Her destiny.
She could feel it.
She could feel so many things. Her head fell back as his mouth roamed over her face, her throat, turning her body completely liquid.
And the liquid was near the boiling point. With a barely muted cry, she wound her arms around his neck, surrendering.
Zane could feel her excitement as it pulsed and transferred itself to him, urging him on. Fanning the flames of his own excitement.
He’d always sought control over every situation and certainly over himself. It humbled him to know that he had none now. He wasn’t in control; he was being controlled. By his feelings, by a desire_ far greater than anything he’d ever encountered.
By her.
He was her prisoner. He’d never thought he would be taken prisoner so willingly.
Zane filled his hands with her hair, his fingers worshipping every strand. He cupped the back of her head and held her to him. For a moment, he did nothing but glory in feeling the way her body moved against his as she breathed. It seemed absurd that something so small should excite him, but it did. Everything about her excited him.
Kissing her again, he knew that he was completely hers. He lost himself in her lips, in the scent that surrounded her like an invisible cloud. He’d never surrendered before, never allowed the fiber of his being to slip through his fingers like this. It was scary. Scary and humbling and wonderful.
Zane raised his head and looked down into Whitney’s face. Her lips were blurred with the imprint of his. He wondered if they matched his own. He could still feel her mouth on his.
“Do you have any idea what you do to me? Any idea at all?” he asked her.
It was nothing compared to what he did to her.
“Maybe,” she ventured. From somewhere deep within, a mischievous glimmer surfaced, glinting in her eyes. “Why don’t you show me?” she coaxed. “Show me that you want me.”
Urgency drummed through his veins, throbbed in his loins.
He could have torn the last bit of material from her and taken her right there and then, shown her just how savagely his need for her beat in his breast. But that would be cheapening what he felt. What he wanted her to feel. When she remembered this charade, this evening, he wanted her to remember that this part of it, at least, was flawless.
That meant putting her needs far above his own.
From somewhere deep within, a single thread of control emerged. He grasped it like a drowning man grasped the only piece of driftwood within his reach and allowed it to guide him.
Zane slid his hands along her hips, slipping his fingers beneath the panties she wore. He watched the way her eyes widened, like sunflowers turning toward the source of their warmth.
Almost paradise. Just a step away. A breath away. He had but to pull his hand away quickly and she would be completely nude. Completely his.
Instead, his eyes watching hers, he slid the flimsy garment down her hips, a hint of an inch at a time, until it pooled about her bare feet.
Desire all but choked him as Whitney delicately stepped out of them.
And then she was his. Utterly and completely. For as long as there was a merciful God looking down on them, she was his. He wasn’t very good at pretending, but he pretended that it would be forever.
Wrapped in his gaze, Whitney leaned forward, touching her cheek to his. He could feel her breath gliding along his skin, tantalizing him. Weakening him. Exciting him. Zane sucked in his breath as she nipped his earlobe between her teeth, lightly flicking her tongue along the edge.
If he ever thought himself strong, he knew better now. He was as weak as a kitten, hers to do what she would with.
Whitney grazed her palms along his body, glorying in the hard planes. He was magnificent. He was also fully clothed.
Her smiled teased him. “Aren’t you a little overdressed for the occasion?”
Without waiting for him to respond, Whitney began to work the buttons free. Her fingers fairly flew down the length of his torso, undressing him. Arousing him.
“I guess I am. You’re the one with an innate sense of fashion. What should I be wearing?”
As he asked, as he spoke to her, Zane stroked her sides. He gently slid his palms along her waist and worked his way up to the swell of her breasts. She swayed as he teased them with just the lightest of touches.
Anticipation flowed through their veins in unison.
“Me,” she whispered breathlessly. “You should be wearing me.”
Her impatience mounting, Whitney pulled the sleeves from his arms, sending the shirt to the floor on top of her dress and panties.
It took an effort to regulate her breathing as she undid his belt and tugged at the zipper on his trousers. She all but cried out in triumph when she saw the way he sucked in his breath as her fingers brushed over him in a silent promise.
Another moment and what little control he still had left in his possession would crack completely. Stopping her hand, Zane shucked his trousers and briefs off in one rapid movement.
They came together like two hands initiating thunderous applause. Like a clap of thunder. Violently, swiftly, to quell an irresistible need.
It was a wonder, he thought, they didn’t set each other on fire.
But then, maybe they did.
The room whirled around with them, shrinking until there was no world outside themselves and this moment. No world at all to tell them that this was wrong and that the price of atonement might come dearly.
Below and outside were lights and noise and partying. Here the only sound was the wild beating of their own hearts, echoed in their ragged breathing.
He wanted to sample every part of her, to taste and commit to memory what, tomorrow, might never be his again. His mouth ravaged hers. She surprised him with the depth of her response, with her passion. By surrendering, she captured him.
He felt a prison door snap irrevocably shut. And didn’t care.
Caught up in a storm, they tumbled to the bed, their bodies moving against each other’s, vying for position, for ecstasy, already slick with anticipation.
