Intoxicating!
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Bliss.
Then he lowered his head, covering her lips with his own.
Oh.
Oh.
She felt his mouth tremble, or was that hers? Catherine wasn’t a virgin; she’d been kissed before, but not like this. Hesitation and reverence melted together under the heat in the air. Automatically she moved into him, his arms closing around her, wrapping her in twin bands of strength and steel.
Catherine sighed with relief, and when her mouth opened, his tongue eased inside, all hesitation gone. He stroked the inside of her lip, slipping back and forth until the drugging rhythm was ebbing through her blood, igniting her skin, pulsing between her thighs.
Her hands explored and she couldn’t believe that this man, this masterful creation, was alive. A momentary doubt stole into her brain, but some things didn’t lie, and the thick erection burning her thigh was proof enough. She wanted that proof inside her.
He broke the kiss, lifting his head, his breathing as ragged as hers, and she thought he was going to leave her.
“You’ll stay with me?” she asked, needy, the doubts stealing back.
His face was tight with tension, his fingers biting into the curve of her hip, but she didn’t care. She wanted his touch, and now the need overcame fear, overcame pride, overcame dignity. Her body needed this.
“Bed.”
Catherine nodded because intelligent speech was impossible. She led him to her room, her nerves simmering, threatening to boil.
He was going to love her, touch her, kiss her, caress her, and she was dizzy with the thought of it. That amazing body that was currently hidden by his clothes was going to be hers. At least for one night.
“Can I undress you?” she asked, the words out before she could think, but how could she think? How could any sane woman think?
“That’s what you want?” As if women didn’t ask to undress him every day. Heckuva job, Catherine.
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.” He was going to think she was obsessed. A nympho ready to pounce, and okay, she wanted him. Badly. But there were other forces at work inside her—namely the desperate desire to see him naked to know if her currently overworked imagination was right.
“Catherine, you don’t have to apologize for everything.”
“I’m—No, I’m not sorry. I wanted to see you because okay, this part is embarrassing, but not exactly for what you’re thinking. You know that I draw, and, well—you have a perfect body for sketching.” Her cheeks burned, and maybe now he thought she was weird, but weird was oodles better than sleazy.
“Really?” he said, as if he didn’t think she was weird…or sleazy. In fact, he sounded…pleased.
“Absolutely. Certainly.” And then, because he was watching her so thoroughly, she drew his T-shirt over his head, struggling to be the artist she told him she was. “See this line here. It’s the axis of your body, your dawn line, perfectly dividing the détente muscle, those are those…uh…little ripples.” Her index finger traced the path, and she nearly sighed, but that would totally snooker the “dedicated artist” image that she was going for.
“I’ll take your word for it.”
“You should. I do this for a living.”
“Really?” he asked, teasing her.
“Not this, but—” she drew a horizontal line across his shoulders, feeling the heavy muscles jump wherever she touched “—this.”
Her palms felt the hard planes of his chest, absorbed the soft whirls of hair, the tight nipples, and she knew that she could never capture that vitality and strength on paper. Ever. Only in her hands.
She followed the trail of hair down, lower, and she knew the instant that he stopped breathing. Daringly, her fingers delved beneath his shorts, and then she stopped breathing, too.
But her curiosity wouldn’t let her stop. Slowly, the soft boxers slid down hard thighs and then…
Then…
Oh, she wasn’t going to look, but she had to look. She had to see, and heaven help her, she gasped.
Yes, like a total dilettante, she gasped.
For a second she could do nothing but gaze upon him with deep-seated lust, then her eyes studied his face.
He didn’t look happy. He looked stressed.
“Can I see you?” he asked, and she nodded once before she realized that she needed to steer his expectations toward something resembling reality because she wasn’t anywhere close to the perfection that he was.
“I’m not nearly as well-proportioned.”
He drew down the straps of her bathing suit. “That’s an entirely subjective statement. I think you’re very well-proportioned.”
“I weigh too much.”
