Shadow Dance

by Susan Andersen

  She dried herself and pulled on a silky nightie. She heard the ping of her microwave timer as she closed the bathroom door behind her and followed the sound into the kitchen.

  Tristan was retrieving a cup of chocolate from the appliance’s interior, and he turned and extended it to her when she walked in the room. Automatically, she reached for it. “Where’s Rhonda?”

  Tristan’s eyes made one brief pass up and down her body. “I sent her home. I’m staying tonight.”

  Amanda took a sip of her drink. More schnapps. Then she nodded wearily, eyeing the sheer size of him dwarfing her tiny kitchen as he leaned against the counter a few feet away. Rhonda was a more comfortable person to be around. But the truth was, Amanda felt much safer knowing MacLaughlin would be here.

  Something warm and furry touched her foot, and she looked down to see Tristan’s homely dog, sprawled in his favorite immodest position at her feet—spread-eagled on his back with his stubby paws pointed in four different directions. “Oh!” she exclaimed, and gave Tristan a genuine smile. “You brought Ace up to keep us company.” She set her cup on the counter and crouched down, rubbing the dog’s stomach. Ace’s tail thumped against the tiled floor.

  Tristan stared down at her. He knew it was warm in here and that she had been expecting Rhonda, rather than him, but he wished she had put on a robe.

  It had bothered him all day when she had held herself aloof from him. She had hardly even looked at him if she could help it. He had steamrollered Rhonda into letting him stay here in her stead—not that she had offered any objection. He had assured her that as a policeman, he was much more qualified to protect Amanda, should the need arise, and Rhonda, bless her, had accepted that explanation with a perfectly straight face.

  But she had known, as he did, that it wasn’t the cop who had insisted on staying. If the cop in him had been dominant, he would have taken measures to ensure Amanda’s safety and then gone home and forgotten her. And it sure as bloody hell wasn’t the cop standing here now, rooted in place by a smile meant for his dog, staring down at Amanda’s pale topknot, tracing the path of steam-tightened tendrils that escaped along her nape and temples. It was the man who was aware of her skin, flushed from the heat of her bath, and who noticed the way the thin tangerine material of her nightgown pulled tight over her round bottom and dipped low between her breasts—breasts whose full, weighted texture his restless hands remembered, whose taste his mouth retained.

  “Tristan?” Amanda looked up and caught him staring at her, and the naked need that blazed in his eyes made her skin flush with reciprocal desire. Oh, no. She didn’t want to feel this way. It wasn’t right that all he had to do was look at her a certain way to make her want him. She forgot the question she had intended to ask him as she climbed slowly to her feet. Staring at him, she backed away.

  Despite the sudden lust that pulsed through his veins, Tristan’s intention had honestly been only to spend the night guarding her. Want her he might, with a desperation that sometimes seemed to claw at his guts, but he was prepared to do nothing more than hold her, if she wanted, and take care of her the way she had taken care of him last night. Tristan was accustomed to a lifetime of denying his own wants and needs, and this was just one more instance where he was fully prepared to ruthlessly squelch his body’s strident demands.

  But the excitement that flared in Amanda’s violet-blue eyes when she caught him looking at her, and the unmistakable way her nipples suddenly stood up beneath the silk of her gown, begging to be noticed, conspired to undermine his ironclad control like nothing else in his life had ever been able to do. Almost against his will, he found himself stalking her retreat until she was backed up against a wall.

  “Oh,” she said in a little voice, and then again as Tristan’s head lowered purposefully, “Oh!”

  The way he kissed her was every bit as exciting as Amanda remembered. She had wondered if perhaps her memory had exaggerated its impact, but that most definitely wasn’t the case.

  He had a way of concentrating solely on what he was doing to her that aroused her to a near frenzy, and she began to crave his insistent mouth the way a dieter craves sugar, an alcoholic craves a belt, an addict craves his next fix. She didn’t close her eyes, and there was something exhilarating about being able to watch him when he wasn’t looking. His eyes were closed, his lashes dusky crescents upon the hollows above his cheekbones, and his thick eyebrows furrowed together above his nose. His hands in her hair were almost rough as they clamped her head at the angle he desired, but his mouth, for all its firmness, was gentle, his tongue aggressive and hot. Amanda wrapped her arms around his waist and tugged impatiently at his shirt, separating it from his slacks so she could feel his skin beneath her hands. Tristan’s breath shuddered hot and ragged between her parted lips as he raised his mouth.

