Night Fever (30 page)

“What about Mack?”

“He's gone over to visit his friend John. I said it was all right. Was it?” he added.

“Yes. John's mother said it was all right any time.”

“You're just worn out from overwork. A paper route,” he muttered, glaring at her from his superior height.

“Well, it was all I could get that would fit in with my regular job,” she said defensively.

His dark eyes went from her wan, freckled face to her slender body and back up again, seeing the gauntness in her cheeks, the dark circles under her eyes. “I shouldn't have stayed away so long,” he said, his deep voice pleasant in the stillness of the room. “But relationships are difficult for me, even on good days. I've spent most of my adult life alone. It made me angry that you were more concerned about Clay than you were about me, especially when it was me he was accused of trying to murder.” He stuck his hands in his pockets. “Maybe putting your family first is natural. I don't have any family, so I don't really know. But I shouldn't have allowed that resentment to make me desert you at a time when you needed someone.”

“I didn't help by saying I was sorry the bomb didn't work,” she said softly, searching his hard face. “I didn't mean it. It hurt me that you spied on Clay to have him arrested. I guess that was the most damaging thing of all.”

His teeth ground together. It was the biggest stumbling block to their future together, and he couldn't do a thing about it—not without incriminating Mack. He looked away.

“I'm not perfect, honey,” he said tersely. “I never claimed to be.”

She nodded. She lay back against the pillows with a tired sigh. “Thank you for what you did for Granddad,” she said softly. “But we can manage, now.”

“I'm glad to hear it. But you're not managing without me,” he said stubbornly. He moved closer to the bed and stared down at her. “You don't want me around. I understand that. But you need someone, and unless you can pull a man out of your pillowcase, you're stuck with me. You can't carry all this alone.”

“I've been doing it alone for years,” she protested hotly.

“You haven't been pregnant for years,” he shot back.

“Rourke!” she began angrily.

He sat down on the bed and leaned over her, his dark eyes cutting into her hostile hazel ones. “I've never met anyone half as stubborn as you are,” he said under his breath. His eyes fell to her soft mouth. “Or as sweet. I'm lonely, Becky—so lonely.”

He knew how to turn the knife, she thought miserably as she felt his smoky breath mingle with hers. He brushed back the long strands of disheveled honey-brown hair from her face and bent to kiss her eyelids. Her heartbeat began to speed up and her breathing changed suddenly as his lips moved from her eyes to her cheeks and then, inevitably, down to her parted lips.

“Do you remember how it felt that night?” he breathed into her open mouth, hearing the whimper that came out of her throat as he whispered the explicit, arousing words. “Yes, you do, don't you? You remember how we clung to each other on the floor, burning so hot that we didn't mind the discomfort, blind and deaf to everything except the sweet, sharp pleasure of our bodies joining in that anguished rhythm.”

His hands slid down her throat and found her breasts, swollen under her top. She stiffened as his fingers circled them, burning up with the fever he was kindling.

“You bit me,” he whispered, lifting his head so that he could search her misty eyes. “And at the last, I remember being glad my windows were closed, so the neighbors wouldn't hear you when you began to cry out under me.”

“Stop,” she whispered huskily. “You mustn't!”

“Hush,” he ground out against her lips. His hands went under the top to unfasten her bra. He moved it away and then she felt his cool fingers against her hot skin, soothing the ache he'd created.

“Oh, please,” she said in a hoarse whisper. Her hands helped him, gathering the top under her chin as she arched, to let him look at her, to invite his mouth. “Please, Rourke, this isn't fair!”

He cupped her gently, nuzzling the taut mauve peak with his nose and then his lips before he took it into his hot mouth with a slow, sweet suction that made her body clench with delight. She stopped protesting and her eyes closed.

His free hand slid to her jeans and found the top button unfastened. He smiled against her breast as he moved the zipper down so that his lean fingers could lie flat and possessive over the soft swell of his child.

“Can you feel the baby yet?” he whispered, lifting his mouth so that it was poised over hers.

“Not really,” she said unsteadily. “It's too soon for him to move.”

“He's tiny,” he said, searching her eyes. “I saw a picture in one of the books. At two months, he'd fit into my hand, but he'd be perfectly formed.”

Her blood surged at the look on his face, at the soft, deep words. “You've had women,” she said slowly.

“A few,” he said quietly. “Never like you, that night. I was barely able to get my clothes off in time. That's why you're pregnant. I lost control completely.”

“I did, too,” she said. “It felt so sweet when you started to touch me. Nobody ever had, like that. My skin was so hot it burned, and I wanted yours against it.”

His mouth crushed down onto hers while his hand worked to get his shirt pulled up. He lifted her in a gentle arch so that her breasts met and flattened against his cool, hair-roughened skin. She shivered. Her body wanted him instantly. It was that simple, that profound.

“What if Mack comes in?” she gasped when he lifted his head again.

He saw the desire in her eyes, the need. His own was fierce. “I'll lock the door, in case he comes back.” He did, and came back to her, stripping off his shirt on the way. Everything else followed it, until he was nude and blatantly aroused.

She didn't have the will to protest. Her body was already taut with desire. It knew his intimately and wanted it, demanded it. It had been such a long time. He was the father of her child, and she loved him. She lay very still under his hands while he undressed her. But when his mouth pressed down hungrily on her stomach, she cried out.

His body slid onto the cool coverlet beside her, dark against her paleness. His eyes glittered even as he smiled at her undisguised eagerness.

“God, I've gone crazy remembering,” he breathed. He looked down at her breasts, touched them reverently while she watched his hand, breathing unsteadily at the erotic sight.