He slipped the suit off her hips and along her legs and looked at her for a long time, that comprehensive gaze making her nervous. He wasn’t missing a thing. Not the half dozen cupcakes that resided happily on her butt, or her mushy thighs that didn’t get nearly enough exercise or the pooch in her belly that four million sit-ups could easily cure.
“See?” she answered, completely sure he was going to tell her to put her bathing suit back on. In fact, she was so sure he was going to say that, that she reached down to pull it back over her mushy thighs, until he grabbed her hand in a death grip.
“Don’t move,” he ordered.
Catherine noticed the clenched jaw, the eyes that were mere slits of darkness, and began to relax. Eventually, his perfect chest heaved a sigh. “I’m better now,” he said.
“You’re nervous, too?” she asked curiously.
“Not at the moment. Tomorrow, yes. But right now, I’m good.”
“I’m good, too,” she answered.
His mouth took hers again, and he settled over her on the bed. There was another moment when his chest pressed into hers and he froze, and she swore that he was going to fly off her, but then he breathed again, and she sighed. It was very strange having a perfect man on top of her, his mouth kissing her, his hands touching her. But Catherine knew this wasn’t a dream—the ache between her legs convinced her of that—and the way he touched her, almost desperately, convinced her of it, too.
She kissed him desperately, her curious fingers tracing the lines that she had drawn on paper, but the paper was cold compared to the warmth of his skin. No painter, no sculptor, no impressionistic master had ever captured that life, that heat. She caressed the places that she had only imagined, and when she heard him groan, she smiled.
“I don’t have a condom,” he said, raising up on his arms. “I can’t believe I forgot this.”
He was leaving her? Hell, no. Instantly, pathetically, panic gave wings to her speech. “I’m on the pill. It regulates my periods. I have a heavy flow, my—”
Quickly, he shut her up with a kiss, and she really didn’t blame him. Catherine curled her arms around his neck and breathed deeply. He smelled of sandalwood and wine, and she treasured that secret smell, locking the memory safely away. She would remember this. One stolen night that she would remember forever.
“You’re sure?” he asked, and she could feel him, feel the hardness of him poised at her opening. More than anything she wanted to feel him there, inside her. She had to know how this would feel.
“Absolutely certain,” she answered and the velvety hardness plunged between her legs. Once. Hard.
Oh.
Catherine froze.
“You’re okay? I’m sorry. I’m rusty.”
He sounded so apologetic, as if this was all his fault, and Catherine quickly moved to correct that heresy. “It’s me. I wouldn’t know if you’re rusty or not.”
He lifted up again, stared. “You haven’t done this before?”
“Oh, yeah,” she answered carelessly, like four times made her an expert, and Antonio hadn’t been that good, but as her body adjusted, this felt…nice.
Daniel was large and bulky, and she loved how she didn’t feel so tall when he was on top of her.
Again he began to move, with long, easy strokes, and she was fascinated with the idea of it, until it started to feel good—no, this was great.
Her hips followed his, melding together into this heady retreat and advance. Nervously, she met his eyes because he was so quiet. She found him watching her, those careful eyes looking at her face, her mouth, with a thorough intensity that almost frightened her, if it hadn’t turned her on so much. All that—for her.
She felt his hungry gaze on her lips, wanted to feel his mouth, so she took a chance, kissing him, and…
It was exactly like before, his tongue teasing her mouth, seducing her lips, her skin, her entire being, until she couldn’t think anymore, only feel. She grasped his broad back, the hard line of his buttocks, and felt him invading her, possessing her.
Oh oh oh…
Everything turned upside down inside her, and at the moment, Catherine realized why people loved sex.
This was heaven.
He thrust deeper inside her, plunging farther, moving faster, and her blood quickened. She could feel his muscles tightening, feel her own muscles clench and unclench instinctively, in a way that she had never known.
This was better than heaven. Oh, this was so much better than heaven.
Faster.
This was—
Fasterfasterfasterfaster.
Flying. She was flying now.
Fasterfasterfasterfaster.
Ohhh….
She couldn’t speak, her brain liquid. Catherine’s eyes popped open as the world began to collapse around her.