  Amanda lifted onto her tiptoes in an attempt to follow his departing lips, but Tristan obliged her by bowing his head only long enough to bestow one brief, hard kiss on her swollen mouth. Then he picked her up and carried her to her bedroom, firmly shutting the door on Ace’s inquisitive face. He set her on her feet and removed his shoulder holster, setting it aside. He sat down in her slipper chair, and his eyes roved with aggression over her nightie while he removed his shoes and socks. “Take it off.” He unbuttoned his shirt cuffs.

  A tiny trickle of unease invaded Amanda’s feverish arousal. He was ordering her to strip, which she was not accustomed to doing in front of a man. Couldn’t he have couched it in pretty words, or helped her do it…or something? Her chin raised. “Or what?”

  “Or I’m likely to rip it off you.” He didn’t mean that quite literally, of course; he was simply afraid he’d tear it in his haste, and the garment looked very expensive.

  “Oh!” Who did he think he was, some fat-cat pasha with his harem girl? Well, she just wondered how he’d like it if the shoe were on the other foot! Eyes smoldering with intent, Amanda stepped forward. Tristan stood to meet her, but he wasn’t prepared when she grasped the tails of his pristine white shirt on either side of the button placket and yanked with all her might. Buttons flew and Tristan’s starched collar rasped loudly against his skin when it ripped out from beneath his tie. The shirt dangled off his massive shoulders, but the tie, with its perfect knot still intact, hung down his naked chest as neatly as though it still completed his ensemble.

  Tristan stared down at his wrecked shirt with outraged Scottish frugality. “What the bloody hell did y’do that for? This shirt’s almost new!”

  “Well, my nightie’s new, too, and you were going to rip it!”

  “Not deliberately, I wasn’t! What kind of attitude is that, anyway? What—you want to get your licks in first, to do unto others before they can do unto you?”

  She shook with reaction at the shambles she had made of this. All because of her damn fluctuating emotions. One moment she was the world’s biggest coward, and the next minute she was Leo the lionhearted, and constantly, it seemed, he made her feel so damn defensive. Now he was mad at her and probably wouldn’t make love to her after all.

  But she hadn’t taken into consideration the natural aggressiveness of an aroused male. “Oh, hell, Amanda!” Tristan concluded irritably and wrapped his hand around the nape of her neck. He exerted pressure, hauling her onto her toes, demonstrating who was boss. His mouth twisting on hers was rough with the force of his emotions, but when he felt her shiver, it immediately softened. His tongue, however, demanded total capitulation, and it wasn’t until she was sagging weakly against him that he raised his mouth again.

  “Take it off, Mandy,” he whispered. “Please, lass. I wanna see your body, and my hands are too big and impatient to do the job properly.” He held her away from him and brushed the slender straps off her shoulders.

  Hesitantly, Amanda tugged the bodice down over her breasts, but when it pooled around her hips and she saw the hot appreciation in Tristan’s gray eyes, she grew bolder. He wanted her to strip? Then strip she would. And in the p
rocess she’d give him a show he wouldn’t soon forget! Rubbing her palms down her thighs, she bunched the material between her fingers, and when she smoothed them up her legs again, the material dragged upward with the motion of her hands until it nearly reached the juncture of her thighs. Then she released it, letting it drop back in place, while she reached up to remove the pins holding her hair. She shook her head, dislodging her pale hair from its precarious knot, and reached once more for her hem. She inched it up, only to let it fall once again.

  “Dinna tease me, lass,” he whispered hoarsely, and the raw hunger in his voice made Amanda burn with excitement. Tired of the game herself, she hooked her thumbs into the material and pushed the gown over her hips. Once past the rounded curves, it slid down her legs to form a silky tangerine puddle at her feet.

  Tristan’s breath hissed sharply between his teeth, and impatiently he kicked off the remainder of his own clothing. She barely got a glimpse of his powerful body before he picked her up and set her on the bed. Leaning over her, he pressed her into the pillows.

  “God, you’re bonny,” he said in a raspy voice and sank his mouth into the side of her throat. “So verra, verra bonny.”

