A Family Kind of Guy (23 page)

She could barely breathe and rational thought escaped into the night. The air was warm and silky, his touch forbidden and so, so wanted. He kissed the tip of her breast, watching as her nipple puckered willingly. Her spine curved as if pulled like a bowstring, and silently she offered herself to him.

His hand was rough and hard against her nipple, his fingers callused as he lifted her breast and brought it to his lips again. Slowly he laved the little bud, teasing and tasting, breathing fire over her wet skin.

A needy moan escaped her lips. Heat roiled deep between her legs. Desire swept through her blood and she was certain her heart, pounding so loudly it echoed against her ribs, would surely break. She couldn't give in to him but had no will to stop his lovemaking. “Bliss—” he whispered across her nipple, and some final wall of resistance inside her crumbled. ‘Tell me to stop.”

“I—I can't,” she admitted.

For a second, he lifted his head. His jaw tightened and he stared straight into her eyes. She reached forward and unbuttoned the top fastening of his shirt. His teeth gritted and he grabbed hold of her wrist with fingers that felt like steel. “You're asking for trouble.”

“I know.” Her voice was low and husky. She slid another button through its hole.

“Listen to me—Oh, for the love of—” He drew her into his arms and locked his mouth over hers as she pulled his shirt from his waistband and in one swift movement he discarded the unwanted clothing. Bliss's hands explored his body, the corded muscles of his shoulders, the mat of curling hair on his chest and the taut planes of his abdomen.

He let out a low, primeval sound when she touched his nipples with her fingers and his lips became more demanding. He reached for the waistband of her jeans, yanked hard enough that her button fly gave way in a series of pops and the denim slid easily over her hips and thighs.

“Bliss. Sweet, sweet Bliss,” he whispered, lowering himself, kissing each of her breasts and the hollow between them, then moving lower to the flat of her abdomen, where he circled his tongue slowly around her navel.

A spiral of heat and need wound through her insides as his tongue slid along her skin. “Mason, oh,” she cried as his hot breath invaded the thin lace of her panties. She wriggled against him and he kissed the lace and the downy curls beneath it. “Please,” she begged in a voice that was not her own. “Please, oh, oh, ooh!”

His tongue worked magic through the fragile barrier of lace and she closed her eyes, her entire body centered where he touched her. Desire throbbed between her legs. She moved against him, silently begging for more until at last he stripped her of that last shred of clothing and kissed her intimately.

The world seemed to collide with the stars. She gasped for breath and convulsed. She was on fire, needing more. Wanting only this one man. Her body, slick with sweat, convulsed again and again before he kicked off his jeans and parted her legs with his knees.

“We should stop—”

“No!”
Oh, God, please, no!

“But I can't. Bliss…I can't—” He lifted her buttocks and thrust into her, hard and deep, breaking that fragile barrier she'd held on to for twenty-seven years.

She let out a cry of ecstasy and pain.

He quit moving, his eyes wide. “Lord, Bliss, you're a virgin!”

“Was,” she said. “Was. Oh, Mason, please don't stop, don't ever stop.” Her fingers pressed deep into his shoulders.

“But—”

“I want you,” she said, opening her eyes and staring into his. “I've always wanted you.”

“And I want you. Oh, darlin'—” He let out a groan of surrender and then began to move, slowly at first, then faster and harder as Bliss's pain vanished and she matched his tempo. Her heart thundered; her breathing came in short anxious gasps, her body arching up to his. His hands held tight to her buttocks, drawing her closer as the world swirled in a vision of light and color.

“Bliss…I…” His voice trailed off and she watched sweat run from his temples. Somewhere deep inside, a dam broke and she jerked in a contraction of joy. With an ecstatic cry, he went still atop her just as her spirit soared to the heavens and the kaleidoscope of colors behind her eyes became a warm blaze of light.

I love you,
she thought desperately, but bit her tongue before the hasty words could reach her lips. This was sex, nothing more. The loss of her virginity, yes, but still just a coupling of two people who were not in love.

