Falcon's Flight

by Joan Hohl

  Five

  Leslie came awake slowly to the luxurious feeling of warm comfort and the tantalizing aroma of fresh coffee. Inhaling deeply, she freed her arms from the covers and stretched them over her head, murmuring an appreciative “Humm.”

  “Good morning.”

  The soft greeting brought Leslie fully alert. Blinking, she focused on the tall man standing by the unfamiliar bed, his long hands curled around steaming cups. Her heartbeat fluttering into a rapid tattoo, she pulled her gaze from Flint’s sardonic expression and glanced around the enormous room.

  Where was she? Leslie wondered, frowning. More to the point, how did she get to wherever she was? And even more to the point, what, if anything, had happened between the last she remembered in the living

  room and now? The answer to her initial question was obvious, even to Leslie’s sleepy mind. Her gaze shot back to Flint.

  “You’re in my bed, in my room,” he said, confirming her conclusion.

  “But how..Leslie’s voice failed as he moved to stand by the bed and held one of the cups out to her. “How did I get here?” she continued, frowning up at him.

  “I carried you.” Flint smiled wryly at her. “Are you going to sit up?”

  “Yes, but...” she began, envisioning the curving staircase.

  “Drink first, talk later.” Flint’s sardonic expression dissolved into real, heart-wrenching tenderness. “But to set your mind at rest so you can drink, I’ll assure you that you’re as untouched now as you were when you fell asleep in my arms last night.”

  Accepting his word without a shred of doubt, Leslie wiggled to sit up. The covers fell to her waist, revealing her lacy bra. She arched her eyebrows at him as she reached for the cup.

  Flint answered her silent query with a question. “You would have preferred to sleep in your dress?” Sitting down next to her, he stared openly at her barely concealed breasts.

  Leslie had the uncanny sensation that she could feel his intense gaze; she knew she felt the heat from it all the way to her flushed cheeks. “No, of course not,” she finally replied in a dry, crackly voice. Lifting the cup, she gulped the hot coffee.

  “Your former husband was a fool,” Flint said, raising his eyes to capture her shifting gaze. “You’re a beautiful woman, Leslie.” He smiled and tilted his cup in a silent salute.

  His praise sent pleasure radiating through her to deepen the flush on her cheeks and put a gleam in her exotic eyes. “Thank you, Flint,” Leslie murmured. “You’re beautiful, too.”

  Flint’s laughter poured through the room like sparkling sun rays. “No, Leslie, I’m not beautiful.” His teeth flashed in a devilish grin. “I face the beast in the mirror every morning, and I have yet to be confronted by beauty.” He shook his head to silence her when she opened her mouth to protest. “But I like hearing it just the same,” he admitted with amused candor. “Now drink your coffee before it gets cold.”

  Unused to taking orders, Leslie stared at him a moment before lowering her gaze to examine his body with frank appraisal. The act of defiance backfired. Leslie felt the heat of sensual arousal suffuse her body at the overwhelming male look of him. Attired casually in a sweater that clung to his broad, flatly muscled chest and brushed-suede slacks that hugged his narrow waist and hips, Flint was most definitely all male. The mere sight of him rattled her senses and loosened her tongue.

  “You’re wrong, you know,” she breathed, raising her bemused gaze to his. “You are one beautiful man.” As her gaze met and tangled with his, all the air seemed to rush out of Leslie’s body. There was a stillness about him that made her shiver. His strange eyes had darkened to near black. There was a tremor in the strong fingers that gripped the coffee cup, Leslie tensed as he carefully set the cup on an intricately carved nightstand by the bed, and stopped breathing when he took her cup from her to set it next to his. “Flint?” The voice that projected so effectively from any stage was now reedy and faint.

  “Don’t be frightened. I won’t hurt you.” His hands settled on her shoulders, fingers flexing gently into her soft flesh. His movements were slow, unhurried, as he drew her to him. “I know it’s been a while for you.” His low, exciting voice enveloped her senses as he embraced her trembling body. “Your flattery, however innocently meant, was wildly arousing,” he murmured, brushing his parted lips over her cheek. “I want the mouth that gave me the compliment.”

  “Flint.”

