Red Midnight (20 page)

But at this point he had no mercy. He pulled her over, and continued his kisses along her spine, her shoulders, her hips, until she was half sobbing in her pleas. And then once more she was facing him as he brought his weight above hers, hovering there as he met her eyes with his own so dark they were indigo in the night, his features tense.

“Now touch me, Erin,” he commanded, and she hadn’t a single thought of not complying, and the flesh that she touched left her feeling that she skirted the rim of a volcano. And then she touched a vital pulse that was thunder, soaring with the warmth of life, of need.

His weight lowered, his knee wedged her giving thighs, bringing them together. He held there a moment, their bodies just brushing, and the torment was exquisite.

“Erin?” Even now there was a query in his voice.

But she was past pleading. Her arms encircled his neck and she arched high against him, her pressing, writhing slender form giving him all the answer she would now give. Her lips came to his, her teeth bit gently into his lower lip, her tongue imparted her urgency as she became the one to demand.

Even now he was excruciatingly slow, coming to her until she was sure she would pitch into the black abyss with sheer ecstasy as he filled her.

Nothing could be better … nothing could touch her more … nothing could take her higher. But he did.

As her needs matched his he unleashed all that he had held back, taking her in a wild thirst that could not be slaked. The tempo had been slow; it fevered into a rhythm that was a tempest, a beautiful matched tempest. Her writhing undulation matched his, she arched to him continually with instinctive knowledge of his satin thrusts, barely conscious of all that she gave.

And somewhere, back in his mind, he was thinking of rose petals. So fragrant, soft, perfect, beautiful. Opening to the sun, as she had opened to him, ever more beautiful. Her slender legs held his; she had indeed found full bloom, her feminine demands as delightfully chaotic as his own, her lure and need amazingly, erotically, sensually passionate. In his arms she had found abandon.

He had created a wildcat, a witch, a vixen, and she was incredible. Then even that thought was swept away. The raw need to find ultimate release brought his fever to a pitch. He slipped his hands beneath her, firmly gripping the shapely mounds of her buttocks, holding her to him with a devastating dominance.

The pinnacle that had long been anticipated, the crest of the agony and delirious rapture, came explosively. The volcano erupted, and tremor after tremor of shattering ecstasy washed over Erin in moments so sweet they were blinding; a goodness, a tightness, that touched so deeply she almost slipped into the abyss with the splendor of the climax. And even as the feelings slowly ebbed, bringing her back, new senses just as wonderful swamped over her. The liquid heat of him still inside her filled her with a part of him.

And it was wonderful to be held in comfort, held in the glow of aftermath, bathed in the feeling of complete contentment. Still she felt the stroke of his fingers, light now, over the sheen of her back. It made her feel as if she belonged to the man, as if she were sheltered within his strength. It was so secure, so, so comfortable.

A rasping sound began to fade, and Erin realized that they were just beginning to breathe normally once more. She began to wonder if she could meet his eyes despite the wonderful need to cling to his hard body after all the things she had whispered, after the abandoned urgings her body had willfully conveyed to his.

But suddenly he was leaning above her; his extraordinary eyes were brilliant with blue tenderness, his lips held a very male smile of gentle amusement and pleasure.

“Erin,” he teased, “I think I should tell you that you didn’t disappoint me one bit—you astounded me! I don’t think I have ever made love with a woman so perfectly, wildly, sensually pleasing before in my life.”

Erin blushed, her lids lowered, her lashes shadowing her cheeks with sunlit honey.

“You’re gorgeous in shades of pink!” he chuckled softly. “Tell me, were the feelings there? Do you think you’re still going to have to envy your friend Casey?”

A slow smile filtered into Erin’s lips. He knew damned well just what she had been feeling. He had made her tell him even though her urgent hungers had been clearly … clearly! … evident. He had felt them all.

She opened her eyes to him. “I truly doubt that even Casey has ever experienced anything as wonderful as—” she cut herself off quickly. You. That was the word. It had all been Jarod. But she couldn’t say that to him. She had discovered he could be gentle, caring. Giving, so completely giving. She hadn’t known just how fully he had checked his own desires until she had met the storm-swept need of him inside her. But though they were lovers now, there were certain things that shouldn’t be said. She wasn’t terribly sure that they were friends.

