She heard him murmuring. Were they words of endearment? They had to be, from one war torn body to another. Her world shook as he moved deep inside her heat. He licked and laved her nipples and continued to murmur. Her orgasm blew her apart, and soon, Taylor followed, his body rocking hers. She thought she heard him cry out her name but she was sated…at least momentarily.
* * * *
Taylor blinked open his eyes. This had to be the best wet dream of his life, making out with Celeste. She’d been soft and responsive, and the only thing that had bothered him initially was the deep scars on her shoulder. Yet he’d easily bypassed them. He had his own to contend with. So what if she had a few?
He turned his head and swallowed hard. None of that had been a dream. He’d actually made love to this beautiful woman. Except for the sheet thrown across her middle, she was nude. Oh man, but he’d learned a long time ago that he was responsible for his actions at all times, and yet this once, he thought he honestly had problems if he could take a woman while they both slept.
Feeling like a heel again, he lurched off the bed as quietly as he could, scooped up his clothes and ran like hell. He’d meant to stay he told himself as he dressed as quickly and noiselessly as possible in the living room. Then he remembered the penny, and in the dim light of dawn, fell to his knees and to search for it.
“What are you doing?”
The question and Celeste’s presence in the living room doorway caught him by surprise. From his position on hands and knees, he looked up. She’d wrapped herself in the bed sheet and wore it like a toga.
“I was going out for a smoke,” he said defensively. She sounded so much like his father, and he hated the way he reacted—as if he owed her anything. Yet, he loved the way she looked, like a tastefully captured centrefold.
“On your hands and knees? I don’t think so, and besides, you don’t smoke. I was about to make us some Saturday morning breakfast.”
A home cooked breakfast? He hadn’t had one of those since he was a kid. Now, he mostly ate TV dinners and things from boxes—anything that didn’t need much cooking. Celeste wasn’t being coy, and he wondered at her lack of prudishness when last night she’d been in a near panic as soon as he’d suggested she get naked with him. He forgot about the coin.
In supplication, he spread his palms out in front of him. “Breakfast sounds really great, but I have to go,” he said lamely.
Celeste headed towards him, and he forgot all his excuses for leaving. Her dark hair flowed over her shoulders and down to her waist, and she approached him like a sexy goddess, sure of her movements and with a seductive smile on her lips. Her eyes were heavy lidded, and he only had the presence of mind to beg for mercy, but he waited.
“You told me last night you needed a place to crash. I need a man to make love to, before or after breakfast is your choice.”
He inhaled, and he was certain he forgot to exhale. Words didn’t normally elude him but now, they were all gone. Taylor sank to his knees and buried his face in the sheet. What had he done to deserve such a good woman?
Gazing up at her, he said with gratitude in his voice, “I don’t deserve you, Celeste, not one bit. I’ve done drugs, I’ve gone on drunken binges and I did a stint in the army, all because of my pigheaded stubbornness, but I don’t deserve you.”
Would she remember she’d slept with him while he was in her bed? Should he run before it was too late?
Inexplicably, she tugged on the bed sheet and let it swirl to the floor around her feet. He backed away hastily but remained on his knees, taking in her scent and, he was ashamed to confess, ogling her.
“You’re a goddess,” he muttered, wondering again what had brought about the sudden change in her attitude towards being dressed. Her shoulder had several ridges across the flesh. What had done so much damage to her? If it was another man, he’d kill him with his own hands.
“Is this what you wanted to see?” she asked, her voice languorous and tempting. “Why aren’t you running away?”
Frowning, he watched as her expression hardened. “Celeste, I don’t care about that. I only care about you,” he told her soothingly.
“Most men would have leapt to safety,” she breathed, clearly astonished he hadn’t.
He rose and cupped her face against his palms. “Celeste, those don’t matter. You do. The intelligent, caring, spunky woman behind those scars.”
She laughed self-deprecatingly. “Soon as I turn my back, you’ll be gone, won’t you?”