He bent and kissed her breasts slowly, enjoying their softness. His body eased down, so that he was hard against her hips, and his powerful legs eased between hers in a lazy rhythm that belied the faint tremor in his body.

She felt him touch her intimately, probe and draw back, both hands beside her head on the coverlet while his body fenced gently with hers and he laughed deep in his throat at the way she reacted.

He teased her with his body while his mouth toyed and tormented hers in the hot silence of the room. And all the while she watched him with her heart shaking her breasts, her body shivering with the need he was escalating to urgency.

“Do you want me?” he whispered wickedly, advancing and withdrawing his hips, watching her body arch in a desperate seeking motion.

“Yes,” she moaned, gasping. “Please, Rourke, please!”

“Not yet,” he breathed, brushing his mouth over hers. “You don't want it enough.”

“Yes…I do!”

He bit her lower lip and his movements became more sensual, more provocative. The faint rhythmic probing caused her to shudder and pull at his arms.

“No, you don't,” he whispered. He kissed her roughly and abruptly rolled over on his back. His arousal was so blatant that she couldn't drag her eyes away from it. “If you want me, you'll have to take me,” he taunted softly, his eyes so sensual and dark that they made her tingle all over.

She didn't know how to, but her body was on fire. She needed him desperately. With more enthusiasm than skill, she straddled his hips and, blushing, tried to join her body to his. He smiled with pure arrogance at her efforts and finally took pity on her. “Like this, little one,” he whispered, lifting and guiding her.

She gasped out loud when his invasion met with no resistance, and he smiled hotly.

“Now,” he breathed, grimacing as the pleasure shot through him. “Move on me, like this.”

He taught her, welded her to him with steely fingers on her thighs, watched her with fierce possession. He'd never liked this position with other women, but it was madly exciting with Becky. He liked the shy fascination in her eyes, the way she blushed when he lifted her and made her watch. Most of all, he liked the exciting little noises that jerked out of her when the pleasure began to take her.

“You aren't quite strong enough for this,” he whispered when her muscles gave out. He turned her so that she lay beside him, one lean hand gathering her hips so that he could control them.

“Now, look at me,” he whispered.

She opened her misty eyes and looked into his as he moved against her, inside her, with a slow, steady rhythm that was audible when their damp bodies touched. “Feel me.”

“Oh!” she cried out, shuddering, at the first sharp twinge of pleasure.

His lean hand slid down, pulling her hips roughly to his. “Harder,” he whispered huskily. “I want you so close that we'll have to be pulled apart. That's it! Yes!” He ground his teeth together and his other hand joined the first, his fingers biting into her soft thighs as he moved rhythmically, faster and faster, his eyes still blazing into hers, his breath jerking out.

She heard the springs under them, his tormented heartbeat, his breathing, but her attention was focused on the hot tension building in her lower spine and beginning to radiate outward at a fantastic rate. She clung to his muscular arms, moving with him as the pleasure built, weeping a little at the intensity.

“Look at me,” he said roughly. “I want to see your eyes when you feel it.”

She tried, but the spasms came suddenly and sharply, and after one shocked gasp, her eyes closed while she spun around in a hot maze of anguished fulfillment.

“Becky.” He groaned harshly. His breath caught and then he cried out, his hands contracting on her thighs as he shuddered fiercely against her in ecstasy.

It seemed a long time before he released his painful grip on her, but he didn't let go. His arms enveloped her gently and he cradled her, his body still intimately locked with hers while they struggled to breathe.

“We…shouldn't have,” she whispered miserably, a little ashamed of her weakness.

“We made a baby together,” he said softly. His mouth brushed her cheek, her neck. “You belong to me.”

“Rourke…”

He rolled her over on her back, his powerful body between her legs, his arms catching his weight. He held her eyes and began to move, very slowly. Her arousal was instant and ardent, and she gave in without a protest.

This time was slower and sweeter, and the explosions were as tender as the kisses they exchanged. His mouth held hers captive as the shudders rippled through their locked bodies simultaneously in fulfillment.

“So tender,” he whispered against her lips. “You and I never do this the same way twice. Each time is new and beautiful and utterly satisfying.”

She hid her face in his damp throat, clinging to him. Her body sagged with weary pleasure. “You seduced me.”

“Seduction is selfish. This wasn't. My intentions are purely honorable. I've done everything I can think of to get you to marry me and give my child a name, but you won't. I want you. And you wanted me.”

She couldn't deny that, but it didn't make her feel any better about her easy capitulation.

She pushed experimentally at his shoulders and he lifted his head.

“It's all right,” he whispered. “You can't get pregnant when you already are.”

She hit his chest. “You beast!”

“I'm not a beast. I'm a normal man with normal appetites, and I can't live like a eunuch. My God, do you have any idea how beautiful you look when your body achieves satisfaction?” he asked softly, holding her shocked eyes. “Your skin glows. Your eyes go black except for a tiny band of pale green. Your lips swell and part, and you look like a siren. I lose it when I watch you,” he breathed huskily. “Looking at you pushes me over the edge.”

She averted her face, her cheeks red.

“You won't watch me, will you?” he murmured dryly. “Does it embarrass you, to look at me when I'm totally at the mercy of my body?”

“Yes,” she confessed.

“You'll get used to me. This is a deeply personal thing, Becky. There are no rules, no requirements, except pleasure. The sharing is the most important part of it.”

“It's just…sex,” she moaned.

He tilted her face back to his. “Don't ever say that again. Sex is a commodity. You and I don't have sex, we make love. Don't cheapen it with cold labels just because you find it embarrassing to go to bed with me.”