A Touch of Camelot (22 page)

When his hands slipped back down, he lifted the waist of her camisole. Hesitantly, Gwin raised her arms as he slid it up and off of her. The garment fluttered to the floor.

She stood before him, naked beneath a man's gaze for the first time in her life. Her cheeks flushed hot as his eyes seemed to drink her in—very slowly, agonizingly so—from the top of her head down to her stain-buried ankles.

He reached for her then, sweeping her off her feet and carrying her over to the bed where he lowered her gently to sheets that felt cool beneath her. He turned the lamp down to a soft, flickering glow and sat on the bed to remove his boots. Gwin studied his silhouette when he rose to full height to dispense with the rest of his clothing. As he shrugged off his shirt, the bandage at his shoulder glowed stark white against the dark.

Then he settled down beside her, naked, his hand coming to rest at her waist. Curious, she allowed her fingertips to play over the broad expanse of his chest. She delighted in the feel of wisps of hair, of his skin, so smooth and warm. Her fingers slid down over the curve of one shoulder to test the long, sinuous line of muscle in his arm. He was so solid and firm, so different from her. Then her eyes met his in the dark, and she stopped, unsure of herself, embarrassed by her boldness. She didn’t know what to do next.

"I've dreamed of you," she whispered, not realizing until the words were out that she'd uttered them aloud.

He cupped her jaw in one hand and kissed her mouth. "I've dreamed of you, too." Then he guided her hand down to touch him there where he was hot and hard and ... Gwin curled her fingers around him, more out of curiosity than anything else.

"Oh, Gwin, yes.”

Gwin felt a secret thrill as he seemed to grow harder still beneath her grasp. It wasn't long before he tensed and pulled away. "Not yet." And before she could consider what he meant, he kissed her again, thrusting his tongue into her mouth, ravishing.

In her dreams, his kisses had been chaste and gentle, his caresses soft and leisurely, but this was not a dream. His kisses were fevered, his breath hot on her skin. Gwin forgot to think as her body responded. Cole said words to her, incoherent murmurings most of them, but she was beyond hearing.

When she opened her eyes, he was positioning above her. His weight, for just one brief moment, as he moved over her, felt heavy and oh-so-warm, then he was supporting himself on his forearms, bending his head again to kiss her. He pushed her legs apart with his knees.

Gwin had never felt so vulnerable in all her life.
Trust him
, she thought, fighting a sudden urge to panic. Then she felt the first pressure of him entering her, and, despite her determination not to, she stiffened.

He stopped abruptly and spoke from between clenched teeth. "Ahhhhh, Gwin ...damn it."

Fearing that he might pull back, Gwin hugged him tight. To end it now would be all wrong. "It's all right."

"I didn't know." But he didn't pull back. Instead, he reached down to palm one of her hips to brace her. She felt a brief stab of pain assuaged by the indescribable sensation of him filling her.

Gwin gulped in a rush of air when he paused, and she hugged him with her thighs until the pain started to ebb.

He kissed her and whispered against her mouth. "Are you …?"

Gwin closed her eyes. "Yes."

"Should we stop?"

"No."

He kissed her again, though gently this time, and Gwin opened her eyes to meet that familiar, steady gaze. At that moment, she felt as if he saw straight through to her confused mind and bewildered heart.

He reached up to take one of her hands from around his neck. He kissed her palm and intertwined his fingers with hers. It was a comforting, intimate, utterly unexpected gesture. Then he started moving inside of her in slow, sensual strokes.

It hurt a little, but it also felt wonderful. Again, Gwin let her thoughts go. He murmured something, her name she thought, but she couldn't bring herself to answer. She pulled him to her, falling mindlessly into his rhythm, straining with him and against him toward something, something elusive she couldn't understand.

But Cole understood. With each thrust, he took her with him, a little higher, a little brighter, a little closer. Desire built inside of her and then rapidly unfurled. Gwin gasped out one word,
"Yes!"
, as her consciousness shot skyward.

She didn’t fall back to earth, she floated, like a solitary snowflake on a quiet winter afternoon breeze. He too had stopped moving, the length of his body tensing against her as let out a low groan next to her ear. Still weak, Gwin clutched at him as she felt him release deep inside of her.