Stupidly, tears burned behind her eyes because she'd always thought that when she gave herself to a man, it would be for the time-honored and glorious emotion called “love.”

He cradled her face in his big hands and looked deep into her eyes. “Bliss…?” He kissed her forehead and cheeks and must have tasted the salt of her tears. “Are you all right?”

“Perfect.”

“Yes,” he said with a reverence that touched her heart. “You are.”

Oh, God, was he serious? “If you only knew.”

“I do.” Twirling a strand of her hair around his finger, he slid to the side of her and, with one leg possessively pinning her against him, added, “What I didn't know was that you were still a virgin.”

A stain of embarrassment washed up her neck in hot, humiliating waves.

“You should have told me.”

“Oh, sure. At this age.” She managed a thin smile but didn't tease an answering grin from his lips. “It's probably some kind of world record or something.”

He levered up on one elbow and stared down at her. “I doubt that we should call Guinness.”

“Good. Then it doesn't matter.”

“No?” Still he was skeptical and with one hand he reached forward and touched her nipple with one long finger.

“I think it was long past time to give it up,” she said, clearing her throat.

“So why not earlier? And don't give me that line about not meeting the right man, 'cause I won't buy it.”

“All right, maybe I just didn't trust anyone, okay?”

“But you do trust me.” He didn't mask any of the skepticism in his words.

“As I said, it was time, don't you think?”

“That's your call, Bliss.” With a wicked grin he pulled her into the crook of his shoulder. His breath stirred her hair as he spoke. “What I think is that we—well, make that I—should have been more careful. I didn't have…protection.”

She stiffened and stared upward where leaves of low-hanging branches shifted in the moonlight. The smooth beauty of the moment was shattered. “Believe me, you don't have to worry about any disease from me.”

“Nor me,” he admitted. “I was tested last year. Twice. Since then I've been careful. Until now.”

“Don't worry about it.” She tried to pull away from him, but he held her fast.

“It's you I worry about,” he said as if he hated the words. “I didn't mean for this to happen.”

“Neither did I, but there it is.” She was near tears again. This should have been the happiest, most definitive moment of her life. Instead, she wanted to melt away. Already he regretted making love to her. “We're both adults. You didn't force me into doing anything I wasn't ready for.” With renewed energy, she pulled away from him. “Let me go, Mason.”

“I can't.” He held her fast. “Why me, Bliss?”

“I told you it was time.”

“It's more than that.”

“Meaning what?” she demanded. “That I was waiting for you? Is that what you think?”

“I don't know what to think,” he admitted, staring at her as if for the first time. “But you're over twenty-five and—”

“Don't remind me, okay?” she said jerkily. Yes, she'd been a virgin, and no, she didn't have a husband or children or any reason to think she would anytime soon, and though those things bothered her, she wasn't going to let them get her down. She was young, had a career, a life in Seattle. She didn't need Mason's pity.

No, only his love.

“Bliss, I didn't mean to imply—”

“Look, you don't have to say anything, okay?” She wrenched away from him and this time he let her go. Quickly, before she broke down altogether, she snatched up her clothes and dressed, sliding her legs into her panties and jeans, still feeling new and achingly feminine. As she buttoned her blouse, she whistled to her horse, and Mason, still naked as the day he was born, grabbed hold of her hand.

“What the hell's going on?”

“Nothing,” she lied.

“Bliss, I think we should talk.”

“Maybe we should have talked more before we…we—”

“Made love?”

Oh, God.
Her throat tightened and she blinked against a wash of tears. She couldn't face him, didn't want to cry like some fragile female, some spoiled
princess,
for heaven's sake! She had to get away, had to avoid saying something she would regret. “I—I have to go.”

“You're running away,” he accused.

“Like you did?” The minute the words were out, she regretted them. She saw the tensing of each of his muscles, the dark fury in his eyes. “Forget I said that. But don't accuse me, okay? Maybe I am running away. I don't know. But I need time, Mason, to think all this through.”