Then she felt his hand between her legs and the world didn’t collapse, it exploded like a star, bursting into huge fiery pieces of color, and this from a woman who lived in a world of cream and beige and gray pencil slate.
Her thighs shook—in fact, her whole body shook.
No, he was shaking. Was he supposed to shake?
He cursed, but in a good way, she thought, as she felt him spill inside her. Warm, liquid, filling her.
Wow.
Wowww….
Then he collapsed on her, his back slick with sweat, his perfect chest expanding and contracting in great waves. “I’m sorry. That was too quick,” he said, his face buried in her hair.
Quick? Quick? He thought that was quick? What happened when it wasn’t quick? Good God, no wonder people got so heated up over this.
Her hand curved over his back, fascinated by the way the muscles bunched under her fingers. She loved this freedom to feel him, touch him, learn what the male body was truly like. In fact, she couldn’t wait to draw him. Completely.
“I thought it was perfect,” she said with a contented sigh.
He lifted his head, and when he looked at her, she saw something different in his eyes. The black had warmed to charcoal, his mouth curved up, smug with satisfaction. So often she’d seen that heady look staring back at her from a two-hundred-year-old canvas, or a black-and-white still photo, blind eyes that never saw her. But this man saw her.
“You haven’t seen anything yet,” he said, rolling off her to one side, and she missed that completeness, that weight pressing down on her.
“You’re telling me this gets better?”
“Lots,” he answered, stroking her hair. “It can be great, awesome, world-stirring.”
“That’s pretty impressive,” answered Catherine, realizing that she wasn’t a world-stirrer, and she wanted to be a world-stirrer. She loved this newfound lust for life rising up inside her. “Do you think we can make it to world-stirring?”
He smiled. “Yeah. I think we’ll get there before the weekend is out.”
And she snuggled into his chest, feeling the world transform from one-note sepia tones into full-blown impressionistic color, because before the weekend was out, they’d do this again, and Catherine’s world was already starting to stir.
4
FOR MOST OF THE NIGHT, Daniel didn’t close his eyes, but held Catherine tightly. It’d been so long since he held a woman in his arms. Forever. He didn’t want to go to sleep because he was afraid he would wake up and be alone again. That this was all a dream.
He shouldn’t have done this. He really, really shouldn’t have done this, but there was something in her eyes that made “no” pretty well impossible.
And it was that knowledge that lessened the guilt. Yeah, he’d been a creep to take advantage of the situation, but there were words for guys who walked away when they were needed most. Daniel wasn’t one of those guys.
From outside, the sounds of life began to stir. People would be waking soon, but everything here was so quiet, so peaceful. He didn’t want to disturb it, he just wanted to live it.
In the city there was so much noise, and usually he liked the noise, since it drowned out the silence. But this quiet…For a second he listened.
The sounds of the ocean were so large against her quiet breathing, he felt her chest expand against his, the musky perfume of sex hanging in the air.
Man, what a marvelous smell. He hadn’t known that he missed it until now. That smell, mixed with Catherine’s smell—something soapy and flowery, but completely addictive.
Her bare thigh pulled up between his legs, brushing against him, and he sprang to life, fully aroused and ready to go. She was sleeping so peacefully, and he didn’t have the heart to wake her because that would be a selfish thing to do, completely taking advantage of the situation. But then she slid up his chest, her breasts pushing against him in a move that strippers would covet, and her eyes opened.
A lover’s eyes, sly and sleepy.
Daniel knew that he couldn’t live without seeing that look again.
He pushed inside her, saw her eyes go wide and felt a momentary pang of guilt, but then her lips curved, and her hair fell over his face, sliding across his cheek, and the guilt faded. The pleasure began.
THE SUN ROSE IN THE EAST, just as it always did. Daniel woke with an aching hard-on, just as he always did, but there was a woman next to him. A nude woman. A nude, sexually willing woman.
Daniel smiled and reached out a hand to touch her breast. She wasn’t built like Michelle, who’d been short and slim, with what she termed “a lot of junk in her trunk,” and Daniel could feel the differences.
