Red Midnight (19 page)

“You poor thing,” he murmured against her hair, his whisper then changing to assure her that everything was all right, that things would be okay, that she should cry if she needed to.

But she didn’t cry. She shivered and shivered until the shivering stopped. Outside the day had become night; only the warm orange glow of the fire touched them, and it was warm, and it was secure, as was the feel of the arms of the man around her.

And as he held her, the outrage continued in his mind. He didn’t speak the thought aloud again, but he was certain that if he were ever to meet the man—or men! Helmsly was guilty of emotional cruelty, the other of attempted rape—who had taken such a tender crystalline beauty and made a mockery of the innocent and loving sensuality she had offered—he would surely be tempted to kill … or cripple…. At the very, very least, rearrange a nose and jawline.

He merely held her for a long, long time. And then he tilted her chin upward, bringing her silver stare to meet his. He should leave her alone, he thought briefly. If he were really honorable, he would leave her alone. But he wasn’t quite that honorable. He was a man, and the vital male within was roaring that the wrong done to her needed to be purged.

And it was just as true that the real crime would be to leave her believing that her sensuality was anything but extremely natural and healthy.

“Erin,” he said softly. “You’re very beautiful. I don’t believe I’ve ever seen a more beautiful woman. A sexual experience between a man and a woman should be just as beautiful—and can be. I want to make love to you, I want you to know that it can be wonderful. But I won’t force you. You angered me before because I didn’t understand. I believe you know exactly what you do to me, and I believe a part of you is very eager to learn exactly what I can do to you. But the choices are all yours.”

She returned his stare, seeking something in his eyes. Then she seemed to find a new strength. Wrapping the bedspread about herself she pushed away from him and stood, walking to the fireplace.

“I … I don’t know what I expected you to want from this marriage. I suppose I did wonder … and I am very grateful. I would very much like to please you—”

“Dammit!” he suddenly roared out. “I don’t want you in my bed out of gratitude, woman!”

She felt him spring to his feet, felt him behind her even before he whirled her to face him. But her explanation was already rising to her lips as her eyes widened to the confrontation with his.

“No, no!” she murmured vehemently. “That wasn’t quite what I meant.” Suddenly she felt herself blushing to the roots of her hair. “You know I don’t mean that,” she said very softly. “I know you must know that I respond to you …” She left off, not floundering from his piercing stare, but chewing worriedly upon her lower lip.

“You’re thinking that our marriage is meaningless.”

She straightened suddenly, and her chin tilted. He was very certain he had never seen finer dignity, heard such sweet honesty.

“No, Jarod. I’m fully aware that undying love and devotion are not the necessary ingredients for an affair. And I don’t condemn a physical relationship between consenting adults. I … I want to go to bed with you.”

She slipped from his grasp and stared at the fire again. For a second she was silent, then she glanced to him with a rueful smile, then back to the fire.

“I have a friend, Jarod, a very lively and refreshing woman named Casey. She’s great. So open and honest it’s sometimes shocking! But I envy Casey often. She can tell me how very much she enjoys a man she cares about in bed. She takes great pleasure from receiving pleasure and from giving it in return.

“Jarod, I’m afraid that you’re going to find me a tremendous disappointment. I never got a thing out of sex; it was painful and humiliating. I can tell you would want a woman to give all and receive all. I—I can’t even imagine the … ecstasy Casey tells me about.”

He was so relieved he wanted to laugh, but he didn’t dare. He slipped his hands over her shoulders instead, smiling softly down into her luminous silver eyes. He lowered his lips to hers, barely touching them, allowing the tip of his tongue to circle the line of her lips, then bringing that moist inducement along her cheek to the hollow of her throat, to the lobe of her ear, his breath warm as he explored the cavity within.

She began to quiver again, but it wasn’t with the horror of memory.

He pulled away to look at her. Her breathing was quickened and labored; her lips, moist from his kiss, remained parted slightly. Her form was very pliant against his.

“Did you enjoy that?” he asked with a tender smile.

