Demon Rumm (16 page)

She was sobbing dryly, and he feared he was going too fast. He drew her into his arms for another reassuring kiss, but her lips, which twisted beneath his, and her hands, which moved over him restlessly, let him know that she was as aroused as he and that her moaning sounds were of frustration and not fear.

“Your body is beautiful, Rylan,” she said when their kiss ended.

“Surely it holds no surprises for you. I’ve done nude scenes. At least from the back.”

“On the screen, you’re just a beautiful object. But this is different. This is personal.”

Her gaze moved over him lovingly. He’d always considered his well-shaped body an asset to his profession, but he’d never taken such pride in it as he did now. When she laid her hands on his chest and combed her fingers through the wet, curly hair, his heart surged because she liked him.

Their bodies were impossibly slippery, but that only intensified the deliciousness of holding each other when they kissed. His nipples grazed hers, eliciting sighs from them both. It took but a slight nudging of his hips to separate her thighs. He inched between them and didn’t stop until he felt her warm, damp femininity against his belly.

He kissed his way down her middle, nibbling with his lips, tickling with his tongue. Her neck, breasts, stomach, belly were all paid tribute by his mouth. He pressed his face into her lap and kissed the fleecy mound. He nipped the inside of her thighs with his teeth and pressed a special kiss on the faint birthmark.

“I love you, Kirsten.”

Then he touched her with his open mouth. He kissed her with love and with delight. His tongue tasted her sweat and her sweetness and kept taking samples from deep inside her until the steamy chamber was filled with her gasping cries of pleasure.

Nine

He held her close to him until the aftershocks subsided. She kept her head down, nestling it in the hollow of his shoulder. Sensitive to her embarrassment, he said nothing, but lifted her into his arms and carried her out of the sauna.

He walked to the pool and down the steps. He didn’t stop until the water was up to Kirsten’s chin. He withdrew his right arm from beneath her knees. Her legs floated down, but he knew she couldn’t touch bottom, so he held her against him.

Eventually she raised her head and looked up at him. He cupped a handful of water and emptied it over the top of her head. She laughed as it rivered down over her. Rylan was filled with such love that he could barely speak.

“Taste how sweet you are,” he said gruffly.

He kissed her, pressing his tongue deep into her mouth. Holding her tight, he submerged them. The water closed over their heads, washing away the heat of the sauna and their perspiration. They didn’t break the kiss. When they surfaced, their mouths were still locked together.

They drew apart slowly. Rylan waded back toward the shallow end of the pool, holding her up until she could touch bottom. Hands linked, they left the pool and by tacit agreement entered the house. In her bedroom, he switched on a bedside lamp. The subtle light limned their nakedness with gold. He scattered the dozen or so decorative pillows on her bed in that many directions and whipped off the bedspread, then guided her down to join him in the Victorian brass bed.

“Are you all right?” he asked, once they were lying face to face.

“Shaken and weak.”

“Me too.”

“It was unfairly one-sided, wasn’t it? I mean, you didn’t . . .”

“What do you think we should do about that?” She scooted closer to him, rubbing her body against his. His sex felt the dewy caress of her womanhood. “Kirsten,” he rasped, “say it.”

“Come inside me, Rylan.”

He covered her and with one swift thrust imbedded himself inside her. “God, you’re small,” he moaned. “And tight.” He was both delighted and concerned. “Am I hurting you?”

Her eyes fluttered open. She laid her hands on his cheeks and raised her head high enough off the pillow to softly kiss his mouth. “No. No.”

At first his movements were tentative. But he responded to the rising up of her hips to meet his, to her flushing breasts beneath his lips, to her hands which fondled his head, his back, his buttocks. Soon nothing else in the world existed or mattered, not his career, not her haunting past, not their uncertain future. Now
this
was all that counted, and he wanted to make his loving the most glorious experience of her life.

Driven as he was to climax quickly, he disciplined himself to meet her needs. But the crisis rushed upon them like a runaway train. Neither was braced for the physical and emotional impact that slammed into them simultaneously.

When it was over, he couldn’t bring himself to leave her, but stayed snuggled within the giving folds of her body. “Am I too heavy?” he asked. Slumberously she shook her head. He laughed softly. “Should I be offended or flattered that my lovemaking has put you to sleep?”

Her eyes opened lazily. “I’m not sleeping.” The words were sexily slurred. “I’m just relishing the feel of you. It’s wonderful.”

