by Nora Roberts
“No.” He focused on the bottle when she popped the cork. “Champagne? Are we celebrating?”
“Yeah.” If she could just manage to get a grip on the glasses. “Spring. I saw wildflowers today, and the bulbs are sprouting. Birds are building a nest in the pole barn again.” She passed him his glass. “We’ll start inseminating cows soon.”
His lips twitched as he took the glass. “Yeah, it’s that time of year.”
“Oh, the hell with this.” She muttered it, then downed the bubbly wine in her glass in two long gulps. “I’m no good at games. This is Tess and Lily’s idea, anyway.” Debating another, she set her empty glass down, looked him dead in the eye. “Look, the point is, Ben, I’m ready.”
“Okay.” Baffled, he took a sip of champagne. “You want to go out after all?”
“No, no.” She pressed her fingers against her eyes, took a breath. “I’m ready to have sex with you.”
He choked, managed to wheeze in air, sputter it out. “Excuse me?”
“Why dance around all this?” She came out from behind the bar. “You want me to go to bed with you, and I’m ready to. So, let’s go to bed.”
He took another drink—a mistake, as each individual bubble took on an edge and ripped its way down his throat. “Just like that?”
The horror in his voice had her fumbling. What if he’d just been stringing her along, teasing her the way he had since childhood?
Why, then, she thought, he’d have to die.
“It’s what you said you wanted,” she snapped at him. “So?”
“So.” She’d always done him in with angry eyes and impatience. Made him want to bite her—in all sorts of interesting places. But she was changing the game, he thought. And the rules. “Just, I’m ready now so yippee?”
“What’s wrong with that?” She jerked a shoulder. “Unless you’ve changed your mind.”
“No, I haven’t changed my mind. It’s not a matter of changing my mind, it’s . . . Jesus, Will.” He set the glass on the bar before he could bobble it and make a fool of himself. “You’ve thrown me off stride.”
“Oh.” The confusion faded from her eyes and her mouth curved into a smile. “Is that all?”
“What do you expect?” His voice shot out, filled with male frustration. “You stand there all prettied up, shove champagne at me, and tell me you want to have sex. How am I supposed to keep my rhythm?”
Maybe he had a point, though she couldn’t quite see it. But he looked sort of cute, all flustered and embarrassed. So she’d humor him.
“Okay.” She closed the distance, wound her arms around his neck. “Let’s see if we can get your rhythm back.” Pressed her mouth hard to his.
His reaction was quick, and satisfying. The way his arms came up, banded her, the way his mouth angled and fed, the quick intake and release of his breath. Then, when his lips gentled, the way he murmured her name.
“Your gait seems steady enough to me.” Now her voice was shaky. The muscles in her thighs were vibrating like harp strings. “I want you, Ben. I really want you.” She proved it by locking her mouth to his again, then tearing it away to rain kisses over his face. “We don’t have to go upstairs. The couch.”
“Hold on. Slow down.” Before I rip your clothes off and ruin it. “Slow down,” he repeated, holding her close before the last of the blood could drain out of his head. “I’ve got to get my feet back under me, and you’ve got to be sure. It’s going to be really tough to back off if you change your mind.”
With a laugh, she boosted herself up, wrapped her legs around his waist. “Do I look like I’m going to change my mind?”
“No, guess not.” But if she did, it was on him to hold himself back. He thought such an eventuality might kill him. “I want you, Willa.” He brushed his lips over hers. “I really want you.”
Her heart did a neat somersault. “Sounds like a deal.”
“Upstairs.” He managed to walk even as she tightened her grip and started nibbling at his jaw. “The first time should be in a bed.”
“Was yours?”
“No, actually.” He got to the stairs, wondered why he’d never noticed how long they were. “It was in a rig in the middle of winter and I nearly froze my . . . never mind.”
She chuckled, nuzzled at his throat. “This’ll be better, won’t it?”
“Yeah.” For him, without a doubt. For her . . . he was going to do his best. He stopped in the doorway of her room. He wasn’t sure how many more shocks he could survive in one night.
