The Christmas Wedding Ring (Hqn)

by Susan Mallery

She touched a finger to his lower lip. “I want you, too,” she whispered.

  Chapter Eleven

  She had to clench her teeth to keep from screaming. Had she really said that? Admitted that she wanted him? What if he’d been kidding? What if it had all been a joke and she’d taken him seriously and—

  He stood up and pulled her to her feet. “You make me crazy,” he said.

  “What? How? What did I say?” She went with him, only because he was tugging her along. She tried not to notice that they were heading for her bedroom, for the very large bed she’d been sleeping in, until last night, alone. Maybe if she concentrated on his words she wouldn’t have the chance to think about other stuff, such as maybe they were going to do it and then she would have to think about being naked in front of him and oh, Lord, this really, really wasn’t happening.

  “Stop doubting yourself,” he said when they reached the side of the bed. “I can practically hear what you’re saying. Why can’t you get it through your head that I’m serious about this?”

  “Because you’re telling me something wonderful and the bad stuff always makes more sense than the good stuff.” She raised a hand to ward off his comments. “I know, I know. I should get over it. It’s not that I haven’t done this before. I mean, I’m even on the pill. But I’m not hugely experienced.” She and Grant had been intimate a few times, but it wasn’t a real regular occurrence. Maybe that was what had gone wrong between them. She pushed the thought aside. “The bottom line is, if I started therapy right this minute, it would still take a couple hundred years for me to believe the good stuff first. Trust me, Dylan. I’m not alone in this failing. A lot of women are blessed with confidence about their looks, but many of us are filled with insecurities.”

  “That’s just plain silly.”

  They were in the dark. She told herself to go ahead and relax. In the dark he would only be able to feel, not look. If she kept his hands away from certain parts, then it would be—

  The light on the nightstand sprang into life. She blinked in the sudden glare.

  “You turned the light on,” she said.

  “Yes. I want to see you. Is that a problem?”

  Define problem, she thought grimly. “No, of course not,” she lied cheerfully. “I like it with the lights on.”

  “Like I believe that,” he said. “But thanks for pretending. Come here.”

  He sat on the edge of the bed and pulled her down next to him. He shifted them until they were stretched out on the mattress, facing each other. They were just a few inches apart. Molly could feel herself shaking, and it wasn’t from anticipation. If only they didn’t have to be naked to have sex, she would be a lot more comfortable with the whole procedure.

  “You are lovely,” Dylan said, and touched his finger to her forehead. He traced both her eyebrows, then moved down to stroke her cheek. The contact was light and teasing. When he brushed back and forth against her lower lip, she opened her mouth and nipped him.

  He chuckled. “So you want to play, do you?”

  She thought about that for a second. “Actually, I don’t. At some point I would like to laugh and tickle and tease in bed, but not tonight. I’m scared. I want to do this. I want you, but I’m trembling with fear. It would be too easy for me to think that laughing with me was laughing at me.”

  “I would never do that. I would never hurt you.”

  If only she could believe him. “You wouldn’t hurt me on purpose,” she agreed. “But things happen.”

  The problem was, he didn’t understand how much power he had over her. Better for both of them to keep it that way.

  He slipped his hand behind her so he could cup her head. “The world hasn’t always been kind to you, has it? No,” he added before she could speak. “I’m not feeling sorry for you. If anything, I admire your strength and character. And you’re not allowed to do anything but politely accept the compliment.”

  “All these rules,” she said. “I thought it would be simpler than this.”

  “Making love is wonderful,” he said, “but it’s almost never simple.”

  Before she could ask what he meant, he leaned forward and kissed her. They’d done this part before...the kissing...and she’d liked it very much. His mouth worked the same magic she remembered, his lips moving against hers, his tongue sweeping inside. She liked how he tasted, the texture and scent of him. He made her feel safe and alive.

  He also turned her on in a big way. Despite the fear and the shaking, she felt the first stirrings deep inside her. The initial hints of arousal began as a faint pressure low in her belly. She found herself wanting to get closer to him so they could kiss more deeply. She slipped one of her legs forward and he squeezed it between his.

  The hand in her hair began to move. He tugged at the rubber band at the bottom of her braid and pulled it free, then he began to finger-comb her thick curls.

  She let the needing overtake her. Passion gave her courage. She touched his face. Smooth skin gave way to stubble. She liked the contrast and the soft scraping sound her fingers made as she ran them down to his chin. He must have liked it, too, because as she learned the intimate details of his features, he moaned and surged toward her.

  She let her hand fall to his shoulder. He was strong and broad. She could feel the heat of him, even through his T-shirt. Without thinking, she drew her fingers down his chest and explored the muscles there. Her thumb grazed his nipple. She felt the tight peak and the way he jumped. Instantly she pulled back, both from touching him and from the kiss.

  He grabbed her hand and placed it against his chest. “Don’t stop,” he said, his voice low and husky. “I like it.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Of course. That just took me by surprise. In fact—” He rolled away from her, tugged his shirt out of his jeans, then pulled it up and over his head. Then he stretched out next to her again. Topless.