  His mouth claimed her parted lips sweetly, masterfully, completely, and evoked a hunger unlike anything Leslie had ever before experienced. Suddenly starving for his unique taste, she curled her arms around his neck and fed greedily from his mouth. When his tongue slid along her lower lip, she tightened her arms and opened her mouth fully in invitation. Leslie heard Flint’s low growl with every one of her senses and felt the spearing thrust of his tongue to the heart of her femininity. When he ended the kiss, she murmured in protest.

  “I know, I want more too.” His breathing uneven, Flint held her away from him to stare into her eyes. “I want it all,” he said, his voice a harsh contrast to the gentle stroke of his fingers on her warm skin. “If you’re unsure, tell me now, while I still have control.”

  Leslie’s hands were resting on his shoulders. Responding silently, she slid her hands down his chest to tug at the hem of his sweater. It was all the invitation

  Flint required. Within seconds the floor was littered with clothes and Flint was sliding his body next to hers on the bed.

  Shivering from a mixture of uncertainty and anticipation, Leslie moaned softly when Flint brought her nipples to tight arousal with repeated flicks of his tongue, and cried her pleasure aloud when he closed his lips on one tight bud to suckle hungrily.

  Needing to touch him, Leslie stroked Flint’s smooth warm skin from his shoulders to his tight buttocks, her own pleasure increasing every time he gasped or groaned in response. Each time his lips returned to hers, his kiss was more demanding, more urgent. Leslie gave her mouth willingly and arched her body in offering.

  When Flint finally accepted her offering, he did so with care. His movement slow, his gaze fastened to her face for the smallest twinge of discomfort, he made himself a part of her and her a part of him. Then he paused to allow her body to adjust to the fullness of his need. Bending to her, he kissed her and continued to kiss her until, on fire for him, Leslie initiated the motion by arching her hips into his.

  Tension coiled inside Leslie, tighter and tighter, spiraling up to reduce her breathing to ragged gasps and push a low, whimpering sound from her throat. Flint was like liquid fire, washing over her, drowning her in a flood of searing sensuousness.

  His body taut with the same coiling tightness, Flint drove himself to the edge of reason. He didn’t want the tension to end, not ever, yet his body shivered with anticipation of joyous release. Leslie’s soft, throaty cries excited him unbearably, driving him wild with the desire to give her more pleasure than he derived himself. His body was damp, his muscles taut with strain when he felt her body contract around him an instant before Leslie cried his name. With an unfamiliar sense of awe, Flint savored the pulsating shudders cascading through her body.

  And still Flint held back, gritting his teeth as he maintained his cadence, striving to increase her pleasure, needing to prove her own sensuality to her. Dragging air into his burning chest, he gathered the last of his strength and thrust his hips into hers. Flint’s reward was twofold. Leslie’s body contracted again and her long nails scored his back as she sobbed his name. The sound of her voice shattered him into flaming pieces of unbelievable, almost painful pleasure. No longer able to think, breathe or even move physically, Flint experienced the most incredible sensation of taking flight spiritually. For one perfect instant, the feeling of soaring freedom was exquisite. Then, slowly, deliciously, he glided back to a soft landing against Leslie’s heaving breasts.

  Leslie was barely aware of the weight of Flint’s body; she felt stunned. Never, never would she have believed
in the possibility of such excruciating pleasure or her own ability to attain it. Awareness came as her breathing leveled and her rioting heartbeat slowed. Still keyed to a trembling pitch, Leslie raised her hands to stroke and caress the man responsible for her double burst of ecstasy. Like her own, Flint’s muscles were quivering in reaction to the release from strain. Her hands moved lightly over his moist skin, smoothing, soothing the tension. She sighed when Flint reciprocated, stroking her trembling body from shoulder to thigh. She sighed again as she settled down, replete, complete, content. But she was tired, so very tired. Leslie’s eyelids drifted shut to the lullaby of Flint’s gentle murmurings.

  “You are the sleepingest woman.” Flint’s teasing voice drew her from that gray plane between wakefulness and sleep.

  Leslie’s lips curved into a satisfied smile. “What time is it?” she murmured, putting off the moment of opening her eyes.

  “It’s after one, and you’ve been sleeping—” he paused tellingly “—off and on for over thirteen hours. It’s past lunch and we haven’t even had breakfast.” Leslie covered her mouth and yawned. “Are you hungry?”

