The Hellion (25 page)

"Suppose I'm willing to take the risk?"

The longer she sat with her hand over his clamoring

heart, the more willing she herself was becoming.
  
297 She withdrew her hand and searched for more reasons to stop this folly.

"There's something else." Her lips dropped open and the tip of her tongue came out to wet them. "People say things about widows ... unkind things." She swallowed and felt herself beginning to blush, recalling Marshall's readiness to become her lover, and his reasons for believing she needed one. And though she'd be the first to admit he'd been right, Rachel was chagrined when she faced the fact. Finally she blurted out, "I don't want to be thought of as a ... a sex-starved widow. But I-- I--was She stammered to a halt, feeling tears sting her eyes, hating this confusion, which was so foreign to her.

"You what? Say it. Don't be afraid," he prompted.

I suddenly find you more than I bargained for. I want to feel your arms around me, your mouth on mine, your hands on my body. I want to feel alive again, desired, loved. But I'm so afraid to let it happen with you.

"I'm afraid to," she said shakily.

He reached out to touch her cheek, reading in her

eyes the unmistakable tug of carnality against which she fought. "Poor Rachel, so mixed up, wanting one thing, telling herself she wants another."

He studied her thoroughly, puzzling out this new, uncertain Rachel. Then he smiled, leaned close, and grazed her jaw with his lips. "So, what'll it be?" he murmured teasingly. "Wanna neck a little bit and see how it feels?"

She laughed unexpectedly, feeling the tension ease. And he kissed her neck with a fleeting touch that could scarcely be felt. But his scent was in her nostrils, smoky, mixed with the remnants of his shaving lotion and the starchy smell of new fabric from his suit. Her eyelids drifted closed, and his nearness sent the blood roaring to her ears.

"Mmm ..." she murmured softly while he worked his way toward her earlobe and worried it gently with his teeth.

"Nice?" he murmured in return.

"Mmm ..." It was more than nice. It was heady, enticing. "Tommy Lee," she whispered, "why did you leave the car running?"

He drew back to study her eyes, his arms

forming an open harbor for her to sail
      
299 into if she chose, one resting on the wheel, the other on the seat but not touching her. "If you want it off, turn it off yourself."

And so here it was--the choice. If she shut the car off there would be no turning back. If she didn't she had the feeling she'd regret it forever.

Her hand trembled as it reached toward the keys that dangled from the ignition on a silver chain. They chinked softly; then the car fell silent. Neither of them moved for a long, tense moment. At last, with his eyes rapt upon her, he reached through the steering wheel and shifted the car into park, felt for the light switch and brought darkness descending about their heads. His hand rose slowly to his temple, and with a twist of his head the glasses came off and he laid them on the dash. In slow motion, his hand closed about her neck, urging her near until she tilted toward him. For the space of several thundering heartbeats they hovered with their lips an inch apart.

"I don't want an affair," she claimed in a shaken whisper, but she needed very much to be kissed and caressed again.

"I know." His lips brushed hers in a kiss

as tentative as the first one shared years ago in the break of a boxwood hedge. Her right hand came up to rest shyly against his chest, while his shifted to her hair, his long fingers threading through it.

They backed apart slightly, gauging each other's reactions and the dangers of carrying this to its limits. Those dangers were many and very, very real. But the great force of sexuality pressed down upon them, lying in their vitals with a heavy anguish of longing while their heartbeats scudded like thunder before a summer storm.

"Tommy Lee ... we're crazy," she whispered.

"No," came his whispered reply. "We deserve this. We paid for it long ago."

             
CHAPTER TEN

  
They moved with one accord, tipping their heads until their lips met again in tremulous reunion, sweeping them back in memory to the time of sweet innocence, when only bright dreams lay ahead.

Rachel's fingertips moved from his lapel to his shirtfront, and felt the skin warm through the

cotton as his breath came with a celerity
   
301 that matched her own. Their heads swayed in a lovers' choreography, seeking a firmer fit of mouth upon mouth. His hand flattened on her warm, bare back, drawing her nearer as his tongue slipped between her silken lips, bringing the taste of tobacco and some long-remembered essence as individual as a fingerprint. A sound rose in his throat--the end of the bitter, a rebirth of the sweet--and came a second time while his tongue scribed ever-widening circles over her eager mouth.

Ardor flared. Intimacy beckoned.

"Rachel ... Rachel," he murmured, the name slurred between their hungering mouths. And as the kiss grew greedier he reached up to loosen his tie, then settled more firmly against her, slipping a hand to her ribs as he pressed her shoulders against the resilient leather seat.

The kiss swept them with the realization of how easily sensuality had been revived between them, and the pleasure they still found in each other. They experimented, recalling how it had been in the past --a scrape of teeth against a soft inner lip, a gentle bite, an interchange of tongues in the

most secret recesses of their open, willing mouths, a suckling that seemed to tug deep within. Rachel's body shimmered in response. It had been so long ... so long. His body pressing hers was vital, resilient, healthy. Her breasts peaked and yearned for the warmth of his hands.

But the kiss ended and he backed away to look down into her face. "Rachel," he whispered in wonder. "I can't believe it. After all these years." He wrapped her in two tight arms, her chin catching on his shoulder as he rocked her in jubilant celebration. "God, I can't believe it."

She smiled against his jaw and hugged him back. "I can't either."

Abruptly he backed away, but his eyes held embers as he ordered gruffly, "Turn around." Deftly he manipulated her, twisting her about until she was cradled in his lap, and in the same sweeping motion he returned his mouth to hers. Sealed beneath his lips she felt herself settled against his chest while a hand swept down to draw her knees up onto the seat. Then he leaned back into his corner and stretched his legs out toward the passenger door.