She moistened her lips with the tip of her tongue; they seemed to dry so quickly. “Yes,” she murmured huskily. “But you know that, you know that I respond to you. Its just that at a point I always panic.” She lowered her eyes. “The feeling is there with you; Jarod, I just—”

“Then trust the feeling,” he told her. He bent and scooped her into his arms. “Trust me, Erin, and I will move very slowly. I will stop whenever you wish, but if you will let me, I’ll try to show you just how ultimately beautiful it can be. I will take from you, but I’ll give you that ecstasy you’ve been envying.”

She suddenly found she couldn’t speak. She could only meet the incredible fiery hold of his eyes. She nodded. He had received his answer.

His strong sure strides moved once more to take them both back up the staircase they had descended what seemed like years before.

He laid her carefully on the bed, unwrapping the spread from about her as if she were a gift of precious and delicate crystal. He leaned over to brush his lips with hers. “How are you doing?” he murmured huskily.

“Fine,” was her whispered reply.

He straightened, holding her eyes, and undid the buttons on his cuffs and down the front of his shirt. For a second Erin was sure he would neatly hang up the shirt. But he mumbled, “What the hell,” more to himself than to her, and the shirt hit the floor in a rumpled heap.

Excitement tensed within Erin even as she watched him disrobe. She lay still, just as he had left her, shivering within. His physique was prominent in her memory before he undressed. It was so easy to recall the simple pleasure she had felt awakening in his couchette on the train.

He was so beautifully built, so sturdy and supple, sinewed and yet lean. She longed to reach out and touch the rippling muscles of his shoulders and arms. And she prayed that she could.

He cast off his shoes and socks, keeping her gaze locked to his and adding a buildup of the tension that was tangible within the room. He kept his hold on her eyes as he stepped from his pants and briefs, watching her reaction to this new view of his long, long legs, hard thighs, strong and well-shaped calves thickly netted by coarse dark hair. Tantalizing tufts of hair as enticing to touch as that which splayed across his chest, narrowed and disappeared at his waist, returned thickly again low on his abdomen, creating a fascinating frame for the vital extent of the masculine desire he had controlled so long.

A shuddering shock wave gripped Erin; she was afraid, she was eager. She was amazed and pleased that she could so excite this unique man, and was engulfed by the slow burning fever that was both torturous and delicious as it flamed low in the depths of her abdomen and took wings of flight to slowly spread in a wave of heat.

He lay down beside her, his head propped on an elbow. Unwittingly, Erin’s nervous fingers moved to grip the spread closer to her body. He stopped her with a simple touch upon her hands. “No,” he said softly, a tender smile curling the corners of his lips. “I wonder if you have any idea of how incredibly beautiful you are.” His words were accompanied by the feather light touch of his fingers moving along the length of her arm, the silken gold above, the pale, sensitive ivory beneath.

“That’s very nice of you to say,” Erin heard herself babble. She felt compelled to talk, words seemed to trip on her tongue. “I mean, especially when you believe I’m sort of a spy.”

His smile deepened, his dark fringed lids half closed, and the expression in his blue gaze was shielded from her. “But I don’t think you are a spy,” he murmured lightly. “And at this time, I would just as soon not discuss it.”

“Oh,” Erin whispered, trying to hide a touch of miserable confusion. He didn’t wish to talk; she was chattering like a magpie. But then she had warned him she was scared and so nervous. “I won’t say anything else.”

He chuckled softly. “Come here, angel-witch, and talk all you like. I want to hear you talk.” He drew her into his arms, pressing her length against his. She was on fire, he thought, as her flesh seared his. And her fire was adding fuel to his. “Tell me what you feel, Erin. Tell me what’s good,” he prompted huskily.

As suddenly as it had come, the compulsion to talk was gone. She swallowed, meeting the ocean blue of his stare in confusion. It all felt wonderful; the crisp hairs of his chest teasing the softness of her breasts, that feather touch of his fingers as they now stroked low over her spine, hips and buttocks.

“Tell me, Erin,” he persisted in a voice of raw velvet that ignited the passion within her just as the silken touch of his hands did.

She couldn’t meet the demand of his eyes. She buried her head into his shoulder and groaned, aware that he felt her quivering, the erratic pounding of her heart. And so was she aware of his need, strong and full and dizzyingly stimulating as he touched against her bare thighs.