  “Yes. Aren’t you?”

  “Umm, but I was so tired.” Leslie yawned again. “Is sleepingest really a word or did you just coin it?” She opened her eyes to the thrill of gazing into his. Flint was lying on his side, his torso propped up oil one elbow, his head resting on his closed hand.

  “Who cares?” He smiled down at her and moved his shoulder in a half shrug. “But you are not only the sleepingest woman,” he went on in a lowered tone, “you are a magnificent woman.”

  “Oh, Flint!” Leslie could say no more; emotion welled within her. She swallowed hard several times, then tried again. “But it wasn’t me, it was—”

  “I changed my mind,” he said, cutting off her attempt at words. “Your former husband is not a fool, he’s a blithering idiot and a liar to boot.”

  Leslie’s eyes filled with hot tears. He didn’t need to elaborate; she understood and was gratified by what he was trying to convey to her. Brad had excused his own reprehensible behavior by accusing her of inadequacy, an inadequacy that Flint now denied. She had given Flint Falcon pleasure. Leslie’s spirit sang with the realization. Lifting her hand, she trailed her fingers over the skin stretched tautly on his face. “Thank you,” she whispered, ignoring the tears trickling down her temples. “But it was you, Flint, don’t you see? You made it magnificent for me.”

  A spasm of emotion passed over his face, a fleeting expression almost like fear. Then it was gone, and he smiled at her. “I have never known such pleasure with any other woman, Leslie,” he confessed in a hesitant, oddly hoarse voice.

  Overwhelmed and delighted by his admission, Leslie slid her fingers into his dark hair and drew his face down to hers. “The pleasure was mine, Mr. Falcon,” she murmured, molding her mouth to his.

  His kiss was deep and dark and every bit as exciting as before. His hands were warm, his fingers electrifying as they sought every pleasure spot on her body. Incredibly, unbelievably, Leslie was aroused within minutes—wildly, abandonedly aroused. While her mouth was devouring and being devoured and her tongue engaged his in dueling play, her hands caressed his long, finely honed body.

  “Yes, yes,” Flint moaned into her mouth as her fingers scored up along his taut thighs. “Oh, Leslie, yes!” he groaned when she closed her hand around him.

  Leslie felt buoyant with a sense of power. Caressing him, teasing him, testing his strength was not only exciting but exhilarating. Flint’s uninhibited response fired her passion, spurring her on to even more intimate caresses.

  “Enough!” Catching her around the waist, Flint drew her body over his. His lips roamed her face before fastening on to her open mouth. His fingers flexed into her rounded bottom. Slowly, carefully, he drew her up. “See what you’ve done?” he whispered, nipping at her lips, then her throat, then her shoulders. Then, just as slowly, just as carefully, he drew her down, sheathing himself inside her. Clasping her by the hips, he initiated a rocking cadence. “Show me your magnificence, Leslie,” he groaned, arching his body into hers. “Pleasure me. Let me pleasure you.”

  It had happened again. His nostrils flaring as he dragged air into his body, Flint stared at the high, slanted ceiling and examined the thought. That fantastic sensation of soaring free had again been achieved on finding release. The sensation could very likely become addictive, Flint thought. He also thought it more than strange that he’d never experienced the sensation with another woman—and at the age of forty, he’d known his share.

  A murmur and a stirring beside him shattered Flint’s introspection. A smile relieving the normal austerity of his face, he turned to gaze into eyes the color of a misty glen.

  “Are you going to sleep again?”

  “No.” Leslie sighed her content. “I’d like to, but I must go to the bathroom.” She gave him a rakish grin. “Want to join me?”

  “Are you trying to kill me, woman?” Flint scowled. “It is now after two. I haven’t eaten since dinner last night. I’m hungry.” His statement came on a low growl.

  “Okay, but never say you didn’t have the chance.” Her grin unrepentant, Leslie slid off the bed. She took three steps, glanced around, then turned to look at him, eyebrows raised. “Where is the bathroom?” “Through the door to your left.” Flint indicated the mirrored door with an idle wave of his hand while his narrow gaze took slow inventory of her enticing figure. Moving with purpose, he sat up and swung his long legs to the floor. “Maybe I’ll change my mind,” he said, his glittering gaze climbing back up her body to her flushed face, “and join you in there.”