He was filled with a ferocious possessiveness. He buried his face in the curve of her neck and languished in her afterplay. She fiddled with his ears. Idly she strummed his back, trailing her fingernails up and down the groove of his spine from his shoulders to his buttocks. She palmed the firm muscles there and laughed throatily when he flexed them. Her body, too, was caressing him from within, quick little contractions that robbed him of rational thought, of breath.

“Kirsten?”

“Hmm?”

“I’m, uh . . .”

“Yes, I know. It feels so good.”

“You don’t mind?”

She shook her head.

This time it was a slow, sliding, undulating loving that sent him deep into her again and again. Pure animal pleasure rippled through them with each smooth stroke. Even the climax was long and languid. They drifted to sleep afterward.

Feathery kisses awakened him. No heavier than a butterfly in flight, they grazed his lips, then were gone. Lord, he thought. And was she . . . ? Yes, her fingers were drifting across his belly, not quite touching his manhood, but flirting with the idea.

“Little girls can get in a lot of trouble doing that to little boys,” he growled, keeping his eyes closed.

“That’s what I’m counting on.”

Her mouth settled over his. He kissed her carnally and wetly before opening his eyes to see her gamine grin. “Have a nice nap?” she asked. He grunted in response. “Hungry? I am.”

She rolled to the edge of the bed. He reached for her. “Come back here, you.”

She giggled. “I will.”

He watched her leave, thinking she had the most delectable fanny he’d ever seen, surprisingly voluptuous for a woman so slender. Grinning like the proverbial ’possum, he lay on his back, his hands beneath his head, stretching in sybaritic delight and thinking how grand life could be.

The decor of her bedroom was a surprise. In contrast to the stark modernity of the rest of the house, this room was lavishly romantic with a few antique furnishings. She might have a chic haircut and dress smartly, but within Kirsten’s breast beat the heart of an ultrafeminine lady.

Rylan adored every quaint aspect of her personality.

In several minutes she returned. He was glad to see that she was still wearing nothing but the smile of a complacent, sexually sated woman.

“Do you like Oreo cookie ice cream?” she asked.

“Was Spencer Tracy my favorite actor?”

They battled over the carton of ice cream, fencing with their spoons like swords, until the bottom had been scraped clean. Rylan set the empty carton on the nightstand and, sitting Indian fashion in the center of the bed, drew Kirsten into the circle of his legs. He positioned her to face him and draped her thighs over his. He linked his hands at the small of her back.

At first their lips and tongues were cold because of the ice cream. But one deliciously sweet kiss melded into another until their mouths were hot, seeking, and addicted to the taste of the other.

Gasping for breath, Kirsten flung her head back and gave his searching lips access to her neck. As he nibbled his way down her throat, he caressed her breasts.

“Your hands are never still,” she whispered.

“You don’t like it?”

“I love it.”

He kept his head down, unwilling to break the chain of kisses he was planting along her collarbone. “A holdover from my childhood. Cheryl would never let me play with her dolls.” His fingertips dusted the tips of her breasts. Her back arched reflexively. She leaned away from him, thrusting her chest out invitingly.

He was ecstatic with the passionate nature he had discovered beneath her secretive veneer. When the cloak of doubt and suspicion was off, she was a different woman. Fascinating. Fun. Sexy. She responded to and initiated almost more loveplay than he could keep up with.

He lowered his head and kissed each of her taut nipples in turn, then pressed his face into the shallow valley between her breasts. “I love you, Kirsten.”

She ensnared his hair in her fingers and lifted his head. “You said that before, Rylan. But it wasn’t necessary for you to say it to get me into bed with you. And it’s not necessary to say it now.”

“Is that why you think I said it?”

“Isn’t it?”

“You seem to do the thinking for both of us. You’re the lady with all the answers. You tell me.”

She lowered her gaze to his chest. As she collected her thoughts, she absently toyed with his chest hair, twining clumps of it around her fingertips. “I know how the system works. The men in the crew took advantage of girls they met on the road, promising undying love in exchange for a few days of sex.”

“Easy lays with stars in their eyes.”

“Exactly. I’m smarter than the average groupie, so I’m not naive enough to believe that you’ve fallen in love with me.”

“Why do you find that so hard to believe?”

“Because you’re a star!” she exclaimed. “Wasn’t it
People
that dubbed you the sexiest man in the world last year? You could have any woman you wanted.”

