of it—not now—and concentrated instead on prolonging the pleasure for both of them and reveling in the taste, the touch, the smell, the sound—the sight of her in his bed.
When the pressure became an agony neither could endure, he shifted onto her, his weight briefly pinning her. With no barrier to break, he was absorbed into her and she was all tight and warm around him. He brought his mouth down, slanting it across her lips as he lifted her hands high above her head and linked her fingers with his. The need to hurry fled. This was a moment to be enjoyed to the fullest. He moved slowly, making each thrust long and deep, and feeling the rise of her hips match each stroke.
As the tempo increased, seemingly on it own, there was only sensation—the feel of her tongue licking away the beads of perspiration that had formed on his upper lip, and the rake of her teeth across his shoulder before she bit into his muscle, smothering the moaned cry of his name, the urging press of her hands running over his back and buttocks, and the soft, wild suppleness of her body melded so completely with him. There was an illusion of the world spinning and he wrapped his arms tightly around her, not letting her go anywhere without him.
Unable to sleep, Flame carefully eased Chance’s arm from her and slid noiselessly from the bed. She paused to look back and make sure she hadn’t wakened him. In sleep, there was even more strength in his features, a kind of hard pride that was usually masked by a smile. She stared for a moment, remembering again that absolute rawness of emotion, so powerful and so beautiful…much more than excitement, much more than exquisite release.
She turned from the sight of his face and the clean, male lines of hard muscle and flesh. At her feet lay the white of his dress shirt. She hesitated briefly, then picked it up and put it on, smiling at the sleeves that were much longer than her arms. She rolled back the cuffs to her wrists and padded silently into the darkened sitting room, fastening two of the front buttons along the way.
She drifted over to the window and gazed at the night lights of San Francisco that gleamed back at her from the inky darkness. Absently, she turned up the collar of his shirt and buried her face in it, breathing in the heady fragrance of his masculine cologne.
When she’d come to his suite, she hadn’t known one moment of doubt. She’d wanted him to make love to her. She’d wanted him, and she’d had no desire to hide those feelings. For too long she’d kept her own natural passion suppressed.
But she’d never expected his lovemaking to unleash this torrent of feeling. It was a little frightening—this depth of feeling she had for him now. She shied from the word love. To use it would mean he had the power to hurt her. But, dear God, if she didn’t see him again after tonight, that would hurt, too.
“There you are.” As his voice came to her from the darkness, Flame stiffened, suddenly sensing that he was very near. When she felt his hands settle onto the looseness of the shirt’s sleeves, she turned before they could actually close around her arms. There was a lazily possessive look in his eyes. “I was beginning to think I dreamed you.”
“I couldn’t sleep.” Seeing him standing there with that look in his eyes, she felt that swell of incredibly tender feelings again. As his hands curved onto the sides of her waist, she smoothed her own over the hard, flat muscles of his chest, the contact reminding her of his strength—and his gentleness. “Chance, I—”
But he cut in before she could explain the cause of her sleeplessness. “It’s scary as hell, isn’t it?”
Stunned that he could know exactly what she was thinking, she offered no resistance when he drew her closer, cradling her hips against his. “How—”
“—did I know?” He finished the question for her and smiled. “Do you think you’re the only one it happened to? In case you’ve forgotten, I was there, too.”
“You very definitely were,” she admitted. “But I didn’t know if it had the same impact for you.”
“It did.” He gathered her the rest of the way into his arms and rubbed his cheek and mouth against her hair. “Tomorrow is going to come whether we like it or not, Flame. And when it does, I’ll have to leave.”
“I know.” Pride kept her from clinging to him.
“We’ll both have our share of nights to sleep alone. I don’t want tonight to be one of them.”
There was no mocking inflection in his voice, no teasing, no making light of it; he was completely serious. Moved by that, Flame gazed at this man who fit her as comfortably and warmly as a second skin.
“Neither do I,” she said, certain now that getting through the lonely nights ahead would be less difficult as long as she had the stirring memories of this night to keep her company.
“Then come back to bed with me.”