Candles burned everywhere, and the fire glowed low. The bed was turned down, inviting with dozens of pillows.
“Tess and Lily,” Willa explained. “They really got into this.”
“Oh.” Nothing like being showcased, Ben thought as his nerves jumped. “Did they . . . has anyone talked to you about . . . things?”
“McKinnon.” She eased back to grin at him. “I run a ranch.”
“It’s not exactly the same.” He set her on her feet, backed off a step. “Listen, Willa, this is kind of a first for me, too. I’ve never—the others weren’t—” He had to shut his eyes a minute, gather his scattered wits. “I don’t want to hurt you. And I, well, I haven’t had anyone in a while. I set my sights on you damn near a year ago, and I haven’t had anyone else since.”
“Really?” That was interesting. “Why?”
He sighed, sat on the edge of the bed. “I have to get my boots off.”
“I’ll give you a hand.” She obligingly turned her back to him, hefted one booted foot between her legs. He nearly groaned. “A year?” She glanced over her shoulder as she tugged.
“Maybe more, if it comes down to it.” Struggling to be amused, he planted a foot on her butt and pushed.
“You were never particularly nice to me.” She took his other foot, pulled at the boot.
“You scared the hell out of me.”
She stumbled forward as the boot came off, then turned, still holding it. “I did?”
“Yeah.” Irritated with himself, he pushed a hand through his hair. “And that’s all I’m going to say about it.”
It was enough to think about, she supposed. “Oh, I forgot.” She hurried to the table by the window and fiddled with Tess’s CD player. “Music,” she explained. “Tess claims it’s mandatory.”
He couldn’t hear anything over the knocking of his own heart. Her hair was falling down, just a little, and the firelight streamed through that long, thin skirt every time she moved.
“That should do it. Unless we should have the champagne up here.”
“That’s all right.” His throat was closing again, snapping like a bear trap. “Later.”
“Okay.” She lifted her hands, began to undo the buttons of the dress while his mouth fell open. Her busy fingers flipped open six before he could get his tongue off his toes.
“Hold it. Slow down. If you’re going to strip for a man, you should pace yourself.”
“Is that so?” Intrigued, she stopped, watched his gaze dip to her fingers, then began again. “I’m not wearing a stitch under here,” she said conversationally. “Tess said something about contrast and impact.”
“Oh, good Jesus.” He wasn’t sure how he got to his feet when he couldn’t feel them. But he stepped to her. “Don’t take it off.” His voice had thickened, and the sound of it had her eager fingers pausing, trembling. “Let me finish it.”
“All right.” Odd, her arms were so heavy now. She let them fall to her sides as he slipped the rest of the buttons free. It was a lovely sensation, she thought, the skim of his knuckles over her skin. “Shouldn’t you be groping me or something?”
A laugh, even a weak one, soothed some of the nerves. “I’ll get to it.” The dress was open now, with light and shadow playing over that lovely line of bare flesh. “Just stand there,” he said quietly, and touched his mouth to hers. “Can you do that?”
“Yeah. But my knees are going to start knocking.”
“Just stand there,�
�� he repeated, touching only mouth to mouth as he undid his shirt. “Let me taste you awhile. Here.” His lips cruised over her jaw. “Here.” Up to her ear. “You can trust me.”
“I know.” Now her eyes were heavy, she felt the lids drooping as his mouth toyed with hers. “Whenever you chew on my lip that way, I can’t get my breath.”
“Want me to stop?”
“No, I like it.” She said it dreamily. “I can breathe later.”
He tossed his shirt aside. “I want to see you, Willa. Let me look at you.”
Slowly, he slid the dress from her shoulders, let it drift to the floor. She was long and slim, subtle curves and strong angles, her skin glowing gold in the dancing light. “You’re beautiful.”
It was an effort not to lift her hands to cover herself. No one had ever said that to her. Not once in her life. “You always said skinny.”
“Beautiful.” He cupped a hand to the back of her neck, drew her slowly toward him. His fingers combed up, her hair tumbled down. He experimented with the weight of it, lifting it, letting it fall while his mouth rubbed over hers. “I always wanted to play with your hair, even when you were a kid.”