He collapsed part of his weight onto her, burying his face into the pillow next to her. Gwin accepted his weight gladly, imagining that she could feel his heart beating next to hers. For a long time, there was no sound save that of their mingled breathing, harsh and exhausted.

Finally, he raised his head. "Gwin?"

"Hmmmm?"

"We're done. You can take your fingernails out of my back now."

Her eyes flew open. "Oh!" She let go of him. "Are you all right?"

"All right," he said, dropping his head again so that his voice was muffled by the pillow. "More than all right. Geez, yes."

"I'm sorry. I just never realized it could be so ..."

"So ...yes. I never realized it either. So ... so."

"Does your shoulder hurt?"

"What shoulder?"

They were both quiet. Gwin heard the faint strains of piano music coming from a dance hall across the street. It reminded her of a drafty flat in Kansas City. A long, long time ago.

He raised up, shifted his weight, and she was sorry to feel him withdraw from her, making them two again. He rolled onto his back and rearranged the sheets to cover them. He slipped his arm beneath her to encircle her shoulders.

Gwin had read in one of her mother's books once that the heart must be free, that it cannot be ordained whom one shall love.
Love.
The full realization came surprisingly easy, like a single sheet of paper bearing a simple message slipped beneath a closed door.
I love you, Cole Shepherd
. It might have started out a dream, but it was real, as real as the feel of his fingers combing absently through her hair, as real as the lingering ache where he had just claimed her. And there was nothing she could do now to change it.

He squeezed her shoulder. "Gwin? Are you ...? I mean, was it ...?" He sounded apologetic.

"It was wonderful." Gwin turned on her side away from him, fearing she might cry from the sheer, irrepressible joy of it.

"I'm sorry if I hurt you."

Gwin sighed, knowing that if he forced her to say much more now, she would reveal too much. "Don't talk, Shepherd. Just keep your hands on me."

His free arm slid around her waist, pulling her tight up against him, his body turning to envelope her from behind in its comforting heat. He whispered in her ear, "Like this?"

"Hmmm. Yes. Like that," she murmured, content now to drift into sleep and push aside the questions tomorrow would bring.

*

Unmindful of his naked state, Cole crossed the room, nudged back the corner of one lacy curtain, and peered out to the street below. The sun had risen over the mountains. A few early risers strolled the length of the boardwalk. Across the street, a shopkeeper in an apron and rolled-up shirtsleeves stepped out in front of his store, broom in hand.

A train's whistle blared in the distance and Cole let the curtain fall back into place. He turned to see Gwin in the canopy bed, her face peaceful in slumber. She lay on her side, snuggling with a feather pillow as if it were a lover. That magnificent red hair was spread out all over, snaking down over pale shoulders and trailing out onto the bed behind her. Her face, so guileless in repose, was almost angelic. Entangled in the top sheet, her body was only partially hidden from him.

Cole's gaze slid appreciatively over one slim flank, the curve of her waist, and the swell of one breast.
Face of an angel, body of a temptress
. No wonder he'd lost his self-control.

It was hard to believe that he had just met this girl less than a week ago. Somehow, she had managed to work her way into his life, into his blood, into his every thought, and
that
, he noticed, hadn't stopped with the consummation of their physical attraction.

The memory of their lovemaking was still vivid. It was clear to him now that he had been wrong about her from the beginning. He had prejudged her, and, by rights, last night shouldn't have happened. But he still couldn’t quite bring himself to regret it.

Cole watched as Gwin sighed in her sleep and curled up tighter with her pillow. Indeed, how could he bring himself to regret what had happened between them if at this moment all he wanted was to crawl back into bed beside her?

He crossed the room and bent to retrieve his clothes from the floor. He tried to picture himself explaining this situation to Fritz back at the Chicago office:
You see, Fritz, it happened like this.
No, that was no way to start.
Well, Fritz, one thing just led to another.
Cole winced and straightened, absently clutching his trousers in one hand. He wasn't sure there was any good way to explain deflowering his first assignment.