  There was no doubt in Amanda’s mind as to who was in charge of their lovemaking. From the first touch of bare skin against bare skin, she knew herself to be totally dominated. It wasn’t Tristan’s size, or even his vaster experience. It wasn’t that he displayed any overt desire to control her. She simply seemed to lack a will of her own whenever she ended up in his arms. All he had to do was kiss her, touch her, and she lost all awareness of place, time, or circumstance.

  Tristan dragged his open mouth down the slender column of Amanda’s throat. He pushed himself up on one elbow, and his eyes burned a path down her body, missing nothing. His look was so open and bold that Amanda was tempted to shield herself from it, but he so clearly liked what he saw that she lay quietly and let him look his fill. He lifted a hand to trail his fingertips over her collarbone and down her chest to climb the slopes of her breasts. He drew lazy figure eights between them, circling her nipples without actually touching them. “You really are a blonde,” he murmured.

  Distracted by his actions, Amanda replied, “Well, of course I am.” Then, as the meaning of his words sank in, she surged up on her elbows. “Tristan MacLaughlin! You’ve been thinking I dye my hair!” She gave his large shoulder an indignant shove, which didn’t budge him an inch.

  He just smiled at her lazily and closed his forefinger and thumb around one nipple, giving it a gentle squeeze. Leaning over, he gently lapped his captured bounty with the flat of his tongue. Amanda’s back arched. Her head dropped back and her elbows melted out from under her.

  When Tristan raised his head, he turned it to stare openly at the wispy stripe of pale down gracing her mound. “With your eyebrows so dark, I imagined you must be lightening your hair.” Removing his glasses, he drew a tiny pattern on her stomach with one of the stems. Then he set them aside and raised up to pin her with his eyes. Amanda was held in place by the direct stare, unsoftened by blurring lenses. “But I can see that I was wrong, then, wasn’t I?”

  Scalding color burned over her entire body, and something deep and tight twisted in Tristan’s stomach. He couldn’t think of another moment in his life when he had felt as alive as he did right now. He was hard and ready for her, but he wasn’t in any hurry. He was going to draw this out for as long as he could bear it. Hell, he must have thought of a hundred ways to satisfy her while he lay in his solitary bed at night. Now that he actually had the opportunity, he wouldn’t rush—not for anything.

  He rolled half on top of her, plunging his fingers into her hair and pulling her up to meet his mouth. He loved kissing her. She reciprocated with a responsiveness that excited him as no other woman ever had. Her lips were soft and full, her tongue was hot and supple, and she tasted of toothpaste and chocolate and something that was ineffably hers. And she clung when he kissed her, her body arching up to press against his, her arms wound tightly around his neck, fingers digging into his skin and scalp.

  One of Tristan’s hands disengaged itself from her hair and smoothed down her body. It cupped the angle of her jaw and stroked down her throat. It rubbed the long, smooth hollow of her underarm and pressed against the side of her breast. Then it skimmed down her side, over the curve of her hip and along the length of her thigh as far as he could reach. Tristan lifted his mouth away from Amanda’s and raised up to watch her as his hand began the upward return journey.

  Her eyes blinked open as his fingers moved up the inside of her thigh. They were deep purple and drowsy, staring into his. Her thighs fell apart as the raspy circles he drew rose higher and higher, and she gasped and arched up to meet his fingertips when they suddenly separated intimate feminine folds of slippery flesh and slid up and down with exquisite slowness. She clutched at his shoulder with the one arm still wrapped around him and breathed his name, then licked her upper lip and rubbed her free hand down his chest to his abdomen and, lower still, to his rigid belly. Tristan tried to turn aside far enough to evade her reaching fingers, needing to remain untouched to prolong their lovemaking, but he felt her hand wrap around his jutting cock just as he slid the tip of a finger inside her and reached higher to separate damp curls so he could ply her with his thumb.