  Molly stared at him, at the breadth of him, at the faintly tanned skin, the tempting pattern of hair that swirled across his chest, then narrowed as it moved down toward his waist. Her mouth went dry and she was suddenly thrilled they’d decided to leave the light on. Looking at his chest was more than worth the price of admission.

  “Touch me,” he said.

  When she hesitated, he took her hand and once again pressed her palm against him. This time, instead of the soft cotton of his T-shirt, she felt crinkly hair and smooth skin.

  Involuntarily, her fingers curled against him. She moved in a circle, exploring him, reveling in the tension that filled his muscles as she slipped over different parts of his chest, enjoying the way his breath caught and the passion brightening his dark eyes.

  “You have no idea what you’re doing to me,” he murmured, then bent his head to kiss her.

  There were no preliminaries this time, no pausing for permission. Instead, he kissed her openmouthed, seeking as soon as they touched, going deep inside. His tongue circled her then moved back and forth. They began the sensual dance that re-created what their bodies would do later when they were both undressed and she was beneath him.

  She moved her hand to his back, both touching him and drawing him closer. She moved up and down, tracing a line from his shoulders to the waistband of his jeans. The tight curve of his rear tempted her, but she wasn’t that brave. A part of her was still stunned that this was actually happening. She knew it had to be real. While she had often fantasized about making love with him, all her imaginings combined didn’t come close to the wonder that was reality.

  His hands were warm and sure as he gently rolled her onto her back. She went willingly, angling her head so they could keep kissing. She liked the way he rubbed his open palms up and down her arms. Then he stroked her neck. That one hand slipped lower, toward her breasts. She froze.

  Dylan didn’t appear to notice. Nothing about his kiss c
hanged, even though she’d stopped participating. Her hands fell to her sides, where she curled her fingers into fists. Fear, embarrassment, confusion all blended. She couldn’t do this. Not with him. Not ever.

  She would have told him, too, if he had stopped kissing her long enough. But he didn’t. His mouth continued to move against hers, his tongue continued to stroke her own. She wasn’t held in place—she could have easily pulled away or pushed him off. She almost did, too. Except—

  She wanted him. That hadn’t changed. If only she didn’t have to be afraid.

  Want and fear continued to battle it out. She tried to focus on what he was doing, on the heat and dampness growing between her thighs. She told herself she would have to get over this sometime and wouldn’t it be easier with Dylan?

  The questions and concerns continued to circle in her mind. As there were no answers, she decided it wouldn’t hurt to kiss him back. After a while she noticed that his hand was still sliding up and down between her breasts, getting close but not actually touching either one. The outside of her left breast was still a little tender from the surgery, but nothing was wrong with the nipple. Like the right one, it was tight, almost uncomfortably so. The soft cotton of her sports bra irritated her skin. She shifted to try to make it better, but that didn’t help at all.

  She wanted... She wanted him to touch her there.

  Her breath caught in her throat as she realized her breasts were both swollen and aching with desire. Instead of just being clenched, her hands were opening and closing against the bedspread. Her legs had parted a little and the heat between them had returned.

  She wrapped one arm around his shoulders and stroked his hair. When he withdrew from her mouth, she whimpered in protest and followed him. Once inside, she teased and explored, savoring the taste of him. Excitement rose between them. This is what she wanted—Dylan, always Dylan.

  His hand continued to stroke up and down on her chest, moving from her belly to her throat. On one of the return trips, he moved his fingers a little to one side. His warm palm cupped her right breast. Slowly— gently—perfectly. She dug her fingers into his scalp.

  “Yes,” she whispered against his mouth, giving them both permission to enjoy that part of her body.

  He stroked every part of her curves, discovering the possibilities, teaching them both what made her squirm, what made her sigh and, when he finally teased the tight nipple, what made her clutch him close and moan his name.

  Without warning, he broke away. Before she could ask what was wrong, he tugged on her T-shirt and pulled it out of her jeans. In a matter of seconds, he had it over her head and sailing toward the floor. Her seeing him topless was one thing, but him seeing her was quite another.

  “This isn’t a good idea,” she said, folding her arms protectively over the sports bra that kept her breasts from moving around too much. What a time not to be in satin and lace.

  He looked into her eyes. “Why?”

  She could feel heat on her cheeks, and it wasn’t from passion. “I don’t want you to take off my bra. The incision is still red and bruised, and I just don’t want you looking at it.”

  “Because I’ll think it’s ugly.”

  He wasn’t asking a question, but she nodded anyway. Not that it mattered. The mood had been broken. “This wasn’t a good idea,” she muttered. “Just forget it.” She started to get out of bed.

  “Don’t,” he said, taking hold of her arm. “Don’t leave me like this. Do you really think it matters that you’ve got a cut and a few stitches? I don’t want to look because I have this morbid fascination with your surgery. I want to see you naked because the thought of it turns me on. I’ve been imagining us doing this for a long time. I want to touch and taste every part of you.”

  He certainly had a way with words, she thought, and realized the mood might not be as broken as she’d first believed. “Can’t we still do this if I leave my bra on?”

  “Yes. Of course. But I’d rather you took it off.”