“Ten years wasn't enough?”

She glanced up and stared into eyes as clear and amber as priceless Scotch. “I guess not.” She pulled her hand away and, though her heart was breaking, managed a sad smile. “Goodbye, Mason,” she said, hating the finality of the words.

“It was good, but now it's over?” he asked, taunting her.

“It was good, but it never really began.” She swung into the saddle and didn't look back. She couldn't. Because if she saw him again, all hard sinew, muscle and bone, his face chiseled and strong, she'd never be able to look away again. She loved him, that much was certain, and it was a cross she would bear for the rest of her life.

“You had to do it, didn't you?” Mason glared at his reflection in the steamy mirror, scraped away a swath of shaving cream and whiskers and mentally kicked himself for having made love to Bliss.

Though he'd had no conscious plan to seduce her, he hadn't been able to stop himself from spending more time with her, from seeing her, from suggesting the evening horseback ride to the ridge. Pursing his lips, he tried to avoid cutting himself as he finished shaving, then washed his face. He was standing naked in front of the mirror and had the fleeting thought that if Bliss were in the room, he probably should wear a towel wrapped around his waist, or his boxer shorts.

He stiffened just at the thought of her and ground out several oaths. What was he thinking? Why the devil would Bliss ever be in his bathroom in the morning? Just because they'd made love didn't mean that they ever would again, that they were having an affair, for the love of Pete, or that they might consider tying the knot.

As he threw on his clothes, his mind was running in wild, perilous circles. Just as it had all night. Throughout the long, dark hours, he'd been haunted by the image of Bliss's perfect face, the fragrance of her skin, the sound of her laughter. There had also been worries about Dee Dee and thoughts of another sort—memories of the years he'd struggled to prove to himself and the rest of the world that he was as good as anyone else, that the poor boy from the wrong side of the tracks could make good.

Except that he'd screwed up a few times. Seriously screwed up. There was the marriage that hadn't worked, a sister he'd promised to protect but who was constantly in trouble, a few bad deals and his daughter. His heart twisted at the thought of Dee Dee. So beautiful. So bright. So neglected. But no more. Dee Dee deserved security and a home. Here, with him. She couldn't be forever uprooted as Terri chased after this man or that dream. Nope. That part of his life he intended to settle today.

As for Patty, he hadn't yet spoken to her but Jarrod had assured him that she'd been located in Mexico and was flying home. If she knew anything about Isaac Wells's disappearance, she hadn't admitted to it. Mason would find out. One way or another. He'd promised his mother he'd take care of Patty and he'd do just that, though Patty would probably have none of it.

But Bliss Cawthorne was another matter altogether. What in the world was he going to do with her?

Bliss. The image of her face teased him again as he pocketed his keys and wallet. He should never have made love to her, never have taken that darkly seductive step, but he had, and in doing so he had expected that he might regret his desire but he hadn't anticipated that he wouldn't get enough of her.

She was a virgin. Had never given herself to a man before.

Who would have guessed?

So what're you going to do about it?

There was, as he'd learned so often before, no going back. But he did have the ability to change a few things in his life.

He slipped into his shoes and flew down the stairs with more purpose than he'd felt ever since returning to Bittersweet. He had a few matters to take care of at the office; then he planned to have it out with Terri. Dee Dee wasn't going to the San Juan Islands or anywhere away from him. If he had to go back to court, he would. But Terri would probably be just as happy with a little cash instead. She'd always had a mercenary streak, even when it came to her daughter.

* * *

“I don't know,” Terri said, rubbing her forehead as she sat at the kitchen table, which was covered with scraps of cloth as she pieced together a quilt. From her position at the table she could watch the television in the living room, where a soap opera was in progress. Dee Dee was outside, lying on a chaise longue near the small pool of the apartment complex.

Leaning against the sink, Mason stared out the window and watched his daughter, sunglasses covering her eyes, reading another book.

Terri said, “I think I'd miss her too much.”