Demon Lover (29 page)

"Of me?" He drew back to examine the faint rosiness his mouth had made and then bent to circle her nipple with his tongue.

"No." Julie gasped again and arched convulsively beneath him. "Of me." Chayne’s hand had moved to cover her breast, all but the tender, aching tip, which he had drawn deep into his mouth.

"You know," he murmured thickly when at last he released her, "it may be possible to stay like this after all." He moved experimentally on her, and she gave a husky gurgle of laughter and rubbed her hands over the base of his spine.

"Do you think the people who keep all those records would be interested?"

"Maybe. Shall we call them?"

Julie closed her eyes and began to move with him, slowly and tentatively. "No," she whispered, growing breathless. "Not yet. Let’s practice awhile…make sure we’ve got it."

"Imp," he growled, driving deep into her.

"Demon," she whispered in return. Her head fell back as his mouth silenced them both, and for a while only their bodies spoke.

* * *

"Julie," Chayne murmured, burrowing his fingers idly through her hair, "you’re not a mirage, are you?"

There was a seriousness in his voice that nudged her heart and awakened the pain that had been sleeping there. "No," she said huskily, and couldn’t go on.

"There were times…" She felt his throat move convulsively, and he lifted his head to plant a quick kiss on the top of her head. "There were times when I couldn’t believe you were real. I’d wake up and find you there in my arms and…" Julie stirred, turning her face to nuzzle his chest, and he gave her a fierce, hard hug. "Do you have any idea what it was like, not being able to tell you anything? Not being able to talk to you?"

Do you have any idea what it was like, falling in love with a criminal? Oh, Chayne.

"I thought it was because you didn’t want to get close to me," she whispered around the constriction in her throat. "I thought you didn’t want to get to know me."

"You didn’t want to get to know me, did you?" Chayne asked softly, nudging her head with his chin. "At first."

"No. I was afraid."

After a moment, Chayne asked in a low voice, "Was it all bad, Julie? Baja, and being my— Being with me?"

"No," she whispered. "You know it wasn’t."

"You seemed so distraught about it. Angry. Like you hated yourself for being with me. Hated me."

"Not you—just myself."
And God help me, Chayne, I still do.

"You were so miserable, it tore me up, not being able to ease your mind. I kept trying to tell you it was all right, that it was okay to love me. Didn’t I tell you?"

"Yes."
But it wasn’t, Chayne; don’t you understand? It wasn’t.

"I wanted you to be as happy about it as I was." He gave her bottom a gentle swat. "I told you to trust me."

Julie kept silent, pressing her face into his chest in lieu of a reply. Her hand stroked down across his belly, following the scar ridge, and she noticed there wasn’t the slightest quiver of withdrawal. It occurred to her all at once, and with a spasm of fear, that she had the capacity to hurt this man. This hardened, battle–scarred, dangerous man, self–possessed, resourceful and utterly unflappable under fire,
loved
her. It was an absolutely terrifying realization. Loving someone was a new and dizzying experience, and she was still trying to get used to it. But
being
loved was something else again.

I don’t want to hurt him.

She cleared her throat and said lightly, "The funny thing is, there were times when I was happy."

"Really?"

"Yes, it was so—oh, I don’t know if I can explain. So primitive. Or basic. There’s a certain contentment to be found—and if this gets out, I’ll be drummed out of the feminist movement."

"Are you a
feminist?"

"Hush—let me finish. It was like being part of a primitive tribe or something. I thought sometimes that I could be happy just being there with you. Cooking for you… If only—"
Oh, Chayne, why didn’t you tell me who you were?

"Speaking of cooking…"

"Uh–oh."

"Come on, woman." He gave her bottom another swat, somewhat less gentle than the first. "Since you’re thinking along those lines anyway, how about finding your man something to eat?"

"I thought you said you didn’t need food."

"A rash statement, made without first consulting my stomach."

"Hmm. Is that what I’ve been listening to?"

"Yes. Come on.
Up."
He tumbled her, laughing, out of bed and then lay back, his head cradled on his arm, to watch her.

"Hey, that’s nice," he said softly as she slipped into a short kimono of black silk. "Is that what off–duty Border Patrol agents wear?"