"Hmmmmm."

Cole looked up to see her stirring awake, arching her neck and stretching. "Oh, dear, what time is it?" She sat up groggily, still hugging her pillow.

"Early," he said.

She blinked at him through a tangle of curls. "How early?" Her eyes widened and her gaze swept over him before she looked away. "Oh!"

It took a minute for Cole to realize what had caused her reaction. It was possible that he was the first naked man she had ever seen. He tried to force back a grin.
Penny for your thoughts, my lady.

"You'd better look your fill," he said. "I certainly have been."

She looked back at him, her cheeks burning. "What time did you say it was?"

"The clock says six-thirty."

"Are you always such an early riser?"

"Always," he replied, bending again to retrieve the rest of his clothing from the floor. Her corset, he discovered, had gotten all tangled with his shirt. He stood, hanging it up by one finger.

"If you don't mind, sir."

He glanced up to see her giving him a pointed look. He tossed the undergarment onto the bed. "I thought you didn't wear those."

"I don't usually, but with a dress like that—" She narrowed her eyes. "Wait a minute. How would you know what I usually wear under my clothes?"

"I'm a detective, remember?"

The corners of her lips twitched, fighting a smile. "They teach you that kind of thing in detective school?"

"No, some things just come naturally."

"So, are you going to continue to just stand there like that?"

"Like what?"

"Naked as a peeled potato."

Cole dropped his clothes and spread his arms wide, grinning. "Why? Do you have something against potatoes?"

"Not at all. I'm quite fond of potatoes, but while we're on the subject, do you think that you could throw the rest of my clothes over here?"

Cole pretended to mull this over. "Hmmm, I don't think so. I think I prefer you like this." He sat on the corner of the bed and tugged at the pillow she clutched to her chest. "In fact, the more potato-like the better."

"I thought you were a gentleman!"

"Why, Guinevere Pierce, I never imagined you were so shy." And with that, he gave a hard pull, yanking the pillow away, baring her to his eyes, but he didn't have much time to enjoy it. She made a grab for the bed sheet, yanking it up to cover herself. In her hurry, she exposed the bottom sheet.

And there it was.

A small spot of blood. Not much, but enough to catch her eye. And his. They stared at it for a moment before they looked at each other. "Why didn't you tell me?" he asked.

"You didn't ask."

"I guess I assumed that, somewhere along the way, you and Clell Martin ..."

Gwin sighed and laid down. "He asked me to marry him once, but I never felt that way about him. He was like a brother."

Cole watched her face. He felt an undeniable sense of relief that he had misread her feelings for Clell. He nudged her over a bit to lie down next to her, and then turned on his side to rest his head on one hand. "Still, if I'd known—"

"Would it have ended any differently?"

"Maybe." He paused. "I don't know."

She didn't respond. She just looked at him with those incredibly pale blue eyes, waiting, apparently, for a better answer.

He thought back to what had passed between them the night before. It had been reckless, he knew. Very unlike him. In fact, there was a chance she could be pregnant, but this possibility didn't feel to him like the calamity that it should have. He had never experienced anything like it, not even with Cynthia. And he had fancied himself in love with Cynthia.

He sighed. "I suppose not." He reached out to touch her hair. "I heard what you said, you know."

She looked at him, puzzled. "What?"

"On the train. Right before you tried to leave me. You said, 'Oh, my love, I am all yours.' Just like that."

She rolled her eyes. "I did not."

"Oh, yes, you did."

"I didn't."

"Yes, you did."

She pushed his hand away. "You misunderstood."

"I didn't misunderstand anything." He slid his hand beneath the sheet to caress her hip.

"You heard wrong."

Her skin was bed-warm and soft and female. "I'm a trained investigator, Miss Pierce. I do not hear wrong."

"You heard wrong this time." She sounded indignant but she didn't move away from him.

Cole leaned forward and kissed her neck. She still smelled faintly of lilacs. It clung to her hair. "I don't think so. What did you mean?"

"It was just a poem, if you must know. I was thinking about a poem, and I must have said some lines out loud. It had nothing to do with you, so you can get that thought right out of your head."