“You used to pull it.”
“That’s what boys do when they want girls to pay attention to them.” He gathered it, gave it a tug, and had her head jerking back. “Mmm.” He sampled the exposed line of her throat, nibbled lazily where the pulse was rabbiting. “Paying attention?”
“Yeah.” She shuddered, couldn’t stop. “Or I’m trying to, but I keep losing my focus. All this stuff’s happening inside me.”
“I want to be inside you.” Her eyes opened at that, and in them he saw nerves gloriously mixed with needs. “But there’s more first. I have to touch you.”
He skimmed a hand down to her breast, circled with a fingertip, forced a moan through her lips as his thumb scraped over her nipple. She felt an answering tug, deep inside. An echo of shock and pleasure. Then his hand slid down, over her hip, his fingers trailing lightly toward her center, brushing, awakening, then retreating.
Her eyes were huge, focused on his. Her hands came to his shoulders for balance and found smooth skin, taut muscles, an old scar. Her fingers dug in once as she tried to absorb and analyze the sensation of those callused hands stroking her flesh.
She hadn’t expected this. She’d thought it would be fast, a grappling match full of grunts and howls. How could she have known there would be tenderness mixed with the heat? And the heat was huge.
“Ben?”
“Hmm?”
“I don’t think I can stand up anymore.”
His lips curved against her shoulder. “Just another minute. I haven’t quite finished.”
So this was what it was like to awaken a woman. To know that your hands were the first hands. To know you were the first to bring that flush to the skin, that weakness to the limbs, that quiver to the muscles. He could be careful with her, would be careful with her, no matter how that very innocence made his blood surge.
When her eyes drooped this time, he lifted her into his arms, laid her on the bed.
“You still have your pants on.”
He covered her, letting her grow accustomed to his weight. “It’ll be better for both of us if I keep them on awhile yet.”
“Okay.” His hands were roaming again, and she was beginning to float. “Tess—in the drawer there—condoms.”
“I’ll take care of it. Let go for me, Will.” He trailed a line of kisses down her throat. “Just let it all go.” And with a shudder of his own he took her breast in his mouth.
She arched, the breath exploding through her lips. Sensation careened through her system, flashing with heat, urging her hips to grind with the rhythm he set. He bit lightly, but the sensation was no kin to pain. Her hands were fisted in his hair, urging him to feed.
He heard her sigh, and gasp and murmur. Her response to every touch was as free and open as any man could wish. Beneath his her body was agile, limber one moment, taut the next as she flowed with him. The flavor of her filled him, threatened to drive him mad if he didn’t stop, if he didn’t take more. Her scent—soap and skin—aroused him more than any perfume.
He took her mouth again, needed it like he needed breath. Her tongue tangled with his in an avid dance. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he could hear the quiet thrum of music.
He stroked a hand up that long length of leg, stopping just short of the heat, retreating. Her breath came quickly now, fast and shallow while her nails bit into him.
“Look at me.” He brushed her, lightly, found her erotically hot, wet. But even as she arched, he retreated again. “Look at me. I want to see your eyes the first time. I want to see what it does to you.”
“I can’t.” But her eyes were open, wide and blind. Her body was on the edge of something, like a high cliff where the wind both pulled and pushed. “I need—”
“I know.” God, that voice of hers—straight sex. And now even throatier, rustier, and quivering with little gasps. “But look at me.” He cupped her, watched her eyes go dark with fear and passion.
The first time, he thought. “Let go.”
What choice did she have? His fingers stroked her to flash point, and everything happened at once. Her body tightened like a fist. Lights whirled in front of her eyes, spinning to the roar of sound in her head that was her own frantic heartbeat.
And this pleasure was kin to pain, an eruption that had her helplessly crying out while her body bucked, shuddered, then went slack.
Her skin was dewed with sweat now, her lips soft with surrender when he sought them again. Weakness warred, then gave way to fresh energy as he patiently, ruthlessly worked her back into a frenzy. Her system overcharged, reeled, imploded. She rocked against him, wildly greedy for more. And he gave more until she was pliant again, body still quivering in reaction, breath coming slow and thick.
