Desire's Edge (28 page)
She struggled to stay awake, to tell him what she so desperately needed to. But in moments, she faded away.
Dante watched her. Watched over her, like some sort of guardian of her sleep. He could barely make out the silhouette of her cheekbones, her jaw, in the dark. But he knew how beautiful she was, all the same.
A part of him wished she was awake. He didn’t even know why. He was too worn-out to perform sexually at that moment. Or maybe not. His desire was endless when it came to Kara. But there was more to it than that.
On the other hand, he needed some time to think. To sort out all the strange ideas sifting through his mind. The weird things he’d been feeling all evening, that had been building over the last few weeks.
The scene with her at the Pleasure Dome had been intense tonight. Beyond intense. There hadn’t been any heavy pain play—no more than the usual spanking, which was as far as he’d taken her. He didn’t need to go further, to play harder, with Kara. It wasn’t about that anymore. Although he’d always love the power exchange, the sensation play, watching her response, he simply didn’t feel the need for anything harder. More extreme. But something else had happened tonight . . .
Something new was always happening when he was with her. There was a steady progression to things. Too much to think about.
But maybe it was time he did.
Was it possible he loved this woman?
The thought went through his head, his heart, like a brilliant flash of light. Dazzling. Pure.
His heartbeat accelerated, a tight and racing thump in his chest.
No
.
.
But was that anything more than force of habit, to deny it? He scrubbed at the stubble on his jaw. Tried to get his head in order. But he couldn’t seem to calm down.
He slipped his hand down over his chest, pressing there, as if that alone could slow his erratic heartbeat, soothe him.
Christ. He could not believe it. He wasn’t ready to believe it.
He’d known he was feeling something for her. Something new. Special. But this?
Impossible
.
.
Apparently not.
He pulled her sleeping form closer.
He just had to calm down. It was late; he was tired. He didn’t have to actually
do
anything about this. He could take some time to really figure out where his head was in regard to all this. All of this . . . love.
do
anything about this. He could take some time to really figure out where his head was in regard to all this. All of this . . . love.
He was an idiot. Behaving as if he were some stupid teenager. Which happened all too often with Kara.
He fucking loved her.
Christ
.
.
His pulse sped up, and without really thinking about it, he turned his face to inhale the scent of her hair. It was comforting.
He was losing it.
Had lost it.
Gone.
He didn’t know how the hell it had happened. But he had fallen in love, finally. Despite himself. Despite everything he knew about what he was—and wasn’t—capable of. And he didn’t know what the hell he was going to do about it.
He lay there, her head pillowed on his chest, listening to her breathe. To the sound of the rain against the windows. The occasional distant rumble of thunder. He wanted to stay awake. To figure it all out. But finally, the gentle rhythm of her breathing soothed him. That and the falling rain, making some sort of cocoon around them. His body relaxed, his mind buzzing with sensory overload. At some point, with the moon setting behind a bank of clouds and the stars beginning to fade, he slept.
It was only a few hours later, when, in the first rays of dawn, they both woke. Silently, she went into his arms. He rolled her over, her body all soft curves against him: her breasts, her belly, her sweet thighs. She spread for him and he pushed into her, easy as silk. That fluid, that smooth.
He kissed her as he arched his hips, and she sighed quietly into his mouth. So damn sweet. He couldn’t get enough of her.
Kara
.
.
She moved with him, every motion of their bodies like liquid, a perfect rhythm that took no thought. No effort. They slipped into pleasure. Or it flowed over them. He didn’t know. But soon she went tight around him, her sex hot and warm. Incredible. She panted, her climax as soft as the early morning light.
Then he was coming, shivering inside her. He held her tighter, his arms around her body. He didn’t want to let her go.
Eventually, it occurred to him that he might be crushing her. He rolled off her and she curled into him. His hand went into her hair. His breathing slowed as he flexed his fingers, the fine strands like silk.
“Kara,” he whispered. “Baby . . .”
What did he mean to say? But he was so sleepy . . .
He drifted off once more.
fifteen
It was late when Kara woke. She could tell by the angle of the sun outside the windows. She was still half-numb all over, her body buzzing. Her brain.
She turned to find Dante watching her.
“Hey.” His voice was low, smoky.
“Hey.”
She wasn’t sure how she should feel. About what had happened the night before. About how it had left her feeling. Something had happened between them. Again. Things had gone to a whole new level. Not only at the club, but there, in his bed, in the middle of the night. She remembered it like some sort of lovely dream. Except that it had really happened. She had felt it. Had felt the deeper shift in him. In the way he had touched her.
He’d been so, so gentle. So tender. There had been real emotion there, and she knew she wasn’t the only one feeling it. He’d felt . . . wide-open to her, for the first time. But now, mostly she was . . . uncertain. About how he truly felt. If she could believe what she’d sensed in him. If she could trust it.
“Kara, you okay?” he asked.
“Oh, I’m . . . Yes, I’m fine.”