Catherine was tall, with lush curves that filled his hands perfectly, hands that had never felt empty until now. In his opinion, she had the body of a goddess, earthy and rich, solely designed to give him pleasure. Her skin was the color of the morning sky at first blush, soft and warm.
His fingers caressed Catherine’s nipple, feeling it react, and he wondered at that small miracle. A woman’s body reacting. She sighed, her body arching into his hand as if it belonged there.
The sunlight cast a shadow on his empty ring finger, and he felt something stabbing at him, but he brushed it away. Not today. Today he was going to live. It was Sunday. His last day, and he wasn’t going to miss this. When he left, he would bear the weight of the band again, but right now, he just wanted to live like a normal man.
Catherine woke as he imagined she did everything else. Slowly, methodically, with exquisite purpose. Her lashes moved, fluttered up, and then he found himself falling into her eyes once again. She was so soft, so uncomplicated, so irresistible.
He touched, circling her breast, feeling the constant beat of her heart. Her body tensed, still not comfortable with being nude, but he’d work on that.
Whoa.
Daniel frowned, and she touched his mouth. “Something wrong?”
He shook his head. “No.”
Today was it. Nothing more.
“When do you have to leave?” she asked, reminding him exactly how much time he had left.
“I’ll take the late train,” he said, in absolutely no hurry to leave.
“Good,” she answered, moving back the sheet. He had thought she was shy, but the odd thing about her? She seemed to love to watch his body, loved to touch his body, too, and jeez, what man in his right mind was going to object?
She traced a line down his chest, her eyes flaring dark. He loved to watch her, too, loved to watch her mouth grow slack with desire.
It had been so long.
His body jerked impatiently to life, and she smiled.
One day left.
Daniel didn’t wait. He rolled over her, and drove inside, savoring that one second when everything within him converged to this single point, this single moment when his entire body came spluttering back to life, rough and cold and long unused—but not today.
The lashes fluttered closed, her mouth tense, and he watched her, watched the sun filter through the shutters, casting alternating lines of light and dark on her full breasts.
Daniel wanted to be in control of his emotions, wanted to be calm, easy. She needed that, but panic grabbed at him, sharp claws digging in deep.
Just one day.
One day before it all disappeared. Again.
So he thrust deeper inside her, her eyes focused on him, and he wanted to smile at her, wanted to act like everything was normal, but was it?
A rumbling sound came from low in his throat, a rough noise he’d never heard before. And he drilled inside her slick heat, until his mind was black, until his eyes were blind, because his body needed this.
It’d been so long.
His cock burned, the blood roaring through it like a fire feeding on air.
One day left. He moved faster, harder. Oh, he’d missed this. Harder, deeper, needing to touch her, needing to feel her, needing to…Breathe.
He needed to breathe.
He’d never used a woman like this before, not even Michelle. Daniel knew he shouldn’t, but then Catherine’s hands fastened on his shoulders, her teeth dug into her lower lip and her eyes flared with something dark and aware. It was the darkness in her that pushed him on. Raising himself up on his arms, he took. Oh, damn, he took. His head roared, louder and louder, until the pounding in his cock matched the pounding in his head.
Her head listed to one side, the tawny fall of her hair sweeping over the sun-gilded curve of her neck. Her body arched upward with each thrust, shuddering moans of pleasure escaping from her lips. Absorbing him, taking him…comforting him.
Daniel felt his body about to come, but he wasn’t going to do this alone. Not alone. He hated alone. He reached down and flicked against her. Found the place that she needed and watched her body buck.
He touched her, finding where they were joined, and his hand moved faster, and he kept thrusting inside her. She had to feel this. She had to feel the same hopeless need that he did.
Her teeth bit into her lip, and he noticed the blood.
“Come on, Catherine,” he begged, because he needed her with him.
His hand moved, palm against her bone, and her eyes closed, her back lifted, and the moans grew loud and ragged. “A little more,” he said, fighting back his release. She was close. He knew she was close.
She let out a cry, sounds stuttering, and her hips were sliding against him, against his cock, against his hand, until her body jerked once, her mouth opened and he couldn’t resist.