“Thanks for the compliment,” he said dryly. “But if that’s true, why didn’t I go hunting down another woman after your first rejection?”

“I wounded your ego. You had to prove to me, and to yourself, that you could seduce me.”

“At first maybe,” he admitted with chagrin. “Your indifference intrigued me.” He pulled on the fringe of hair in front of her ears and replaced each mussed strand just so, concentrating on the task while he selected and discarded the words he would say to her. “I’ve been living here with you for over three weeks. Do you still think I’m that shallow? Don’t you know me any better now than you did that morning we met in your attorney’s office?”

He looked at her earnestly, clasping both of her hands between his. “I don’t blame you for your preconceived evaluation of me. I cultivate my ‘bastard’ image. I capitalize on it. I also use it to protect myself. It affords me some privacy. But that’s an image; it’s not
me,
Kirsten. Don’t you know that by now?”

It was her lips that were trembling, but she raised her hand to his, pressing her fingers against them. “I’ve been so bitchy to you. How can you love me?”

He turned his head and playfully bit the fleshy part of her arm. “We’ve only got the rest of our lives. I’m not certain I can show you all the ways I can love you in that scarce amount of time.”

She smiled at his joke, but she was shaking her head. “We don’t have the rest of our lives, Rylan. We only have tonight.”

He stared at her in disbelief. “You expect me to walk out of your life and leave you as though this never happened?” He yanked her body forward. “Never, Kirsten. Never in a million years would I give you up now.”

“What are you proposing?”

“That we live happily ever after.”

“You’re forgetting something.”

“What?”

“That I want anonymity.”

He
had
forgotten that. They had hurdled over all the other obstacles in their path, but there was still that one. And it was mighty. “We’ll work it out.”

“Impossible.”

“Don’t ever tell me something is impossible,” he warned her in a gravelly voice. “I’ll be just that much more determined to prove you wrong.”

Sighing, she leaned forward until her forehead bumped his. “Rylan, please, don’t expect more than I can give.”

“If tonight is a sampling of what you can give, I’ll take all of it I can get.”

“I’m serious. What do you expect of me?”

“I expect you to love me in return.” He tilted his head and kissed her. “Don’t you? Just a little?”

“I don’t know,” she answered miserably.

“You love me,” he said confidently. “Otherwise, why would you be here, doing this, making love with me?”

“Because you’re beautiful.” He felt her breath filtering through the hair on his chest. Her fingers traced its growth pattern all the way down to his navel. “Because I wanted to. And needed to.”

Sliding his hands beneath her hips, he lifted her over his rigid manhood. Sighing in pleasure, she sank upon him, letting her head fall to his shoulder as she rocked her body slowly forward and backward over him.

“Rylan,” she sobbed. “Oh, Lord, I needed you. Needed this.”

There was desperation behind her soft cries, and he knew he had yet to unlock her cache of secrets. But for the moment, he responded to her physical needs. Wedging his hand between their bodies, he caressed her where they were joined. With a delicate touch, he stroked the most elusive and most vulnerable part of her. Waves of passion originated in that tiny bud of femininity and vibrated through her. When her body quickened and began to rhythmically squeeze his, he gave free rein to his own passions and filled her with the scalding evidence of his love.

He came awake slowly, at first unable to discern what had awakened him. He reached for Kirsten; she wasn’t lying against him as she had been when they’d finally exhausted themselves with lovemaking and fallen asleep.

He opened his eyes. Kirsten was still in the bed with him, but was lying out of arms’ reach. And she was crying. It had been the shudders of her weeping that had awakened him. She was shaking, but not uttering a single sound.

He stretched his arm across the bed, but he still couldn’t reach her. She lay just beyond his grasp. “Kirsten?”

The sobbing ceased abruptly. She sniffled, but she didn’t turn around. Her shoulders were hunched, her back slightly bowed. He could have delineated each individual vertebra.

“What’s wrong?” His voice was as quiet and still as the room. He got no answer. Instinctively he knew not to touch her, though he ached to. “After last night, how can you wake up crying?” He was genuinely perplexed. His body was sore. He was bone tired. His eyes were gritty from lack of sleep.

He’d never felt better in his life.

It was beyond his comprehension that she could be weeping. She wasn’t crying for joy. It wasn’t a case of her not being able to contain her happiness and pouring it out in the form of tears. Her lonely, silent weeping didn’t have a single joyful aspect. It was the heartrending, gut-wrenching kind.