He is my husband, she thought. But that was a foreign thought. Unrelated. Because he could be kind did not mean that he despised marriage any the less, that he had forgotten the true wife he had lost.

“Tonight,” she said honestly. “Oh, Jarod, wonderful can’t describe it. There aren’t words for the feeling…. Thank you.”

He wrapped his arms around her, holding her very close. “Thank you,” he said, and his words were deeply husky and shockingly humble. Suddenly Erin didn’t want to move. She wanted to stay where she was and forget there was a world, stay caught within the magical fantasy of the night and beat of his heart against her cheek.

She closed her eyes and opened them. It was dark, but the glow from the bathroom, which had allowed them the aesthetic pleasure of seeing one another, still filtered over the room.

They hadn’t had dinner, she thought, but she wasn’t hungry. Not now. Or if she was hungry, it was for a second chance to stimulate and then appease the appetites she had just learned existed.

God, she thought, in silent prayer, what Jarod had done for her tonight. She hadn’t believed, she hadn’t dared dream, that ecstasy existed, but Jarod had given it to her. And in that simple giving, he had dimmed all the horrors of the past. He had taken the pain away, absolved the humiliation. And as her body was healed, so now was her soul.

Yet as her heart accepted these things with gratitude, she was learning that she had been wrong before. Jarod Steele could hurt her, because she had just discovered how she needed him. She was caught in a web, living a life that was farce.

Morning would come, and she would have to resign herself to all the inevitable confusion, accept the fact that Jarod was an expert lover but that he didn’t give love itself. She was an inconvenience, a burden he had taken upon himself because of determination and the will to win.

No, she told herself, don’t think now. Just savor this….

“We missed dinner,” he murmured. “Are you hungry?”

She met his gaze and shook her head. But her silver eyes were wide and bare. They told him that she was hungry with fascination, with the incredible joy of the world he had created.

He chuckled, softly, huskily. “Oh, honey,” he whispered, taking the time to thread his fingers into the golden strands of her hair with a possessive pleasure. “I think forgetting about dinner is just fine for both of us. Because I am hungry. Very hungry. Starving …”

Morning would come. But for now, the contentment and satiation of fulfillment could not be left alone. Fantastic discoveries had been made; they had explored … and explored … studied and analyzed … enjoyed … and explored further and further … deeper and deeper….

This time her senses, attuned now to him, pulsed at his slightest touch. She could meet his lips with slow, savoring seeking.

Morning would come, but the beauty of this unique moment in the endless eternity of time was hers, with this man.

Blue ice …

Raging blue fire …

And his fire was hers.

As he tenderly began to make love to her again, she vaguely realized that, somewhere within the city, a chorus of clocks was chiming out the strokes of midnight.

D
EAR MARY,

Greetings from the U.S.S.R.! (Sorry—no palm-tree cards available!)

How are things in the old Big Apple? Believe it or not, I miss home and the insane traffic and the early spring slush and the horns blaring loud enough to deafen.

But anyway, without travelers, you couldn’t have a travel agency!

How is your other half of business and home? Give Ted my love.

Anyway, the country is fascinating. I have thoroughly enjoyed everything that I’ve seen. I have a marvelous guide named Tanya, who has been with me all week. I have learned more from her than I could learn from a million books!

I wanted to let you know that my trip will be extended a bit, and since I know how you—and that charmingly overprotective husband of yours—worry about me, I wanted to let you know that I’m just fine. This is going to be a surprise, I know, but I’ve remarried. (An American, not a Russian—don’t go panicking on me!)

His name is Jarod Steele and he’s attached to the U.S. Embassy through the U.N. Actually I met him in the States—call Casey and she’ll fill you in on our first encounter! We simply kept colliding, and though I know this has been hasty, it might have been one of those inevitable tricks of destiny. I was literally swept off my feet—never knew what was happening until it was too late….