The urge was strong to say something ridiculously romantic, like “I’d go anywhere with you.” Instead Flame shifted slightly in his arms and curved an arm around the back of his bare waist to turn him toward the bedroom, letting her actions say what would have sounded too foolish coming from her lips.
Back in the bedroom, Flame slipped out of his shirt, and turned to the bed. Chance was already there, his long frame stretched out full length on the mattress, the covers down around his waist revealing the male torso that was all hard, flat muscle and bronze flesh. She paused for an instant, knowing that he was looking at her and knowing, too, that he liked what he saw.
As she climbed into bed, Chance rolled onto his side and reached out to snare her and draw her firmly to his side. His face was inches from her. She watched his gaze idly follow the track of his hand as it glided over her rib cage to cup the underswell of her breast, giving rise again to those initial stirrings of desire.
Then his gaze came back to wander over her face in a thoughtful study. “I can’t seem to make up my mind,” he murmured.
“About what?” She ran her hand over his arm, feeling the bunched muscles.
“If this is where you belong—or where I belong? There’s a part of me that wants to put a brand on you and claim you as my private and very personal property,” he said, then paused. “And there’s another part of me that feels very humble. And that is a feeling entirely new to me.”
“For me, too,” she whispered.
“Flame.” That was all he said before his mouth opened on her lips taking them whole and devouring them with a bold sensuality that she easily matched. That intense hunger was something she understood too well, and she returned it with equal aggression.
This time when they made love, she was struck by the wild harmony of it, like the fury of a storm that comes, unleashes its torrents, then passes, leaving in its wake the earthy and invigorating feeling of clean, fresh air.
11
Church bells pealed the call to morning worship as Chance pulled up in front of her flat. At the same moment, Flame saw Ellery coming down the steps of the Victorian mansion. She waved briefly to him, and ignored his halt of surprise as she turned to Chance.
“There’s no need to walk me to the door.” She didn’t want to prolong the goodbye that had to be said.
“I’ll call you.”
And with Chance, that wasn’t a line. He never said anything he didn’t mean. She’d learned that about him, as well as many other things. “If you don’t reach me the first time, don’t give up. Wherever I am, I’ll be back.”
“I don’t give up on anything.” His hand tunneled under her hair, cupping the back of her neck and pulling her to his mouth. Flame responded to the heated kiss that was packed with feeling and promise. When he released her, she felt warm all the way through. The glittering darkness of his blue eyes added their own promise to the kiss as he murmured, “Till next time.”
“T
ill next time.” She echoed the phrase that had become almost a talisman to her, then reached for the door handle.
When she climbed out of the sportscar, she was faintly surprised at how clear-eyed she felt, with no sting of tears, no painful tightness in her chest. All because of that wonderful certainty that there would be a next time. Leaving the car she crossed the base of the steps, then turned to watch Chance drive away.
“Since you’re so terribly overdressed for church, this is obviously the morning after a glorious night before.” Ellery came down two more steps to stand behind her.
“What makes you think it was only the night before that was glorious?” She was a little surprised by the lightheartedly smug feeling that prompted her to tease him back. It had been so long since she’d been in love that she’d forgotten how good it could make a person feel.
Ellery drew his hand back, his eyes widening slightly and that eyebrow arching as she turned to climb the steps. “We are feeling a little cocky this morning, aren’t we?—if you’ll excuse the expression.”
His remark didn’t immediately register, her attention distracted by the sight of the dark green sedan that pulled into the empty parking space on the opposite side of the street. “Ellery, without being obvious, take a look at that dark green sedan—a Ford, I think—parked about halfway down the hill. Can you see the driver?” She kept her back to the street—and the sedan—and pretended to look through her evening bag for the door key.
“Not very well,” Ellery said after a brief pause. “Why?”
“Do you remember that waiter with the brown shoes at the DeBorgs’ party last week? He had a big hooked nose.”
“I remember.” A silent question remained in his voice, waiting for an explanation for all this.
“Look closely at the driver and see if it’s the waiter.”
“He’s too far away. All I can see is the shape of a man’s head on the driver’s side.”