He wanted all of her. And wanted to give her all of himself.
His mouth slid down along her breasts, lingering over each, delighting in the way she arched against him. As his moist tongue teased her nipples, her moan rang in his head like a mantra. Zane could feel her heart hammering against his lips. He felt dizzy with desire.
He’d never felt such power before. Never been so enthralled before. He was both master and slave to the same sensations. To the same woman.
With hands that eagerly sought eternal conquest, eternal knowledge, he caressed, cajoled, touched and possessed. And watched in fascination as she turned and twisted beneath his questing fingers.
He’d dreamed of this. Long ago and far away, he’d dreamed of this. But this was far better than any dream, any fantasy. For once, reality had exceeded his expectations.
Her breath was ragged, her body at once rigid and fluid as he did things to her she couldn’t have ever begun to imagine. The sensations, the surprises, came without end.
It was as if she were a torch being lit and relit at his will. He had only to touch her, to stroke her, and she could feel herself hurtling over a summit. Spent, exhausted, she’d fall to earth, only to see the promise of another summit rising in the distance and find herself scrambling toward it.
Needing it more than she thought possible.
Desperately, she wanted to have Zane share in this wonder. She did what she could, moved by a silent voice. If she had any skills, they came naturally, because there was nothing for her to fall back on except instincts. Whatever expertise she might have acquired before was. all lost to her now.
She could only give him herself. And her heart. She had no way of knowing that was more than enough.
Biting her lower lip to keep from crying out, she drew his face back up to hers with shaky hands.
“I love you,” she whispered a beat before she scaled her mouth t
o his.
“And I love you,” he echoed, knowing she wanted to hear the words. Knowing that, at least for now, it was safe to say them. Because he could say he was pretending.
Oh, Whitney. I’m so sorry.
Arms around him, she reversed their positions. She was on top of him, moving along his hard contours as if every fiber of her body had a will of its own.
He groaned when she cupped him. The look that entered his eyes was one she would always remember, she promised herself. No matter what.
And all the while, as they discovered each other within themselves, an underlying feeling kept whispering through her.
Free.
She was free.
Finally free to give vent to this feeling. She couldn’t understand where it came from or why it haunted her like a bittersweet melody. She only knew that it was there.
The freedom was overwhelming, bringing with it its own ecstasy.
Like liquid sunshine, she slid along his body, warming him, touching her mouth to his shoulder, to his chest, to his waist As her mouth lowered, he caught her by the shoulders and dragged her up along the length of his body, smothering the groan.
Not yet, he thought. Not yet.
Without protest, she let him reverse their positions again. Within a blink of an eye, she was beneath him again, her body pinned by his.
Zane caught both her wrists in his hand, holding them above her head as he anointed her skin with soft kisses.
She whimpered, writhing, wanting the use of her hands to hold him to her. As she twisted and turned, it only served to heighten the excitement.
Exhaustion and anticipation divided her. And then she was refreshed, renewed. Eager to begin again.
When he finally slid into her, she wrapped her legs around him, wanting to keep him with her forever. Knowing that for now, this was forever.
The need for release was almost too powerful, but Zane fought it. Fought it for both their sakes. He wanted Whitney to remember that her pleasure was uppermost in his mind.
And then he began to move gently, a little at a time. She tightened and the rest was out of his hands. He moved more and more quickly as her body urged him on.
He heard her sob out his name as he spent himself into her.
It was over. And had begun.
Exhausted, he managed to gather her to him. A wave of exquisite tenderness washed over him. For as long as he could, he held on to the euphoria. But even now, it was turning into wisps of air.
Sighing, he began to shift his weight.
Her arms locked around him in protest. “No, don’t move.”
The sadness he heard in her voice surprised him. “I’m crushing you.”
If he was crushing her, then this was the way she wanted to die. Her body pressed against his. “No, you’re not.”
The Whitney he knew was always more than ready to argue over everything. He was careful not to laugh at her.
“Whit, I’m too heavy.” Then, before she could say anything else, he moved from her. But because Zane couldn’t bear a separation just yet, he cradled her in his arms.
“I hadn’t noticed.” She sighed. Had she ever been this content before? It was hard to imagine that she could have been. There was just so much happiness a body could hold. “I think I died just then.” She turned her face to his. “Did you know they used to call it dying when they made love?”
Where had that come from? She’d completely lost him. “Who did?”
“Poets. In those old poems.” Long, winding epic poems written about love and lovers lost and found.
Zane stared at her, surprised. Alert. “How did you know that?”
His question echoed in her mind. A mind that didn’t feel quite as empty as before. The words dripped from her lips. “I don’t know.”
Her memory was returning. Piecemeal, but it was returning. And with it, so would she. It was just a matter of time.
Why was there this incredible sadness when he thought of that?
He studied her expression. “What else do you remember?”
She didn’t want to talk about what was in her mind, but what was on it. Him. Them. Lovemaking.
She moved her shoulder in a careless shrug. It brushed against him. “I don’t know. A bunch of old movies or TV programs are knocking around inside my head.”