Erin stopped writing with a wince. She bit on the nub of her pen. What an incredible fabrication. But she couldn’t tell Mary the truth. It seemed that no one knew the truth about anything except for her and Jarod.

And she didn’t think Jarod would appreciate her giving lengthy explanations to anyone. And so for the time being she had to convince Mary that her life was moving along beautifully. Besides, Mary and Ted would be horrified if they knew she was embroiled in a strange web of lies and deceit and confusion. She stopped chewing on the pen and started writing again.

Jarod is an incredible man. (Again, I will refer you to the opinion of our mutual friend Casey, “the male connoisseur”!) He has the capacity for great kindness, and has done wonderful, wonderful things for me….

Again Erin lifted her pen from the paper. Jarod. What could she say about him? He is a magnet, a flame; he draws, he demands. His passions are insatiable; he is like living in the center of a storm, and yet he is the most controlled man I have ever met. His eyes can be blue fire, and they can be coldest, driest ice. Behind them he hides his feelings, if he has any. I live with him, I sleep with him; I do not know him.

She thought of what she could have added in her letter.

For the next two months I will be his wife. But he does not think of me as a wife; his wife is dead. I became a responsibility of his, because of things I don’t understand. He is still not sure whether or not he harbors a spy, although I think he really believes me innocent.

When he holds me it is so wonderful I almost lose consciousness, I enter a paradise. But outside of that room, his room, our room, he is cool and abrupt. He is polite, but distant. He speaks, and he expects his words to be honored without question. I am not always sure—at times when we are physically engaged—whether he actually realizes I’m there or not. He is constantly working; I’ve called him several times to discover he spends a great deal of time with a mysterious “Catherine.”

Oh, God! Erin thought, if she could only write the truth, speak out. If only she could tell Mary what was in her heart.

I’m falling in love with this man, and I mean nothing to him! I am comfort at night, wild, exhilarating passion, but beyond that I am a guest he tolerates with cordiality.

I fear his temper, I know it can be explosive. I think I am a strong person, but he can sweep me away like a tidal wave. And I’m frightened, I’m caged. He can hurt me far worse than I’ve ever been hurt before, because I don’t believe I’ve ever loved like this. But we both know the facts; if he deems me innocent, as soon as he is free to get me out of the U.S.S.R. our pretense at love will be over. He expects me to file for a divorce, because he doesn’t believe in marriage. Not since Cara died. She had his love. I have his desires….

And I do try to be so adult, so mature. I act as cool as he. I can’t pretend that I wish to be anywhere but in his bed, but I do pretend that I accept our situation as that of two knowledgeable adults, mature enough to accept our needs for what they are.

Erin bit through the plastic shell of her pen. Scowling at herself, she picked up the pieces and discarded them before the ink could create a disaster. Jarod had gone to Kiev. She didn’t expect him back until tomorrow, but she worked at his desk and wanted to leave it as organized and immaculate as he did. She didn’t want to give him any cause to find her bothersome.

She picked up another pen.

Mary, I know this is brief, but I just wanted to let you know that everything is wonderful and I’m very happy….

Wonderful! Oh, Erin! You’re married to a man who still thinks you might be capable of espionage! He watches you, he monitors you, and you still don’t know what’s going on, what Project Midnight is, why your engagement ring came from a Russian official. He orders you to stay in the apartment when he is gone, unless you are out with Tanya. Although he often ignores you, he knows your every move. If one step were out of line, he would pounce on you. You never see him during the day; you sit down to dinner like polite strangers.

Yet every time he touches you, you melt like heated silver. Like an absolute idiot, you fell in love with a man with no wish to love you back. And you cling to him with your senses lost, your willpower nonexistent.

Oh, Erin, how could you let such a thing happen to you after all you’ve struggled to achieve for yourself? You are no innocent, no young child to become infatuated and believe in fairy tales. You have to break away.

And it wouldn’t be a loss, because he had given her so much. He had given her back her own belief in love. But she knew what she tried to hide in her subconscious; she would be just as crippled, because another man would never, never compare to Jarod Steele.