He took her mouth, he took her body, and as the climax fell over them, Daniel surrendered to the darkness.
One day left.
CATHERINE LIFTED her head, stared and then fell back against the pillow. “I think the world was stirred.”
“Thank God,” he said, more of a prayer than a curse.
She reached out next to him and grabbed his hand, tracing over his palms, his fingers. He froze because it was wrong. He should be wearing his ring, but then Daniel forced himself to relax. To remember.
Gradually, the tension left and he closed his eyes.
“What do you want to do today?” she asked.
Right now, he would happily stay in bed all day, but that wasn’t the politically correct thing to say, so he shrugged. “It’s up to you.”
“Could I draw you?”
“That’s what you want?”
She nodded eagerly, and he knew he couldn’t deny her even though the idea of being stuffed in some dainty French chair with his head twisted just an inch to the left would be hell.
“Okay,” he answered, forced enthusiasm in his voice.
“Great.” She rose from the bed. He watched as she covered her body in some shapeless bathrobe, and he felt a momentary sadness. For seven years, he had avoided thinking of female nudity, but now he was back into it in a big way.
Full, high breasts. Long, long legs that could wrap around him when he drove inside…
Daniel shook his head.
She flipped up the shutters on the windows, and the eastern light filtered in. “The morning light is the best,” she told him.
Then she began to adjust him, staring with wide-eyed exuberance. His arm went this way, his head reversed, his fingers like this, and then she looked as if she would be adjusting him there, as well. He moved in and took control.
“What are you thinking about drawing?” he asked her carefully.
“Oh,” she said, drawing the sheet back over him.
Instantly, Daniel sensed that he’d just missed something major. Some huge detail that he’d overlooked. When she looked at him again the exuberance was missing.
Hell.
“You want to draw me nude. Is that it?” he asked, because he’d never been exactly shy, but he wasn’t Sean, either. Discretion. That’s what he believed in.
Nudity was private, and sitting there bare-assed-naked while she sketched him…all while he wasn’t supposed to be thinking about sex?
Hell.
“You don’t have to. I don’t want to make you uncomfortable. I’m around pictures of naked people a lot more than everybody else, and sometimes I forget,” she muttered, her eyes resigned.
“All right,” he said, throwing away every piece of dignity he’d ever had. The exuberance rushed back in her eyes.
The sheet went off, and she adjusted his thighs, his butt, his currently aching cock, and he gritted his teeth until she told him that he needed to relax his jaw.
Easy for her to say.
But eventually she quit touching him and went to work, sitting in a chair across from him, the sun at her back. Actually, it wasn’t as bad he thought, because he got to watch her while she sketched him.
She was pretty. Really pretty, but it took someone with a careful eye to see it. The sun flashed gold in her hair, and when she got frustrated with herself, which seemed to be often, she would comb her fingers through the long strands.
At times, she looked, stared, watched him impassively, and he tried not to be affected. Unfortunately, when a woman watched his currently unclothed body with such single-minded focus, he couldn’t help it. He hadn’t had sex in a very long time and…well, there was a completely logical reason for a man to be aroused.
Heavily, painfully aroused.
Catherine didn’t seem to notice, thank God. When she sketched, she got caught up in some other world that he wasn’t a part of.
Her hand moved to the lower edge of the paper, and she leaned forward, the robe gaping an inch, almost enough…
If he moved his head only a fraction lower, he’d be able to…
She leaned forward even more….
His head followed, and he could almost make out…
“Oh,” she muttered, and then snapped up from the chair, regretfully pushing the robe back into place. Her busy hands were back at his jaw, twisting, her brown eyes all business, studying him again.
“Sorry,” he said, wondering what she would think if he pulled her down to the bed for a momentary intermission. A break to stir her creative juices…maybe.
She shook her head. “The look in your eyes. It’s wrong. Can we put the sadness back?”
He looked at her in surprise. “Excuse me?”
“I’ve got you half-sad, but I’m not quite finished with it, and you look, well—” the nervousness was back in her face “—not sad.”