by Nora Roberts
But she said nothing, and he knew when he stepped back, walked down the hall and down the stairs that it was the end. Her weeping drifted to him when he left the house.
Cassie stood on the other side of the desk, twisting the strap of her purse in her fingers. She hadn't expected to find him asleep, didn't know if she would wake him or leave as quietly as she had come.
There was nothing peaceful about him. There should have been, the way his feet were propped on the desk, crossed at the ankles, the way the book was lying open against his chest, the desk lamp slanting light over it.
But his face was hard and tense, his mouth grim. She wished she had the courage to smooth those lines away and make him smile.
Then again, courage had always been her problem.
He opened his eyes and had her jumping like a rabbit. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to wake you."
"I wasn't asleep." At least he didn't think he'd been asleep. His brain was fuzzy and full of the scent of roses, and for a moment he'd thought she was wearing some full-skirted blue gown, with lace at the throat.
Of course, she wasn't. Just her tidy little blouse and slacks, he thought, dragging a hand through his hair.
"I was just going over some things in my head. Town business."
"If you're busy, I can—"
"What do you want, Cassie?"
"I..." He was still angry. She had expected that, was prepared for it. "I have some things to say to you."
"All right. Go ahead."
"I know I hurt you, and that you're furious with me. You don't want me to apologize. You get mad when I do, so I won't."
"Fine. Aren't you going to make me coffee?"
"Oh, I—" She'd already turned to the pot before she caught herself. She drew a breath, turned back and faced him. He had a brow lifted. "No."
"Well, that's something."
"I'm used to waiting on people." Now she was irritated, a not entirely unpleasant sensation, even if an unfamiliar one. "If it annoys you, I can't help it. Maybe I like waiting on people. Maybe it makes me feel useful."
"I don't want you to wait on me." He could see the irritation clearly enough. It added a snap to her eyes that fascinated him. "I don't want you to feel obliged tome."
"Well, I do feel obliged. And I can't help that, either. And the fact that I do feel obliged and do feel grateful— Don't shout at me, Devin."
Impressed with her no-nonsense tone, he closed his mouth, then added, "I might yet."
"At least wait until I've finished." It wasn't so hard, she realized. It was like dealing with the children, really. You just had to be fair and firm, and not allow yourself to be sidetracked. "I have good reasons to feel obliged to you, and grateful to you, but that doesn't meant that beyond that, or besides that... It doesn't mean I don't have other feelings, too."
"Such as?"
"I don't know, exactly. I haven't had real feelings for a man in—maybe never," she decided. "But I don't want to lose your friendship and... affection. Next to the children, there's no one I care for more than you, Devin. Being with you..." She was going to fumble now, and she hated herself for it. "The way we were today, this afternoon, before you got mad, was so nice, it was so special."
She was cutting right through his temper, slicing it to ribbons, the way she was standing there, twisting her purse strap and struggling to find a way to put things right between them.
"Okay, Cassie, why don't we—"
"I came here to go to bed with you."
His jaw dropped. He was sure he heard it hit the edge of the desk. Before he could pick it up again, the door burst open and Shane strolled in.
"Hey, Dev. Hey there, Cassie. Thought you might want to go down to Duff's and shoot a couple games. Why don't you come along, Cassie? It's about time you learned how to shoot pool."
"Go away, Shane," Devin muttered, without taking his eyes off Cassie's face.
"Come on, Dev, you've got nothing to do around here except read another book and drink stale coffee." Experimentally he picked up the pot and sniffed. "This stuff''ll kill you."
"Get lost now, or die."
"What's the problem? We'll just—" All innocence, Shane turned back. The tension in the air struck him like a fist, the way his brother was staring at Cassie. The way she was staring back. "Oh. Oh," he repeated, drawing out the word on a milewide grin. "Well, son of a gun. Who'd have thought?"
"You've got ten seconds to get out the door before I shoot you."