He propped himself up on one elbow. She couldn’t help but notice how mussed his dark hair was. It made him look a little boyish.
“You don’t seem fine.”
She shrugged, pulling the sheet up higher over her chest. “I’m . . .” She stopped, bit her lip, then looked into his eyes. “Dante, I feel like something has changed again.”
“Yes,” he said quietly.
“Yes?”
“For me, too.”
“So, what does this mean?”
He was quiet for several long moments during which she held her breath. She didn’t feel as if she could breathe until he told her. Even while a part of her was afraid to know.
He pushed out a long breath. “It means, for me, anyway, that I’m . . . having feelings I don’t know what to do with. And I think you are, too.”
She bit her lip harder. “I . . .” Why was her heart pounding so hard? She wanted to tell him exactly how she felt. But she could not do it. “I’m having some of the same thoughts. And having a hard time dealing with it.”
“So, we’re on the same page again,” he said, his dark brows drawn together in question, even though he’d said the words so definitively.
He was waiting for assurance from her, she realized with a small shock. But to say it to him—it still felt far too risky. She was not going to be the one to tell him first that she loved him.
Then where did that leave them, if he wouldn’t tell her? Or if he couldn’t recognize it? If perhaps that wasn’t what he was feeling at all?
Her heart was a hammer in her chest, knocking painfully against her ribs. She could feel the fear seeping over her, like some sort of venom. Poison. Turning the fear into panic.
She had to get out.
She sat up in bed, so fast she was dizzy for a moment. Then she threw the covers back and swung her legs over the side.
“Kara? What are you doing?”
“I need to go.”
“What? You can’t go now.”
“Yes, I can. I have to, Dante.” She stood up, the winter air chilling her bare skin. The dizziness hit her again, and she had to pause, her hand going to her cover her eyes. The light coming through the windows seemed too bright. Too illuminating. She could feel the blood pounding too hard in her veins.
He was beside her in an instant. “What’s going on here?”
“I don’t know,” she said without turning to face him, without acknowledging his hold on her arm. “And maybe that’s the problem. I don’t know what’s happening, what to do. How you feel about anything. You’re so vague, Dante. And I’m not asking you for explanations, because I don’t have any myself. But I don’t think . . . that I can take it anymore. Not right now, anyway. I need to think. I need . . . some time to myself.”
“Don’t do this, Kara. You’re crashing. You need to be where I can keep an eye on you, make sure you’re okay.”
She whipped around to face him then. Anger surged through her, a fiery hot flow through her system.
He was too damn beautiful, the late-morning light catching his dark hair, edging it in gold. But she wasn’t going to allow herself to be distracted.
“Is that all you have to say to me, Dante? Because if it is, then I’m done here. I’m going. I don’t care about all of this crashing stuff. And I don’t think that’s what it is. Not at the core.”
“What is it, then?”
He looked truly confused. But she couldn’t explain any more to him without revealing far more than she was willing to.
She shook her head. “I am going, Dante. Don’t try to stop me. Not now.”
She started to get dressed, feeling more vulnerable in her leather club dress than she had standing there naked with him. He held perfectly still, his features shutting down, naked and so beautiful it made her ache to look at him.
He was still watching her as she slipped into her shoes, moved toward the front door where her coat was slung over a console table. She slid her arms into it, feeling colder than ever.
Dante hadn’t moved, hadn’t said a word. It made her angry. More confused than ever. More certain that she had to leave.
She gave him one more moment, waiting with her hand on the doorknob. But he stood, silent and beautiful as a statue, his mouth a tight, grim line.
She shook her head once more. And left.
Downstairs, she flagged a cab quickly, gave the driver her address and sank back into the hard seat. Her jaw was set, biting back the tears that wanted to come. But she wouldn’t allow them.
She hated that being female too often meant the reaction to anger was tears. It made her feel weak.
She hated feeling weak.
She balled her hands into fists, until her nails bit into her palms. The pain grounded her, helped her hold it together.
It wasn’t long before the cab arrived at her place. She pulled some cash from her coat pocket to pay the driver, got out, let herself into the building. The stairs seemed endless.
Just get inside, where it’s safe.
She opened her front door, slipped inside, shut it behind her. And fell against the door, her back pressed up tight against the wood, as the tears began to fall.
Damn it.
She did not want to do this. To cry over a man. She hadn’t cried over Jake. She’d just been mired in a well of self-pity, self-judgment. But she wasn’t judging herself this time. Being with Dante had never made her feel she had to.
“God damn it,” she muttered.
She pushed off the door, flung her coat off. It landed on the floor. She didn’t care. She kept moving, into her bedroom, where she got undressed and, naked, climbed into bed.
Her own bed. Her safe haven.
Except that nothing felt safe to her right now. Nothing felt familiar enough. Not as familiar as Dante’s bed. His body.
But he would not love her. So how safe would she ever be with him? She would have to leave all of this love stuff behind. Just get over it. The situation was impossible.
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