He shook his head in denial. “I’ve made mistakes, but leaving you behind won’t be one of them.” He was his own man, and he suspected, he’d have a lady to care for, starting about now.
“Leaving me behind?” she queried him, with evident disbelief.
“Leaving you behind.” He’d left most everything behind. Except his nightmares. He couldn’t run from those no matter how he tried.
They ended up on the couch. Taylor had shimmied from his clothes so quickly, and his speed had astounded Celeste. He made eye contact as he settled on his elbows to either side of her head. “Do you want me to touch your scars?”
She swallowed hard, but she wouldn’t let the marks get in the way anymore. The time for hiding behind them and not being willing to face herself was over. “Yes.”
The corners of his eyes wrinkled, and he chuckled. “And you thought I’d run away.”
She might as well tell him at the outset, before they got much more involved, but she hesitated.
Taylor must have seen her vacillate. His warm breath fanned her face. “What is it, Celeste?”
Tears welled in her eyes. “I don’t know how important it is to you, but I can’t have children.” She couldn’t face him and looked to the couch.
He slipped his fingers in under her cheek and forced her to meet his eyes. “I’m not sure I’d make good daddy material, not with how I was raised, but if and when the time comes, we can adopt.”
“Okay.” Her assent was wholehearted. She’d completely bared herself to him in the hope he’d accept her for who she was, scars and all. His expression was affectionate. She thought with a lurch of happiness, that she hadn’t made a mistake in doing so. “Make love to me, Taylor Burnes, who isn’t afraid of anything.”
His soft sigh told her he wanted the same thing. Gently, he eased into her, kissing her cheek and lowering his face to her scars and kissing them tenderly too.
She laughed and pushed his head away. “Easy there. In my dream, they were all healed, my skin was smooth, but you might make them into angry welts,” she teased.
“Angry welts?” Taylor moved onto her right breast, where another visible scar stood out. “I couldn’t understand why on such a warm day at the Duck N Diner, you were wearing a sweater. Do you know you can cover that up with makeup?”
Hope flared strong. When she was a teenager, she’d considered it, but it was much easier to cover up like a nun. “Do you think I could go out in a bathing suit then?”
“Yup. I have army buddies who do it all the time.” His cock moved back and forth in her sheath. His eyes twinkled.
“Are you concealing an old injury?”
“No, I have enough trouble with my arm.”
She kissed a hungry, gentle trail up the length of his arm from his wrist to his shoulder.
After the words stopped flowing, their lovemaking was tender and passionate. He rocked her with his sweet fierceness, and when an orgasm claimed her, she felt him come with her. This time she heard him call out her name and revelled in the knowledge that Friday night with a sexy hunk had turned into Saturday morning without regrets.
Later, as she cooked breakfast in the nude for the first time in her life, she asked Taylor, “When I woke up this morning, what were you looking for under the couch?”
She saw him tense. What could there possibly be there that could interest him?
He was naked too, and as she flipped a buttermilk pancake, he came up behind her and embraced her. “You told me yo
ur secrets so it’s only fair I tell you mine.”
She glanced backward at him and laughed quietly. “You have more?”
“Lots more.” He tweaked her already pert nipples. “You’re making me hungry with all these delicious smells. Hickory smoked bacon, fresh squeezed orange juice and pancakes.”
Celeste rolled her eyes, knowing he couldn’t see her face. “Are you going to tell me, or do I have to guess?”
“You would never guess in a million years.”
“Good then you can tell me.” She would have taken a shot at surmising, but she was more of a facts person.
“I have a penny worth half a million dollars,” he murmured, lifting her hair and kissing the back of her neck.
“You’re kidding me, aren’t you?”
“No, I’m not.” He left and took long strides to his jeans in the living room. She watched as he sank to his knees and ran his fingers along the carpet. A soft sigh exuded from his lips and when he faced her, the penny was in his upturned palm.
She stared at it incredulously. “It’s only a penny,” she huffed. “What makes it so special?” If it was. Taylor could be pulling her leg. She flipped another pancake on the searing, hot griddle.