"Well, hell, I'm going. How was I supposed to know you and Cassie were—"
"Tomorrow," Devin said evenly, and finally managed to get his feet off the desk and onto the floor, "I'm going to break you into very small pieces."
"Yeah, right. I guess you two don't want to play pool, so I'll be going. Ah, want me to lock this?" he said, winking as Devin snarled at him. But he was obliging enough to flip the latch and shut the door snugly behind him.
"You're not really going to fight with him?" Cassie began quickly. "He didn't mean anything, and..." Tongue-tied, she let her words trail off as Devin walked slowly around the desk.
"What did you say to me before my idiot brother came in?"
"That I came here to go to bed with you."
"That's what I thought you said. Is this your way of mending fences and keeping my friendship? Some new way of apologizing?"
"No." Oh, she was making a mess of it. He didn't look amorous, just curious. "Yes, maybe. I'm not sure. I know, at least, I thought you wanted to. Don't you?"
"I'm asking what you want."
"I'm telling you." Lord, hadn't she just said it, out loud, in plain words? "I came here, didn't I? I called Ed, and she's staying with the kids, and I'm here." She shut her eyes briefly. "It isn't easy for me, Devin."
"I can see that. Cassie, I want you, but what I don't want is for you to think this is necessary to make things up with me."
She did what she had done once before. It had worked then. Cupping her hand on his cheek, she leaned up and kissed him.
"Now you're waiting for me to jump you," Devin murmured.
"Oh, I'm no good at this." In disgust, she tossed her purse into a chair. "I never have been."
"At sex?"
"Of course at sex. What else are we talking about?"
"I wonder," he said quietly, but she was off and running in a way he'd never seen or heard before.
"I don't know what you want, or how to give it. If you'd just do whatever you usually do, it would be all right. It's not that I won't like it, I will. I'm sure I will. It's not your fault that I'm clumsy or stiff, or that I don't have orgasms."
She broke off in horror, and saw that he was gaping at her.
"Excuse me?"
Someone else had said that, she thought frantically, looking everywhere but at him. Surely someone else had said that. All she could do to cover the overwhelming tide of horrid embarrassment was to rush on.
"What I mean is, I want to go to bed with you. I know it'll be nice, because it's nice when you kiss me, so I'm sure the rest will be, too. And if you'd just do something, I wouldn't be feeling so stupid."
What the hell was he supposed to do? He knew very well the woman standing there was the mother of two, had been married for a decade. And he'd just realized she was as close to a virgin as anyone he'd ever touched.
It scared the living hell out of him.
He started to tell her that they would take a step back, take it slow. Then he knew that was the wrong way to go. It was painfully obvious that so much of her had been crushed already. What he would know was patience, she would see as rejection.
"I should do what I want with you?"
Enormously relieved, she smiled. "Yes."
It was an offer that had the juices flowing hot. He knew if he wanted this to work he had to clamp down on needs—and on nerves. "And I'll tell you what to do, and you'll do it."
"Yes." Oh, it was really so simple. "If you just don't expect too much, and you—"
"Why don't we s
tart this way?" He put his hands on her shoulders and lowered his mouth gently to hers. "There's something I want very much, Cassie."
"All right."
"I want you to say you're not afraid of me, that you know I won't hurt you."
"I'm not. I know you won't."
"And I want you to promise something." He skimmed his lips up her jaw, felt her shoulders relax under his hands.
"All right."
"That you'll say stop if you mean stop, if I do something you don't like."
"You won't."
His lips cruised around to her ear and made something quake inside her. "Promise me."
"I promise."
He took her hand and led her through the door into the small room he used at night. It was dark. It held little more than a narrow bed, a rickety table, an ashtray he rarely used anymore.
"It shouldn't be here. I should take you somewhere."
"No." If it wasn't now, she'd lose her nerve. What difference did atmosphere make, when it was dark and her eyes were closed? "This is fine."
"We'll make it better than fine."
He lit one of the station's emergency candles, so at least there was soft light. She couldn't know how arousing she was, standing there, tidy and terrified, prepared to give herself. To sacrifice herself, he thought grimly.