And it felt like coming home--birdling
 
   
303 to nest, cub to den, Rachel to Tommy Lee. How warm and secure and familiar was this spot she'd known uncountable times before. And, ah, how their bodies fit together. So natural, with her arms twined about him until their joined breasts left space for nothing more between them than the paired heartbeats. He shifted a hip, raised one knee to buttress her spine and buttock while kissing her in a remembered way that brought welcome sensations sizzling through her body.

She had thought the years would have created obstacles to interfere, to present warnings. But instead, she felt only impatience. This was right. This was where she belonged.

She reveled in the feeling, exploring the back of his neck, sliding her long nails into his midnight-black hair while his hands played over her back and his tongue blandished, coaxed, and sent shivers scattering along her skin.

When he finally lifted his head their hearts were beating crazily. Rachel's limbs felt weighted. Her eyes drifted open to find his mouth still close, his palm lazily stirring the fabric on the side of her breast.

"How many times do you think we lay like this in my car?"

But she couldn't even guess. She could only recall the grand and terrible temptation of those days when they'd gone only so far but restrained themselves at the last moment. It had been heaven. It had been hell.

"Too many to remember. A hundred ... two hundred ... more."

"Do you remember the last time?" His hand made patterns that threatened to cup her breast but never did, bringing back the sharp thrill of the forbidden.

"No, I don't remember."

"It was the night when we'd driven up to Muscle Shoals to a dance, and you were wearing a flared skirt with green squares on it, and you could hardly get it buttoned anymore because you were pregnant."

She lay back comfortably in the crook of his arm, feeling again the seductive sense of security--how painless it was to talk about the past, wrapped in his arms this way. She touched his lower lip tenderly. It was puffed and moist from kissing. "You remember everything."

"Yes," he confirmed softly. "Where you're

concerned, I remember everything. The
      
305 smell of your skin, the exact brown of your eyes, the texture of your hair ..."

In that moment it was incredibly easy to love him, and she wondered how she would find the strength to turn the tide of their desire. His head dropped and he crushed her close while lowering his open lips toward hers. The past melded with the present to bring a desire more potent than any they'd known in their youth. Their tongues imitated the act they'd shared in the days when they were raring and satiable, and they felt again the supreme urgency they'd thought themselves able to curb.

His hand slipped around her to cover one tiny breast at last, working the sleek cloth over her aroused nipple. She writhed in complementary circles, rising toward his touch, making a faint mewling sound in her throat. Beneath her she felt his tumescence, sheathed tightly but straining warmly through his trousers as she moved restlessly upon it. His hips began thrusting, and she instinctively drew common sense back into its rightful place, pressing a restraining hand against his chest.

Immediately his body stilled. He drew a tortured breath and buried his face in the

fragrant curve of her neck. "I swore I wouldn't rush you ... but it's damned hard."

She was breathless, floating, realizing how naive she'd been to think she could tread such a tightrope again without falling. Had she thought being forty-one instead of sixteen was adequate insurance against desire? Her voice shook as she answered, "And I swore I'd be sensible and settle for a few kisses." She laughed tightly, ending with the familiar little hiccup he had never forgotten. Then she surged up, holding him tightly, pressing her forehead into the inviting hollow below his jaw. "But you guessed right. It's been a long time since I've done anything like this, and the last time was with a man who was ill and unable to dredge up the fire I needed." She held him possessively and said through clenched teeth, "But you feel so good, so healthy. It's terribly hard to stop."

His hand caressed her breast, then slipped down one buttock and stroked it deftly before moving to the warm hollow behind her knee.

"Why should we stop?"

"Because it's the most sensible thing to do. Because I've only been a widow for a few months.

Because our motives may be strictly
     
307 carnal. Because if we start something it could get to be a habit," she recited in a rush against his neck, willing herself to believe it.

"I believe, Rachel"--he kissed her eyelid--"it's already started"--and her nose--"and out of our hands."

When his mouth opened hotly over hers she found herself clinging, kissing him back with nothing held in reserve. His hand caressed her hip, then sought her flat stomach before moving in one unerring swipe to cup the yearning warmth between her legs, pressing her skirt against the damp curve of femininity, tracing arousing circles on her flesh until she murmured inarticulately into his mouth.

"We have to stop ..." she tried to say, but the words were muffled beneath his lips.

"You feel so good ... so tiny ... just as I remember. ..."

"It's too tempting."

"Just like the old days."

His hands moved over her freely while she lay across his lap, her heart pounding so hard it seemed to make the magnolia leaves tremble above them. His fingers curved--contouring, pressing,

stirring, kindling, while she lifted and drifted, thinking, Just a little more, just a little ...

Then her dress rustled up and his hand sent fire-flashes dancing up her thighs and stomach as he sought naked skin.

When he reached her waist she stopped him.

His head rose. His eyes questioned.

"Don't, Tommy Lee ... please," she whispered urgently. To her surprise, he immediately complied, but took up the idle rhythm through her clothing again.

"Rachel, remember the first time?" he whispered.

"Yes. It was out by the quarries, and I was very scared."

"So was I."

"You were? I never knew that before. You seemed so confident, as if you knew everything about it."

"I didn't know any more than you did." He bit her lower lip, adding persuasively, "But I've learned some new things since then."

She chuckled throatily. "So have I. Like how disastrous it would be to get caught like this if a policeman came by in a prowl car and shone his spotlight on us."