She shot him a look as she tied the sash. "I don’t know. I bought it after I decided not to be a Border Patrol agent anymore. Are you going to lie there while I wait on you hand and foot? Do you expect me to bring you your meals in bed? What do you think I am?"

Chayne’s eyebrows shot up. "What’s this, back talk already? How quickly they forget! What do I think you are?" His hand shot out and caught the tie to her wrap. "Come here, woman." His voice was light, but his eyes blazed with familiar fires, and they held hers captive as he drew her to the edge of the bed. When her knees touched the mattress he went on pulling, and the tie came loose with a soft slithering sound.

"What do I think you are?" he repeated very, very softly, still holding her eyes. Then abruptly he sat up and caught her legs between his thighs. "My woman. " Very slowly he parted the edges of the black silk robe. "My woman…" His hands measured the curve of her waist. "Say it, Julie. You…are… mine." His fingers splayed across her belly and slid downward, and still his eyes held her enthralled. "
Say it."

"Yes," she whispered, closing her eyes. Her legs had begun to tremble.

"Uh–uh.
Say
it, Julie. I want you never to forget it." The words were whispered against her belly as one hand applied pressure to the base of her spine and the other slipped between her thighs. He cupped her gently, his hands holding the center of her femininity hostage while his tongue circled and probed her navel.

"Yes… I—I can’t—" Julie gave a violent shudder and clutched at his shoulders as her knees buckled. "I am yours," she gasped. "Oh help."

For a few moments longer the exquisite torture went on, and then he released her and pulled her, breathless and shaking, into his lap. While she hid her hot face in his neck, he stroked her back and legs and murmured, "So…now you know who you are. Don’t forget it."

"I don’t know. You may have to refresh my memory from time to time."

"Wanton. Up, now, and into the kitchen!"

"Demon!" she threw back at him—when she was safely out of reach.

Julie heard the shower start as she was emptying the contents of her refrigerator and cupboards onto the counter, and was surprised by the stirring of warmth the sound produced in her chest. He was here, he was real—no mirage. A certain throbbing pressure between her thighs gave ample testimony to that.

And he loves me.

Then the pain returned to nibble at her heart.
Oh, Chayne, if only you’d told me.

"I don’t suppose you have a razor?" The shower noise had ceased.

Julie called back, "Disposables in the right–hand drawer."

"Thanks. Shaving soap?"

A little chill wafted through her. She opened her mouth, then closed it, lifted her hands and put them back down. When she didn’t answer, Chayne’s voice came again. "Julie?"

She looked up to find him standing in the doorway, a towel knotted precariously around his narrow hips. "I don’t have any," she said in a low voice. "You won’t find an extra toothbrush, either. Colin never stayed here."

"Julie—"

"I, um…have to tell you about Colin."

"No, you don’t."

"Then why did you ask for—"

His voice was very gentle. "It was thoughtless. I thought you might have a bar of soap around—something I can work up a lather with. That stuff you have hanging in the shower won’t cut it, I’m afraid."

Julie cleared her throat and muttered, "I think there’s a bar in the kitchen."

"Kitchen?"

"I use it for doing my hand washables sometimes."

"Hmm." He turned back into the bathroom while Julie fished the soap out from under the sink. She took it to him and stayed in the doorway to watch him work the soap with his hands. The stark white lather against his dark skin fascinated her, and brought back vividly the first time she had watched him shave, that morning she’d discovered his tiny dimple–scar and first realized he was human.

"Do you always shave in the evening?" A blob of lather fell onto his collarbone; she reached out a finger and wiped it off.

Chayne raised his eyebrows and gave her a quizzical glance. "No, I don’t." Julie tried unsuccessfully to dodge the soapy finger he touched to the tip of her nose. He chuckled and gave her cheek a messy caress. "I marked you with my beard once before," he murmured, smiling at her creeping blush. "But I’m not a sadist."

Julie coughed and studied her bare toes, beset all at once by an inexplicable shyness.

"Julie?" His voice was devastatingly gentle. "What’s the matter?"

"I think I need to tell you about Colin."

"Not on my account. I won’t hold you accountable for what you did before you met me, if you’ll do me the same favor. I’ll admit to being possessive, but I’m not—"

"I need to, Chayne."