  Amanda arched up and her hand released him as it grabbed for his side, digging her fingernails into his skin to anchor herself. Her hips pumped in countermeasure to Tristan’s finger, silently begging for completion, but almost immediately, she tried to disengage herself. She retracted her nails from his skin, and with the same hand attempted to push him away, but it was like trying to move stone. “Please,” she whispered, staring at the smoldering gray eyes watching her every reaction. “Please, Tristan, you’ve…umm!” Her eyes drifted closed, then reopened. “Oh, God, you’ve got to stop. I can’t hold on, ohpleaseohplease, I’m going to expl…I’m going to…”

  “Come, lassie,” he growled, and his finger pressed deep, and his palm flattened, and he hungrily covered Amanda’s mouth with his own, swallowing her frantic cries of completion as he felt her contract and release around his finger. He held her tightly until the last shudder wracked her body and she went limp in his arms.

  Then he set about rebuilding her passion.

  Covering her in kisses, he worked his way down her body until his tongue took up residence where only moments ago his finger had lodged. His tongue was slow and gentle, then rough and fast, and not until she was once again straining for satisfaction did he raise his head. Pushing up on his forearms between Amanda’s sprawled thighs, Tristan reached for his slacks. Unwilling to forsake contact, he stroked his fingers along her thighs while he one-handedly wrestled his wallet from the back pocket and fished out a condom, impatiently tossing the wallet aside and sitting up. Amanda watched him with blurred vision as his large hands competently unrolled the protection down, down—oh my—a formidable length. When he looked up at her, she held her arms up to him.

  Tristan’s heart slammed up against his rib cage and he gathered her in his arms, holding her tight, kissing her with unbridled hunger. He captured her right wrist and directed her hand down to where his dick strained between their two bodies. Amanda wrapped her fingers around him and moved her hand slowly up and down.

  “Guide me,” he demanded; he begged. And his held breath sharply expelled as he felt her impale him that first inch.

  Amanda’s body, long unused to such activity, would only yield to him in increments before it nervously closed up again, her thighs gripping his hips to prevent his body’s progress into hers. Tristan gritted his teeth and forced himself to be patient, to be still, ruthlessly suppressing his natural inclination to plow into her, regardless of the discomfort she would experience. But what his body denied, his tongue couldn’t help but express. Breathing harshly, he kissed her.

  “Please, darlin’,” his voice whispered in her ear, in her hair, against her mouth, “relax a little,
I willna hurt you, I willna…oh, God, yes, like that.” His eyes slowly drifted open and he looked down at her. “Take all of me, Amanda…please, Mandy take…that’s it, darlin’. Oh, God, yes, that’s it.” And he sank into her as far as a man could go.

  Tristan held himself still, deeply imbedded in her, and felt like he’d come home. For once in his life, joined with a woman, he didn’t experience his old familiar, searing loneliness. Usually he felt like a big tomcat searching for a hearth, knowing all the while the most he could hope for was a little transient warmth. With Amanda it was different. And, God, he had to make it last. Cautiously, he rotated his hips.

  Amanda murmured into his shoulder and rotated hers.

  Tristan slowly withdrew.

  Amanda’s soft hands on his hard butt pulled him back into her.

  He shuddered and arched his pelvis, pinning her to the bed. “Ah, God, you’re sweet,” he whispered, and his voice had an urgent sandpaper rasp. Amanda’s fingernails flexed in his rump, and with careful intent he began to move inside her.

  Amanda swiftly learned that Tristan could not be swayed once he’d developed a plan of action. He was insistent upon loving her with excruciating slowness, and nothing Amanda could do would make him rush. He didn’t attempt to be fancy. He just thrust into her, filling her, stretching her, and then withdrew. Thrust and withdrew. Slowly. God, so very, very slowly. It didn’t take many moments of careful stroking before Amanda was once again hanging on the edge of a climax, but it was an edge he wouldn’t let her topple over. When she tried increasing the tempo, he grasped her hips, buried himself deep inside her, and didn’t resume until she’d once again stilled. Her whispered pleas went unanswered, stifled by his mouth and tongue making love to her mouth until she was too breathless to beg. He reacted to the pain of her piercing fingernails by slowing down further still, contracting his glutes and retreating by centimeters until he’d nearly withdrawn, pushing up on his hands at the same time until he was poised above her. Once he was satisfied she had settled down, he filled her once against with a slow, sliding plunge, using his entire body, bending his arms until his chest once again rubbed against her breasts. He twisted, rubbing against her like a big, sleek cat, kissing her hard, kissing her softly. But the moment she came close to attaining her satisfaction he stilled once more, waiting for her to cool off before starting the whole process over again.