  Leslie took to her heels. “Too late,” she called back, dashing into the bathroom and locking the door behind her. “You can do something about rustling up some food,” she said, raising her voice to penetrate the solid wood panel.

  “You may be great in bed, but you’re a nag, woman!” Flint yelled back at her and she heard a burst of delightful-sounding male laughter.

  Great in bed. Leslie smiled smugly at her reflection in the long mirror above the sink cabinets. The image smiled back for a moment; then the smile faded. As a compliment, “great in bed” was a good one, she supposed, coming from a man as experienced as Falcon obviously was. But it sure didn’t say much about what he thought of her as a person.

  A frown tugging her eyebrows together, Leslie moved to the enormous sunken tub and reached down to twist the gold faucets. Gold? Her frown giving way to amazement, Leslie peered at the intricately carved knobs. They had been fashioned into the likeness of falcons’ heads, and they looked as if they were made of solid gold!

  “Good grief!” Leslie whispered in an awed tone. Forgetting her conflicting emotions over his dubious compliment, she examined the room.

  And the room was certainly interesting. In fact, it was fascinating. Sybaritic. The word sprang into Leslie’s mind as she stared at the gold-veined black marble tub, walls and floor. A contrasting gold-veined white marble topped the vanity sink cabinets that ran the entire length of one wall. Gold scrolled the frosted glass enclosing the separate shower stall which, Leslie discovered upon inspection, was roomy enough to accommodate at least half a dozen people comfortably.

  It would seem that Flint Falcon certainly enjoyed more than his share of creature comforts, Leslie mused, deciding to forego the luxury of wallowing in the sunken tub for the novelty of a shower stall that was the size of a dressing room.

  Stepping out from under the delicious pulsating shower spray, Leslie realized she had a small problem. Dripping onto a fluffy white bath mat, she belatedly remembered that her clothes were elsewhere. “Oh, hell!” she groaned aloud, reaching for what had to be the largest bath sheet she’d ever seen. Sighing with resignation, she dried her body, then wrapped the terry sheet around herself like a sarong. She was about to leave when a light tap sounded on the door.

  “Leslie, breakfast has arrived,” Flint called. “And I have a robe for you.�
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  Cracking the door a few inches, Leslie stuck her hand through the narrow opening and wiggled her fingers. She heard Flint chuckle an instant before she felt soft material draped over her arm. “Coward,” he taunted as she pulled her arm back and shut the door.

  A wry smile tilted her lips when she looked at the garment. It was made of velvet and was a brilliant shade of emerald green. It was definitely a woman’s robe and obviously expensive. It had not come from among her things in the guest room closet. Did it belong to an ex-lover of Flint’s? she wondered. Or did he simply keep a supply on hand to accommodate any woman who happened to drop in for the night?

  On closer examination, Leslie realized that the robe was brand-new—not through any fantastic deductive power on her part, but simply because he’d forgotten to snip off a tiny size tag on the inside of the right sleeve. The size was her own.

  First jewelry, then clothing, she thought, biting back a curse. The traditional gifts given to a—Leslie gritted her teeth.

  Unwinding the towel, Leslie tossed it to the floor and glared at the robe before slipping into the enveloping warmth of fine velvet. The wide lapels and sleeve cuffs were trimmed with satin braid. Slash pockets were set into the side seams of the full skirt. The ends of the broad sash belt were satin-fringed. It was heavy. It was flagrantly luxurious. Leslie loved it.

  Flint had said she was great in bed, Leslie reflected, eyeing her reflection wryly. Was the robe intended as payment for services rendered? Her expression soured at the unpalatable consideration. She ought to tear the thing from her body and throw it in his face, she fumed. She didn’t require or want his gifts as compensation for pleasure received!

  But the robe did complement her hair and eyes. Tilting her head, Leslie ran her gaze down the slender length of her mirrored image. The dressing gown suited her. Maybe she wouldn’t throw it in his face after all.

  “Leslie!” Impatience roughened Flint’s raised voice.

  “Yes!” Leslie called, grimacing at her reflection. “I’ll be there in a minute.” Nodding suddenly, decisively, she pulled the belt tight, slip knotted it, then reached for the doorknob. Her mind was made up; she’d keep the robe, at least as long as she remained in his apartment.