  “Why is that so important to you?”

  “It’s not. It’s important to you.”

  She pressed her lips tightly together. All right, so she didn’t need a degree in psychology to figure out what he was trying to say. If she could allow him to see her naked, scar and all, she would feel less self-conscious about her breast. “You don’t know what you’re asking.”

  “I do know. You’ll never believe that I’m not going to reject you because of how you look until you put me to the test. If I have to, I’ll play it your way, but I’d rather you trusted me. I won’t let you down, Molly. You matter too much to me for me to want to hurt you.”

  How was she supposed to resist that? she thought unhappily. Why couldn’t the man be an insensitive jerk and just do it without worrying about her psyche or her breasts? But no, he had to go and be all warm and caring.

  The absurdity of her complaints made her laugh. “Dylan, there is absolutely no hope for me.”

  Before she could change her mind, she reached behind her and unfastened her bra. Holding it in place, she pulled her arms free of the straps, then she flopped down her back, leaving the garment loose but in place. She could make it easy for him, but she couldn’t actually take it off. He would have to do that himself.

  She closed her eyes for good measure. She didn’t want to see the disgust on his face.

  She braced herself for the inevitable. Nothing happened. Then she felt warm breath on her stomach. Something tugged and unzipped. She realized he was undoing her jeans. Great. Now she had to worry about sucking in her stomach. Talk about romantic.

  Warm, moist heat settled just above her belly button. Her eyes sprang open and she looked down to see what he was doing. Her throat closed as the visual image combined with the sensual pleasure to make her nearly faint. Using his tongue, he circled around her navel, then dipped inside. Her muscles jumped and she gave a strangled laugh.

  “That tickles.”

  He smiled against her belly but didn’t stop. Instead he moved slowly up, leaving behind a wet trail. His breath puffed against her sensitized skin. She shivered in pleasure and anticipation. Talk about attention to detail—she liked this quality in a man.

  Farther and farther up toward her chest, toward her breast. She felt herself tensing and tried to relax. But she couldn’t. What was he going to say? Would he try to fake interest? There were some things a man couldn’t fake and she didn’t want to touch him there only to find out he wasn’t aroused.

  Dylan changed course. He moved a little toward her right breast and her breathing relaxed. She didn’t mind him touching her there, although her bra was in the way. Still, he could go underneath it or around it or—

  He licked the underside of her breast. Somehow he nudged the fabric out of the way just enough to gain access to the sensitive skin. She actually called out something, although she wasn’t sure what. His warm, wet tongue moved back and forth, caressing her, shifting ever so slightly toward her nipple.

  She was practically whimpering with pleasure. Her hips rose slightly, as if that action would encourage him to continue. She wanted him to move higher, to take the tight peak in his mouth and suck it. She wanted—

  He read her mind. It was another excellent quality in a man, she thought in the split second before the wonder of it all washed every other thought out of her brain. She reveled in the way he circled the tiny bud, then drew it deeply into his mouth. She raised her arms so she could run her fingers through his hair, both caressing him in return and holding him in place.

  He kissed the valley between her breasts. As he moved up her left breast, his fingers continued the ministrations his tongue had begun, teasing her tautness, rolling it between thumb and forefinger, making her whimper and beg that he never stop.

  He kissed around the bottom curve of her left breast, then up to the nipple. Again h
e took the ready nipple in his mouth and licked it. Pleasure doubled as tongue and fingers worked in cadence. Unable to bear it, she let her arms fall to her side. Her fingers got tangled in her bra. The bra that was now resting on the bed and not on her.

  She grabbed his shoulders. “Dylan?”

  He raised his head and looked at her face. Not by a flicker of a lash did he lower his gaze to her left breast or the ugliness there.

  “Don’t try telling me you don’t like it, kid. Your body gives you away.”

  Amazingly enough, he could still make her smile. “I wasn’t going to try to tell you that. It’s just—”

  “What?”

  “Look,” she whispered. “Go ahead and look. But it’s awful.”

  “I did and it’s not.”

  She stared at him. “You already looked?”

  “Uh-huh.” He shrugged and straightened so that he was kneeling at her side. “When you laid back down on the bed, your bra kind of hitched up on that one side. I could see the incision then.”

  She didn’t know what to say. “You saw it and you still wanted to touch me?”

  He shook his head. “And here I thought you were so damn smart. Goes to show what I know.” With that, he unzipped his jeans, pushed them open and reached in to draw out his arousal. “I want to do more than touch you, Molly. I want to make love with you.” His expression got fierce. “Don’t for a minute think it’s going to be anything else, either. You and I are making love.”

  He swung around and sat on the edge of the bed, pulled off his boots and socks, then pushed down his jeans and briefs. When he was completely naked, he pulled off the rest of her clothes and settled next to her.

  “Where were we?” he asked.

  Molly threw her arms around him and held him tight. “How did you do that?” she asked. “You made me feel so incredibly wonderful. Not just in how you touched me, but in how I feel about myself.”

  He tucked her hair behind her ears and gazed at her. “I want you, Molly. I’m not doing anything special.”