When he rolled off her she couldn’t even manage a protest, but lay sprawled in the hot, tangled sheets.
He had to pray he wouldn’t fumble now, though his hands shook when he tugged at the snap of his jeans. He’d wanted her sated and satisfied before he took her, wanted her to remember the pleasure if he was unable to prevent the pain.
“I feel like I’m drunk,” she murmured. “I feel like I’m drowning.”
He knew the feeling. His blood was singing a siren’s song in his head, and his loins were screaming for release. Stripping away his jeans, he tossed them aside before he remembered what he carried in his wallet, snugged into the back pocket.
Blessing Tess, he dug into Willa’s nightstand drawer.
“Don’t fall asleep,” he begged as he heard her sigh. “For God’s sake don’t fall asleep.”
“Uh-uh.” But this state of floaty relaxation was the next best thing. She stretched, and the firelight danced over her, rippling golds and reds and ambers. Ben tore his gaze away and finished the business at hand. “Are you going to touch me again?”
“Yeah.” He had to get the nerves under control. The hunger was one thing, he could keep it chained, but the nerves fluttered through his stomach as he ranged himself over her. “I need you.” It wasn’t an easy admission, not the same as want, and he gave it to her as his mouth closed over hers. “Let me have you, Willa. Hold on to me and let me have you.”
And her arms came around him as he slid into her.
Oh, God, so tight, so hot. He had to use every ounce of control not to plunge mindlessly into her like a stallion covering a ready mare. Battling to go slowly, he fisted his hands on either side of her head, watched her face. Watched it so intently, so closely that he saw those first flickers of shock, of acceptance, and finally, that lovely glaze of dark pleasure.
“Oh, it’s wonderful.” She breathed the words out as he moved inside her. “Really wonderful.”
She gave up her innocence without regret, with a smile bowing her lips as she matched him stroke for slow stroke. In his eyes she saw the need he had spoken of, the need focused
only and fully on her. When she looked deeper, she saw herself reflected back in them, lost in them.
And this, she thought, when he finally buried his face in her hair and emptied himself into her, was beauty.
“I DIDN’T KNOW IT WOULD BE LIKE THAT.” STILL PINNED beneath him, still joined, Willa lazily played with his hair. “I might have been ready sooner.”
“I’d say the timing worked just fine.” He had fantasies already working. Pouring champagne over that lovely golden body and licking it off. Drop by drop.
“I always thought people set too much store by sex. I guess I’ve changed my mind.”
“It wasn’t sex.” He turned his head, nibbled at her temple. “We’ll have sex some other time. This was making love. And you can’t set too much store by either.”
She stretched her arms up, then lowered them so that her hands could knead his bottom. “What’s the difference?”
He was still half aroused, and well aware it wouldn’t take much to finish the job. “You want me to show you?” Lifting his head, he grinned down at her. “Right now?”
She chuckled and, feeling sentimental, stroked his cheek. “Even a bull needs recovery time.”
“I ain’t no bull. Just stay right there.”
“Where are you going?” My, oh, my, she thought, she hadn’t taken nearly enough time to look at that body of his. It was . . . an education.
“I’ll be right back,” he told her, and strode out without bothering with his jeans.
Well, well. She stretched again, then shifted so that she was cradled by pillows. It seemed the night wasn’t over. Experimentally, she laid a hand on her breast. Her heart was bumping along at a normal rate now rather than with that snare drum riff it had reached when he’d nuzzled just there.
It was an odd feeling, she thought, to have a man suckling you, to have him pull you inside him. And to experience those mirror tugs in the womb.
Everything he’d done had made her body feel different—tighter then looser, lighter then heavier.
She wondered if she looked different—to herself, to him. There was no denying that she felt different.
With all the pain, all the grief and fear in her life over the past months, she had found an oasis. For tonight, if only for tonight, there was only this room. Nothing outside of this room mattered. No, not even murder. She wouldn’t let reality in.