“Probably because there were only twelve ever made.” He shrugged as if he didn’t care.
“Oh. What kind of penny is it?”
“A 1943 wheat.”
“It can’t be worth half a million.” The bacon sizzled in the frying pan beside the griddle.
Taylor took her in his arms. “If it is worth that much, I can start my own gallery, and if you want, we can take you to a plastic surgeon to get those scars all fixed up.”
Her mouth dropped open. She forgot about breakfast. “You’d do that for me?” She’d never had anyone hand her anything on a silver platter before, although this one was copper.
“Even if it takes up the whole amount. I want you to feel good about yourself. The gallery can always wait.”
She couldn’t get over his generosity, but with the huge amount of money, there was also the unspoken hint that she wasn’t good enough, that her body wasn’t perfect. She scowled and demanded, “Do they turn you off?” She meant her scars.
Adamantly, he shook his head. “Not in the least, but the surgery might help you to turn yourself on.”
“I don’t understand.”
“You feel like the ugly duckling, don’t you?”
He’d pegged her right. It was as if he could see into her soul. “Sometimes.”
“Well, after the surgery, you don’t have to feel that way. You can wear a bikini or an evening dress and no one will see those marks because they’ll be gone. You’ll have been transformed into a Cinderella.”
The bacon started to burn around the edges, but she paid no heed.
“I’m lacking in some way, aren’t I?” she whispered incredulously. Why was she so hurt by his statement? She didn’t want to be Cinderella, whether in a bikini or a ball gown. Celeste just wanted to be herself.
Her world crumpled around her. “I don’t think this is a good idea.” She stalked to the living room with Taylor behind her. She threw his clothes at him. “Please. Just leave.”
Her heart broke in pieces as she watched him dress. He didn’t protest or ask questions. He simply left, and the walls didn’t shudder.
Chapter Five
Celeste sank into her chair in front of the computer keyboard and screen, sniffling. Why did Taylor think she needed help or that she wanted to be Cinderella? She attacked the keyboard with a vengeance.
Initially, Friday night turned into Saturday morning without regrets, but secrets from the past are a sure fire way to kill a love life. Why does a potential relationship go south when one of the partners wants to change the other? Why does the Ugly Duckling have to become Cinderella in all her finery? Maybe I’m being snippy, but the Hunk has found me lacking in some way. I just want to be myself, just the way I am, scars and all.
Yeah, so I let the cat out of the bag. I’ve got scars across my upper body and my love life is just taken a huge downward spiral. Heck, I thought Hunk would race as fast as he could from me, but no, he wants me to go for surgery, to become Cinderella. I just want to be me. That’s it.
* * * *
Taylor hurried out, not knowing what he’d done or said wrong although he desperately wanted to. It didn’t help that he was feeling like a heel again as well as lost and hopeless. Not caring who saw him, he leaned against his car and breathed in the early morning air. Bright sunshine glowed over the apartment buildings and the trees in the nearby park. The whole area was utterly still with no pedestrians or even the hum of a car driving by.
A tight knot formed in his chest. He had nowhere to go except to his ransacked apartment. He couldn’t confide in his dad that he had a valuable coin his cousin and his friend wouldn’t mind getting their hands on it. He had to tell someone. Sighing, and reaching into his breast pocket without thinking, he searched for his cigarettes, but of course they weren’t there.
“Damn.” He didn’t smoke often, but man did he want a cigarette now. He glanced up at Celeste’s apartment. The drapes were closed. Was she furtively watching him? He had to make amends with her, tell her he was sorry again, that he hadn’t meant to hurt her feelings, because damn it, that’s what he’d probably done by mistake.
Resolutely, he marched back to her apartment and banged on the door. “Celeste, let me in! I want to talk to you!” His heart pounded loudly in his ears. Even in the field, he’d never been so scared out of his pants as he was now with a woman. His woman. He knew that after only a night with her. Man, he was in bad shape if he could let sex with her dictate his reasoning abilities.