With one hand he caressed her nape through the wealth of her hair, with the other he continued to graze her flesh softly from her spine to her firm and shapely rear.

“Then I’ll talk to you, Erin,” he murmured. “You are exquisite from the tip of your silken head to your beautiful toes. When I feel your breasts press against me, I’m afraid the wanting will drive me mad. And when I feel your hips fitting to mine, I shake as if I’ll explode with the want of knowing them further, of filling you, being one with you, claiming you as entirely mine….”

His whispers had been a hot moist singe that tantalized the very sensitive area of her throat and neck and lower ear. It was wonderful, the feel was wonderful, he could touch her with that breath of air for an eternity. But it wasn’t just the sensitive parts of her body that felt his soft lovemaking. The heated coil which had begun to unravel within her was spreading. Flame upon flame licked over her from the center of her abdomen so low and achingly deep. The feeling was overwhelming. Her fear, and the fear of being afraid, evaporated into thin mist. This man could be firm and unyielding, but he would never, never hurt her. She had always sensed his strength by his self-control. His passions could rage like wildfire, but they would stay in check until they could be matched.

Suddenly he shifted, bringing her back upon the bed, himself over her. His eyes held no hint of ice as they blazed into hers; they were a windswept storm; a blue so intense they were deepest, hottest of all flames.

Yet still he was in perfect control, still he held back. His touch, ever so feather light, grazed over her breasts. “I want to consume you,” he continued in a ragged whisper. “I want to know you, to feel you, taste the sweet salt of your flesh … that sweet fragrance that is only yours …”

His lips touched upon her again, as light as air. He held himself above her with one arm, then watched her as he caressed her body with his right hand, moving slowly, another whisper touch, exploring her, the hollows of her shoulders, cupping her breasts, stroking her belly and lower and lower, teasing until she was sure she would go mad. A moan escaped her, and he watched her as her breathing quickened. She was barely aware that she writhed now with a burning ache escalating higher and higher, the ache itself so good, yet so torturous in its reach for appeasement.

He smiled at her; it was tender, it was tense. He shifted, allowing his lips to follow after the trail that still seared from the taunting caress of his fingers. He kissed her, he marveled at her, he used the tip of his tongue to lap over her flesh in little spurts that made her writhe and clench her fingers into his shoulders, unconsciously clawing.

His mouth moved over her breasts, sensuously circling one and then the other. He stroked the hard-tipped peaks with his tongue, then grazed over them with his teeth, sending bolts of streaking fire through her system.

“Ohhhhh … !” she cried aloud, her fingers kneading into his shoulders. He lifted his head, massaging the tender mounds that rose with the arch of her back to fill his hands.

“Shall I stop?” he queried with a drawling deviltry.

She implored him with her eyes, but he wouldn’t yield his stand. “Tell me, Erin, shall I stop?”

He brought the smooth palm of his hand in rotating circles down her body as he waited for her answer, the lightness leaving his touch as it became more demanding. He brought his taunting circles to her thigh, finding the soft inner flesh.

“Erin?”

“No!” she gasped, out, inadvertently raking her fingers into his hair. “No … no … don’t stop.”

His mouth, warm and demanding, returned to her breasts, caressing each with the subtle touch of gentle care finally giving way to passion. His lips were greedy, tugging in a suctioning motion that made the electric currents playing havoc within her become electric shafts that sent her into convulsive shudder after shudder.

His lips returned to hers, hungrily, his tongue plummeting deep to quickly withdraw, leaving her senses spinning, her respiration ragged. And then, of all things, he shifted, and he was kissing her toes, moving a slow, slow pattern up the silken sheerness of her legs, barely touching one second, teeth nipping lightly the next. He moved higher and higher, his hands caressing her along with his lips, seeking full discovery as if she were a paradise of verdant land to be explored as a priceless treasure.

A strangled cry escaped her as his taunting touched upon the center of the searing heat that enveloped her. She bolted up, her fingers digging into his hair, but he eased her back.

“Is it good, Erin?” he murmured. “Tell me.”

“Oh, yes,” she gasped, and then she was talking as she had never imagined she could talk, telling him over and over that yes, it was good, and please, please, please.