He would show her different.
"I love you, Cassie." It didn't matter that she didn't believe him. She would. He kissed her again, slowly, deeply, patiently, putting his heart into it.
And moment after moment there was nothing but the kiss, the taste o f it, the meeting of lips, the way she softened against him.
"Hold me," he murmured.
Obedient, wanting to please, she wrapped her arms around him. There was a little shock when she felt how hard he was, how strong. How odd it was to hold him tight against her. While his mouth moved over hers, she stroked her hands over his back.
"I want to see you." He continued to rub his lips over her throat, even as her hands tensed on his back. He didn't mind her being shy. He found it endearing. "You have such a 1ovely face." His eyes stayed on it as he slowly undid the buttons of her blouse. "Eyes like fog, and that sexy mouth."
She blinked, thrown off enough to make no protest when he parted her blouse. No one had ever called her sexy. Then his gaze shifted downward, and the sound that rumbled in his throat had something curling hard in her stomach.
He was cupping her breasts in his hands, holding them as if they were delicate glass that could be shattered by a careless touch.
"Lovely."
"I'm small."
"Perfect." He lifted his gaze to hers again. "Just perfect." He watched her lashes flutter when he circled her breasts, brushed his thumbs over her nipples. And his blood heated when they stiffened, when she shuddered, when her eyes opened again in surprise and went dark.
What was he doing? Why wasn't he squeezing or pulling? She felt her head spin before it fell back. Heard, with a kind of dull shock, her own moan.
"Do you have to close your eyes?" he asked her. It wasn't so difficult to keep his hands easy, after all, not on skin that was soft as silk. "I like to watch them go cloudy when I touch you. I love to touch you, Cas-sie."
"I can't breathe."
"You're breathing. I can feel your heart." He lowered his lips to her shoulder before straightening to pull off his shirt. "Feel mine."
My oh my, Cassie thought. He looked like something in one of those glossy magazines. All muscles and firm smooth skin. With only the slightest of hesitations, she laid a hand on his chest, and smiled. "It's pounding. Are you ready?"
"Oh, Cassie." Biting back a groan, he drew her into his arms, cradled her there, savored the feel of her flesh pressed against his. "I haven't even started."
Because she thought he meant something entirely different, her brows drew together and she swallowed her distaste and reached courageously for his crotch.
With a ripe oath, he jerked back, stuttering, as she covered herself and gaped.
"I thought you wanted... I thought you meant..." Good God, he'd been hard as rock. And huge.
He decided laughing would be better than screaming. "Darlin', you do that again, I'm going to embarrass myself, and we'll have to start all over. If it's all the same to you, I'd just like to touch you for a while."
"I don't mind, but you're..."
"I know what I am. You said you'd do what I want," he reminded her, fighting to keep his voice from growing rough with need. "I want you to look at me, look right at me now."
When she did, he skimmed his hands over her breasts again. He could see surprised pleasure ripple over her face, hear it in her quickening breaths. So he began to murmur to her, endearments, foolishness, gauging her reaction.
When her eyes closed, he lifted her slowly off her feet, holding her suspended, trailing his mouth down from hers and over her throat, her collarbone, and at last to her breast.
Her hands clamped on his shoulders and her body arched as arrows—bullets—of hot sensation pierced through her flesh and straight to her center to burn. She shook her head, struggling to clear it.
"Devin."
He laved his tongue over her. "Do you want me to stop?"
"No. No."
"Thank God."
When she was quivering, when her hands were clutching and flexing on his skin, he lowered her to the floor again, until his mouth was fixed on hers. Her hands were fisted in his hair, her breath was coming fast. Her lips were hot.
And still she stiffened, just for an instant, when he unhooked her slacks.
She wouldn't spoil it. That she promised herself. Whatever came now didn't matter, because what came before had been so lovely. She'd never felt these pulls, these yearnings. Or she'd somehow forgotten them. His hands were hard, the palms rough, but he used them so gently on her. She would have been happy to have him go on touching her, just like this, forever. She could blissfully have drowned in those wonderful ripples of sensations.