“Go away!” he heard from the other side of her door. So she was still pissed at him. Not anymore pissed than he was.
“Look, Celeste. Give me a break, okay? I only want what’s best for you. If you don’t want what I offered,” he said, keeping the details out since the neighbours on either side of Celeste had cracked their doors open to eavesdrop, “then that’s fine.”
An old gentleman strolled out with an unlit cigar between his lips, his robe flying behind him as if he were a bird of prey. “Tell me, young man, what did you offer her? Diamonds, a vacation in Bermuda, money to live with you?”
The old guy probably didn’t get any more excitement than this. Taylor kept pounding on the door. Now that the neighbours were awake, what the heck? One way or the other he’d get to talk to Celeste, even if he had to go outside and climb onto her balcony.
“I’m in the middle of crisis here,” Taylor replied. “Maybe Celeste can tell you when she’s no longer mad at me.”
The elderly man lifted the cigar from his mouth and pointed it at Taylor. “You should try flowers. That works every time.”
“I tried that last night,” Taylor remarked and clenched his teeth together. He hadn’t wanted a public spectacle, but if Celeste did, then she’d have it.
Mr. Cigar was next to him. He stuck the cigar in his mouth. “It obviously didn’t work, ‘cause you’re still here.”
Then to Taylor’s astonishment, he too, started banging on Celeste’s door. “Look, young lady, he only wants the best for you, so you can hear him out, can’t you?”
Celeste’s female neighbour entered the debacle. “What’s going on here?” she croaked. Her hair was done up in curlers, and she wore a flowing robe with huge flowers imprinted on it.
“Celeste won’t open up for this young man, and his heart is wrapped up on his sleeve,” Mr. Cigar replied stoically then continued to bang.
“His heart is on his sleeve,” Mrs. Curlers corrected. Then she too rapped her balled fist on Celeste’s door.
His heart wasn’t on his sleeve or anywhere else, Taylor vowed, wondering just what in the hell he’d gotten himself into. Soon all the apartment building’s occupants would be at Celeste’s place, making a great noise. Of course, he could count on the fact that there was always strength in numbers.<
br />
Finally, Celeste cracked open the door. It was hard not to cave into three people’s pounding, and she didn’t want the building’s super to think she was rowdy like the folks next door. He’d already given them warning several times.
“I’m only letting one of you in,” she grumbled with a straight face. It had taken her several minutes to stop laughing at Mrs. Myers and Mr. Beamer’s joining in with Taylor.
“That’d be me,” he said, his hand over his heart and rolling his eyes heavenward.
“What connection do you have with him?” she asked the two old people. She didn’t know them well, but they stuck their noses in everyone’s business, including her own.
“Since you moved in, you’ve always been alone,” Mrs. Myers said. The curlers bobbed with her head movement.
Mr. Beamer grinned with the cigar between his lips. Celeste had never seen him smoke it, and guessed it was like a comforting blanket. “What do you do when you get a young man with his heart hanging out?”
“On his sleeve,” Mrs. Myers corrected somewhat automatically.
“Since I’m the odd man out here, why don’t I just step in and tell you what I have to say?” Taylor stepped across the threshold. “Are they coming to the wedding?” he asked, with a wicked glimmer in his eyes.
“What wedding?” Celeste asked in amazement.
“Our wedding.” He closed the door and confronted her amicably.
“I just kicked you out,” she said with half amusement and half protestation.
Taylor embraced her. “I like you just the way you are, and if you don’t want anything from me, that’s fine.”
He was offering her an olive branch in an attempt to make peace.
“Oh,” she said, reaching up on tiptoe and kissing his cheek. “We’ve just met.”
“I’ll tell you what. I’ll go sell this penny and return with that half million dollars then we can decide what we want to do. How does that sound?” His hands were all over her, touching her breasts, her shoulders, skimming the flat of her stomach and the curve of her hips.
Kiss Me...If You Dare Page 5
