Heartstrings (32 page)

Theodosia clutched his pants so tightly that her arms trembled. She couldn’t see Roman, but just the thought of where his hands were…the very idea that he was touching himself… holding himself… feeling himself…

“Hey, Theodosia!”

What?
she answered, then frowned when she realized she hadn’t spoken the word aloud. “What?”

“You know when I made you rest for those ten days before we traveled to Red Wolf? Well, I didn’t tell you this, but sometimes at night when you were asleep, I read that sex-treat book of yours. Guess what that Tibetan guy called a certain part of the male anatomy?”

Weak with desire, Theodosia barely made it to the chair across the room.

“He called it a ‘seeking manroot’!” Roman continued merrily. “‘A thrusting sword of passion,’ which is, of course, to be sheathed by the ‘wet warm velvet of the woman’s femininity.’ Oh, and get this one—‘a flaming spike with which to gently impale the quivering virgin’!”

Theodosia listened as his deep rich laughter filled the room. She realized he thought the Tibetan scholar’s descriptions ridiculous, but
she
found them so erotic that she began squirming in her chair.

“I’m getting out now,” Roman said. “But don’t worry. I’ll cover up my throbbing masculinity with a towel.” He rinsed the soap from his body, stepped out of the tub, and wrapped a towel around his waist.

Theodosia nearly fell out of her chair when he walked out from behind the screen. Lampshine shot through his long black hair like bolts of lightning through a midnight sky, and trickles of water glistened on his tanned skin, highlighting swells of muscle that bulged and stretched as he sauntered toward her.

She’d never seen his bare legs before, but she saw every inch of them now, for the towel barely covered his sex. Indeed, as he moved she caught glimpses of the dark shadows between his thick, wet thighs.

“You look a little warm, Theodosia,” Roman murmured as he stopped before her. Reaching out, he cupped her cheek and slid his fingers over her temple and around the curve of her ear. “Do you want me to open the window?”

“I will.” She jumped from the chair as if flames had suddenly burst from its seat. Her quick action brought her into direct contact with Roman’s body, and as she brushed against him, she felt something slide down her legs and land on the tips of her shoes.

There was only one thing she could think of that could have fallen.

“My towel fell off,” Roman announced, thoroughly enjoying the blend of desire and apprehension he saw brimming in her huge whiskey eyes.

Theodosia kept her gaze centered on his lopsided grin. “Put it back on,” she whispered.

“Why? Don’t you want to see the hard, jutting length of my desire?”

Her knees wobbled. “No.”

“Sweet little liar, you do
so
want to see it. You’re curious as hell to see for yourself what a real-life lunging lance looks like.”

“Roman, I am going to hide the sexual treatise so you cannot read any more of it. Now, please pick up the towel and put it back on.”

He slid his arm around her waist. “I’ve got a lot of the book memorized, Theodosia. For example: ‘When a man lies with a willing virgin, he must remember that she has entrusted to him her entire future of lovemaking. He must hold her gently, fondle her tenderly, and speak sweet words to her so she will let go of her fears and become moist and well prepared to accept his pulsing staff.’”

Theodosia hadn’t the strength to object when he drew her close to him. As he had just described, his sex pulsed against her, and she felt herself moisten with a desire so intense that all she could think about was Roman fulfilling it.

Somehow, she thought of one weak protest. “Roman, have you forgotten what I told you in Singing Creek?”

“What was that?”

“That my willingness led you to believe that we would continue such intimate activities—”

“Oh, that. Yeah, I forgot it. I still can’t remember much of it.”

“Roman, it is extremely unfair of me to allow you such liberties because—”

“Theodosia, believe me. I see nothing at all unfair about what we’re doing. And now that we have that little worry of yours taken care of, let’s get back to what I read in your book,” Roman murmured. “The man has to hold the woman gently. Like this.” He curled his other arm around her and traced her spine with the tips of his fingers. “And he has to fondle her gently. Like this.” He brought his right arm around to her front and took her warm, full breast into his hand. “And now for the sweet words.”

Bending so that his mouth was but a sigh away from her ear, he pressed a soft kiss to her earlobe and tried to remember some of the sensual lines he’d read in the sexual treatise. He failed to recall any of them and realized that he’d been so absorbed by the passages concerning techniques of lovemaking that he’d only skimmed the parts that concerned flattering a woman.

So he’d make up his own sweet words. “I like your eyes,” he whispered. “They’re the color of tree bark. The color of a well-worn saddle. The color of whiskey, Theodosia, and if I look into them for a long while, I feel drunk.”

Theodosia barely heard him. She could only concentrate on the fact that he was naked, fully aroused, and pressing himself into her.

It was too late to stop him now, she knew. How could she ever have thought it possible to withstand the power of Roman’s magnetism in the first place? She could no more escape his hold on her than she could if she were bound to him with ropes.

Roman smiled when she went soft in his arms. “And your lips…pink as Secret’s tongue. As boiled gulf shrimp. Pink as dawn, Theodosia, and just as pretty.”

Turning his head, he kissed a path to her mouth. She parted her lips for him in sweet welcome. Reveling in his deep, unhurried kiss, she laid her hands on his broad shoulders and emitted a soft sound that was half moan, half whisper, and all surrender.

Roman lifted her into his arms, carried her to the bed, and gently laid her down. His eyes never leaving hers, he straightened, and as he stood beside the mattress, he silently demanded that she look at and know each part of him.

And Theodosia obeyed his sensual command…

Chapter Thirteen

H
is male beauty brought forth
emotions she’d never realized existed. She felt more than astonished, more than captivated.