He laughed, nodding. Yeah, she was coming back, all right. Wondering if he would soon have to say goodbye, he cupped her cheek tenderly. “You love that stuff.”
“Then I guess it’s all coming back to me. Slowly.” She grinned in triumph. “See, I told you that your making love with me would jar my memory.” She caught her tongue between her teeth, sheer wantonness reflected in her eyes. “Care to help a few more long-term memory cells make a comeback?”
He sighed as he brushed a strand of hair back from her forehead. “It’s not a joke, Whitney,” he told her softly. Only he knew how serious it really was.
She touched his cheek, caressing it. “No, it’s not a joke. It’s something wonderful. I feel as if I could leap tall buildings in a single bound. Fly...”
He’d never seen her like this and couldn’t help the laugh that rose to his lips. “When you get to the bending-steel part, I’m leaving.”
“Then I won’t get to it.”
She shifted, turning her body into his, reveling in the excitement that coursed through her.
He, had no choice but to hold her. No choice in the world.
Her eyes were growing smoky again. Lightly, she rested her hand on his shoulder. “Is it always like this?”
He wondered if she would remember feeling this way when her memory returned. Or if the feelings that existed now would be superseded by anger and embarrassment.
“What?”
“Us. Is it always like this when we make love?”
Oh, if she only knew. He refused to allow remorse to color this for him. Not yet. Instead, he smiled into her face.
“No, this was better.”
She’d had a feeling. She didn’t know how she knew, but she’d had a feeling.
“Then I’m glad I lost my memory. That way, this makes it like the first time.”
Testing the texture of it, she ran the tip of her finger along his lips. He closed them around it and lightly sucked. She could feel herself melting all over again, her body tingling. When he released it, she could feel herself tingling all over.
“The very first,” she breathed. “I like that. It makes it special.” She smiled ruefully. “I don’t suppose I was your first.”
Yes, he thought, she was. In a way she could never begin to understand. In a way he was having trouble with accepting. She was the first he’d ever truly cared about. And had, all along.
“If I said yes, would you believe me?”
“Sure.” A grin played on her lips. “Why would you lie to me? You’re my husband.”
Guilt slammed into him with the punch of a heavyweight contender.
“Right.” To hide what he feared she might see in his eyes, Zane lowered his head and pressed a kiss to her shoulder.
Whitney propped herself up on her elbow, looking at him. Her hair was lightly brushing along his chest, tickling him. Tantalizing him.
How could a man who’d just made love get excited over something as inconsequential as that? he wondered in awed disbelief. Yet he was. Excited and aroused. He found himself wanting her all over again. He would have thought that once he’d explored what there was, once he’d made love with her, the flame would die down and he could rein himself in.
No one was more surprised than he to find that just the opposite was true.
“So.” Whitney drew small, concentric circles along his chest with the tip of her forefinger. “What do we do now?”
Zane pretended to mull over her question. “Well; it’s a little late to go out again, but we could. Would you like to see a show?”
He kissed the hollow of her throat, setting off her pulse there. She shook her head in response to his quest
ion.
“How about getting something to eat?” The answer was a silent negative just as he adorned one breast with a kiss. “Movie?” He heard a stifled moan as he kissed her other breast. “Gambling?”
He slid his mouth down to her navel. She could barely turn down his suggestion as she twisted beneath his mouth. For good measure, he moved his tongue down just a fraction farther and heard her surprised intake of breath. He raised his head to look at her.
“Then what?”
With effort, her body taut like a chord about to be strummed, she urged him to her and then around, until she was on top of him again. Straddling him.
Like Lady Godiva atop her steed, the light streaming through her hair a pale contrast. Her eyes danced. “Guess.”
He reached up and filled his hands with her breasts. Her eyes had turned to smoky blue and he was captured within each orb.
“How many hints do I get?”
It was all the urging she needed. Slowly, she began to move her hips. She could feel his response beneath her. Triumph surged, indelibly stamping her.
“How’s that?”
“Not bad.” He could hardly nod his head. “I think I’m getting warmer.”
Whitney grinned, inclining her head as she leaned over him. Her hair rained down along his body. He could feel his skin tightening, tingling.
“That’s good, because I know I am.” Her lids half closed, she watched him begin to stroke her thighs. The reaction was instantaneous, burning up her breath in its path.
“Warmer,” she urged. “You’re getting hot. Hot, burning.”
“Can’t have that. Can’t have you burning up without me.”
With a laugh, he flipped her over until she was flat on her back.
“You want hot?” he asked her. She nodded, laughter bubbling up in her throat. “All right, Whitney, I’ll show you hot.”
She was already arching up against him. “I’m counting on it.”
Chapter 9
She woke up smiling. A soft, silken smile that poured through her body like fine, warmed brandy, reaching every extremity. If she concentrated, she could still feel him, the imprint of his sleek, hard body pressing against hers. She could have hugged herself, but she would have rather hugged Zane.
The Amnesiac Bride Page 11