Now he was uncovering the rest of her, and she knew it would be over soon. But he would hold her when he was done. He would hold her close and warm, she was sure of it. That would be enough.
When he picked her up and cradled her against his chest, she smiled. The candlelight was lovely, and she felt an intense sense of tenderness, of sweetness. He'd made her feel wanted. She laid her lips against his, curled her arms around his neck, keeping them there as he lowered her to the cot so that the springs squeaked under their weight.
She opened her eyes in confusion when he didn't push inside her. Instead, he was curved beside her, his eyes on her face, his hand stroking up and down her torso.
"Don't rush me," he said mildly. "I'm enjoying myself."
To her astonishment, he began to talk to her about her body, her skin, her eyes, her legs. And the things he was murmuring sent flashes of new heat inside her.
She was grateful he didn't seem to need her to talk back. She was having trouble breathing again.
She was so incredibly sweet, so amazingly innocent. That was what kept his need locked away, kept his hands from taking quickly. Twelve years, he thought, listening to the way her breath caught, then burst out, when he skimmed a finger up the inside of her thigh. When a man had waited so long, he could be as patient as a saint, though his blood churned like a riptide.
He lowered his mouth to her breast again. So small, and firm, and smelling like spring. Under his lips he felt her heart thundering, felt her skin quiver. And knew he pleasured her.
He wanted to give her more, to give her everything, to know she craved as he did. So he stroked and suckled, arousing himself and her until she began to writhe under him and he knew she was climbing toward the edge. And he would be the one to show her that the fall was sweet.
It was too hot. She was burning from the inside out and couldn't keep still. She ached, and nothing she could do seemed to soothe the throbbing. Something inside her was racing for something else, and she strained away from it. It was to
o big, too huge, too terrifying. The air was thick, the sensations were too fast and too many. She moaned and bit down on her lip to stop the sound.
"You can yell," Devin told her, his own voice ragged. "You can scream if you want. Nobody can hear but me. Just let go, Cassie."
"I can't."
He dipped his fingers inside her, and his head spun. She was hot and wet and more ready than she knew. "Don't ask me to stop," he murmured against her mouth. "Don't ask me."
"No. No, don't."
She did scream then, a sound that should have shocked her, it was so wild and wanton. But her body was too busy rearing up toward him, poised on a spear of dark, drenching pleasure such as she'd never known. Everything inside her came to a fist, tensed violently, painfully, then burst free. She collapsed, weak as water, and thought she heard him groan.
"Again." He was greedy now. He kept a hand fisted in the tousled sheet to keep himself sane, and urged her up, urged her over. She strained against his hand, poured into it, and the arms she'd wrapped around him slid bonelessly to the mattress.
Surrender, he thought. More, fulfillment. But now he would give her himself.
He covered her, slipped inside her, holding himself back as her eyes fluttered open on fresh shock. He took her slowly, drawing out each stroke, each pulse. His heart almost burst from the strain of control when she convulsed again. Deliberately, patiently, he stirred her, gaining unimagined joy as he felt her begin once more to tremble and race.
The shudder worked through him, ripping, demanding. This time he knew he would go with her. Finally, with her. He clenched at the hand she'd fisted in the sheet, covered it. And took the fall.
She couldn't stop shuddering. But she wasn't cold. Not cold at all. The heat from her body, and from Devin's, which lay over her, seemed to rise in waves that were all but visible. He was breathing hard, like a man who'd been racing, and his full weight was on her, pinning her to the mattress so that she could feel the springs pushing against her back.
It was lovely.
She understood, for the first time in her life, the secrets of the dark.
"I know I'm crushing you," he managed. "I'm trying to move."
"You can stay." She wrapped her arms around him to keep him there. He was still inside her, still there. It felt wicked and wonderful. "I like it this way."