Wonder enveloped her, an all-consuming sense of awe that defied her to resist the yearning to touch him. Slowly, as if prolonging the pleasurable anticipation, she reached out her hand and slid her fingers into the thick black hair between his hips.

The sight of her pale skin against his darkness both startled and amazed her. Unaware that she was licking her bottom lip, she trailed one finger down his rigid masculinity.

Roman shuddered violently. His head fell back over his shoulders, and a tortured groan ripped from deep inside his chest. Raising his head again, he captured Theodosia with a look that bade her to watch his every move.

She did.

He cupped the soft pouch that hung between his thighs, and then slowly, slowly, closed his fingers around his thick arousal.

In total fascination, Theodosia watched as he glided his hands up and down. Suddenly, she comprehended what it was he wanted her to do.

She took him gently into her hand. Her own action filled her with a desire so deep, she swore she felt the beginnings of the sexual rapture Roman had once given her.

She lifted her gaze up to his face. “How I can feel the early tremors of pleasure before you have even touched me is beyond my comprehension, but I do feel them, Roman.”

He smiled at her, pondering the fact that one of the things he’d always detested about women was their penchant for deception.

Theodosia possessed no such fault. On the contrary, she always spoke honestly about her desire, knowing that he would help her to understand the unfamiliar feelings she experienced when with him.

So as not to startle her, he lowered his massive frame onto the bed as slowly as possible. Stretched out and lying on his side beside her, he curled his hand over her smooth thigh and smiled at her again.

She laid her hand on top of his and felt something right about the moment. Something comforting, as if she belonged right where she was…

In his arms, basking in the warmth of his smile.

“Desire—all by itself—feels good, Theodosia,” Roman explained. “And now that you’ve sampled a big part of the pleasure that can be had between a man and a woman, your body recognizes it and— well, I guess you start the pleasure all on your own just by thinking about it.”

“I’ve sampled a big part of the pleasure,” Theodosia mused aloud. “I take that to mean that I have not gone full circle.”

“No.”

She understood what he meant. Without realizing it, she began to fantasize about making love with Roman. Being intimately joined with him—and ultimately creating a child with him.

Her thoughts proved so beautiful that she didn’t want to let them go.

But memories of Lillian forced her to do so. She pulled the fantasies from her mind and reminded herself that the child was not to be her own. It would be Lillian’s, and Lillian’s preference in men was obvious in Upton. Her sister hadn’t fallen in love with and married a rugged Texan who wore revolvers at his hips and could track anything under the sun. Lillian had married a brilliant Harvard professor who had dozens of academic awards to his credit.

She could not make love with Roman and risk conceiving. Period.

“You can’t get with child by touching me, Theodosia,” Roman whispered, seeing her every thought within the depths of her eyes. “And it won’t happen by my touching you, either. You know that.”

She did know. Moving away from him so she could see him in his entirety, she dropped her gaze and reached out to hold him again. The instant she touched him, the initial pleasure she’d felt only moments ago became an ache that she knew only Roman could soothe.

“Roman?”

He didn’t answer but waited patiently for her to complete her intimate exploration. Only then would he fulfill her need.

He moved his hips slightly forward, coaxing her to continue.

Her eyes tracing the path her fingers took, Theodosia slid her hand up and down, savoring the incredible feel of him.

She thought him velvet, she thought him stone.

She thought him magnificent.

Raising her gaze to his face, she sent him a silent plea.

He rose to his knees and gently pushed her shoulder until she was lying on her back. Lifting his leg over her hip, he straddled her thighs.

Theodosia lay motionless, staring at him so intently that his image etched itself in every crevice of her mind.

Looming above her, keeping her captured between his legs, and gazing down at her with smoldering intent in his vivid blue eyes, he presented a majestic picture of strength and masculinity. She waited in sheer awe for whatever he would do to her.

Slowly, carefully, he lay upon her, covering her body with his own. Desire pumped steadily through him. God, she felt good beneath him. All soft and warm and willing.

Without realizing her own actions, Theodosia parted her legs and lifted her hips into his. His rigid manhood pushed into her belly, and although the sensation sent her to greater heights of desire, she knew something wasn’t right.

She wanted to feel him lower. Closer to the ache that continued to throb throughout her womanhood.

With her hands on the mattress, she tried to push herself toward the headboard of the bed.

Roman was well aware that she struggled to position herself in such a way as to feel him poised between her thighs. The woman had no willpower. Impossible as it seemed to be, he would have to be strong enough for both of them.

He took a deep, ragged breath, closed his eyes, and forced himself to concentrate upon the fact that if he made love to her, Theodosia would later hate herself and him, too.

The possibility of that happening appalled him so suddenly, he stiffened.

“Roman?” She writhed beneath him again.

“Be still, Theodosia,” he whispered, his lips moving within the mass of her fragrant hair, his body ablaze with desire he could barely keep leashed.

“But I—”

“I know.” Raising his head, he looked down at her and smiled. “I’m going to do something new. Don’t be afraid.”

She kissed his shoulder. “I could never be frightened of you, Roman.”

Her admission tightened his chest with what he now identified as tenderness. Taking hold of one of the thick, fluffy bed pillows, he rolled to the mattress, then sat up. “Easy, sweetheart,” he cooed to her when she reached for him. Smiling gently at her, he slipped his hand under the small of her back, lifted her lower torso off the bed, then positioned the pillow beneath her bottom.

Quickly, he stretched out upon her again and threaded his fingers through her luxurious golden hair. Holding her luminous gaze, he moved his body down hers until he felt his chin glide across the softness curled upon the mound of her femininity.