He scrutinized her carefully for a moment, then abruptly rinsed his face, patted it dry and pulled her against his side. "Okay," he said briskly, meeting her eyes in the mirror. "Tell me.

She took a deep breath. "I met him in court, actually. Several years ago. He was representing a company we’d raided; I was a witness. Anyway, we became friends. Just friends. We’d go to dinner occasionally; he’d take me out in his boat. He was…" She looked down at her hands. Chayne shifted so she was in front of him, facing the mirror, wrapped in his arms the way she’d been the night at the cooking fire, when Pepe had demanded a dance. She’d felt so protected then. "Safe," she finished, realizing that, while Chayne could make her feel safe too, it wasn’t the same thing at all. She dragged her eyes reluctantly back to his.

"One time, about a year ago—no, a year and a half, I guess, because it was winter—we’d made plans to go boating and it rained. There were small–craft warnings out, so instead we wound up at his place in front of a fire. We had a few drinks and got carried away with the atmosphere."

She closed her eyes and dropped her head back against his shoulder, and he lowered his head to press the side of his face to hers. "It wasn’t the best idea in the world. I think both of us were looking for something the other didn’t have to give. But neither one of us knew quite how to go back to where we’d been before. The funny thing is, it didn’t seem to affect our friendship. Chayne, what are you doing?"

"Changing the subject," he said fiercely. "That one is closed, understand?"

He had untied her robe. She could feel it drop open, feel the roughness of the hair on his arms against her skin. Hesitantly she continued, "It’s just that…I didn’t want you to think—"

"I don’t have to think. I know what you are."

"But I wanted to be… I’m sorry I wasn’t—"

"As far as I’m concerned you were," he whispered. "You are. Open your eyes, Julie."

It was a command, and she obeyed it. He slowly drew the black silk away from her body, pulled it over the curves of her shoulders and let it whisper between them to the floor. She had looked upon her own body so many times before, but never like this.

Her body looked so small, almost fragile, superimposed upon that hard, dusky masculinity. But at the same time there was a new voluptuousness… a ripeness. She watched, fascinated, as a rosy glow suffused her skin from her scalp to the delta of her thighs—the point where the mirror image stopped.

"You’re blushing." Chayne chuckled softly.

"All over," Julie gulped, chagrined.

"That’s one reason why I love you, you know. Because you blush. Because you were, are, and always will be, only
mine."

The pain in her chest eased.

From beneath heavy eyelids she watched his hands splay over her abdomen and move slowly upward to cup her breasts, dark hands against creamy skin. Her nipples stood out like flowers…roses; his fingertips stroked them into tender buds. The fire in her skin turned inward and raced along her nerves to her core. Her eyelids fluttered and dropped.

"Chayne," she said weakly, "what about food?"

"Man," he intoned, "does not live by bread alone."

"Are you sure? I wouldn’t want you fainting from hunger in the middle of—"

"Listen, you shameless wanton— Wasn’t that what you said? ‘Shameless wanton’?"

"Don’t make fun of me."

"Never. The only hunger I care about right now is the one I have for you."

He held her tightly against him so she could feel his need of her, and he slipped his hand between her thighs. She turned her hot face into his neck and whispered, "Chayne, you’re all nice and clean. You smell so good. I haven’t showered."

"Umm. Good."

"Good?"

Leering playfully at her startled expression, he murmured gleefully, "I’ll bathe you."

"Hey, that’s not fair," Julie laughed shakily. "You’ve already had your bath."

"Hmm. Does seem a shame." Chayne stepped back and reached to turn on the shower. "How’s your hot water supply?"

"Adequate. Not unlimited. But you—"

"Hush. Don’t worry, I’m not water soluble. Come with me. I want to do something about that blush."

T
HERE WAS SOMETHING
cooking. Bacon. The smell drifted through layers of sleep and stirred small feelings of guilt.

Poor Chayne, Julie thought.
He’s given up on getting me to fix his dinner.

She tried to feel guilty enough to get out of bed and investigate, but it was hard when she felt so heavy. Her body ached—a good ache, except for something damp in the vicinity of her ribs. A groping exploration produced a wet towel, the towel Chayne had wrapped her in just before he’d picked her up and carried her to bed.