Cross My Heart (14 page)

Clint walked to the bed, then lowered Elyse to her feet
but kept her in the circle of his embrace. He looked down at her, and
the anguish that had shadowed his eyes was replaced with tenderness.
"How do you manage to shoot my self-control and good intentions all to
hell?" he asked with amusement.

"Just lucky, I guess," she retorted breathlessly, touching
her lips to his. "Are…are you sure this is what you want?"

She couldn't bear it if he was just accommodating her.

For an answer he lifted her slightly and ground her to
him. He was hard with unbridled desire, and she shivered with pleasure
as he thrust against her. "Do you have any doubt?" he whispered
shakily into her ear.

"No." She hid her face in his shoulder. "Just tell me what
you want me to do."

She'd never made love with a man who was experienced
before, and she wanted so much to please him.

He seemed to understand as he nibbled at her neck. "You're
doing just fine. Does this sweater unbutton somewhere?" He stood her
back on her feet.

"No, it's loose," she said, and held up her arms so he
could pull it over her head.

Her breasts were firm and high, and she hadn't worn a bra.
His gaze fastened on them, and they seemed to swell and grow tight.
With a quivering sigh he reached out and touched them. They fit
perfectly in his palms, and he leaned down and kissed first one
tingling nipple, then the other.

She clutched his shoulders and moaned as his tongue
caressed the acutely sensitive tips.

He let go of her for a moment as he stripped his own shirt
off, then took her in his arms again. "Now, you do that to me," he
instructed.

It was a novel idea, and she lowered her head and touched
her lips to first one and then the other of the large nipples on his
flat chest. To her surprise they hardened, just as hers had. "I didn't
know that was a sensual area for a man," she said, and licked at one of
the tips.

"It feels good," he said unsteadily. "Anyplace you touch
me is erotic."

She moved her head to the other side and sucked gently. A
soft purr slid from his throat, and he searched at her waist until he
found and unfastened the tab and the zipper at the side of her slacks.
They were pleated and roomy, and when they'd slid effortlessly to the
floor, she stepped out of them.

His hands roamed over her bare flesh until they
encountered the skimpy bikini panties. He dispensed with them, too,
then pressed her against him and shivered. "You feel the way I knew you
would," he murmured, "soft and smooth and incredibly exciting."

She had been caressing his back, and just rubbing the firm
skin and feeling the solid muscles contract caused an itch deep in her
body that made her squirm.

Working her fingers under the waistband of his belt-less
jeans, she slid them around to the front. He drew in a deep, shuddering
breath, and his own fingers clenched her firm, round buttocks. She
pulled at the heavy snap, but it didn't give and she pulled again, each
time inadvertently brushing her fist against the hardness beneath. He
clenched his jaw and tensed, but didn't interfere.

On the third try the snap flew apart, but the zipper
remained locked. An attack of shyness overcame her. What should she do
now? She'd expected the zipper to open along with the snap.

She looked up and saw the strained expression on his face,
but he managed a wicked grin. "Well, go ahead and finish the job."

She knew she was blushing, and ducked her head as she
tried to get ahold of the tiny zipper pull with the tips of her fingers
without touching the distended jeans beneath it. Unfortunately she was
so flustered that her hand slipped.

Clint groaned and covered her hand with his, tightening
her hold on him. "Good Lord, Elyse," he muttered. "My endurance isn't
unlimited. You'd better let me do that." He removed her tingling hand
and quickly pulled off his pants.

He wasn't wearing briefs, and he was magnificent in the
buff. There wasn't an ounce of spare flesh on him. He was firm and
smooth and only slightly hairy. Elyse had never been turned on by furry
chests and long thick hair on arms and legs, and Clint was just right.

She knew he'd caught her staring, but she didn't care.
Then she realized he was staring just as intently at her. When their
gazes met she went eagerly into his arms, and he enfolded her in an
ardent embrace. "You're so exquisite I'm almost afraid to touch you,"
he murmured.

"You're beautiful, too," she said with a touch of awe.
"Like a rare and perfect sculpture."

He reached down and threw back the bedcovers, then tumbled
her onto the sheet and followed her down. "Aren't you going to turn off
the lights?" she asked.

"Not unless you want me to. I want to look at you."

He began to caress her lightly. "I want to see your
flawless body and watch your expression as I do this… and
this… and this."

She moaned with pleasure and smiled with delight as his
hands did fantastic things to her. Then his lips followed his hands,
sucking and nibbling until she was writhing with sensations she'd never
experienced before.

She arched toward him, and he moved to lie against her
side with one leg thrown over hers and the hardness of his desire
pressed alongside her hip.

His breathing was labored and his heart was pounding. She
knew he was having difficulty holding back, but he continued the
unhurried fondling that was driving her wild with the need for still
more. As if reading her mind, his fingers stroked lower and lower,
until she cried out with desperation and her hips started rocking in
the rhythm of passion.

Only then did he move over her and join their two bodies
as one to continue the throbbing tempo. Elyse clasped her legs around
his thrusting hips and dug her fingernails into his shoulders as she
opened her mouth to meet his.

The rapidly escalating fervor exploded into a kaleidoscope
of swirling sensations that were almost too exhilarating to endure.

Clint woke without an alarm just as he did every morning
at seven o'clock; but this morning was different. This morning there
was a soft, warm woman snuggled in his arms, and he didn't have to open
his eyes to remember it was Elyse.

He smiled as he looked down at her, sleeping soundly with
her head on his shoulder. They'd made love three times during the long
night, and every time had been incendiary. Now she fit so perfectly
against him, her face relaxed into the innocent look of a child.

He moved his hand lightly over the indentation of her
waist, the curve of her hip. Her body was definitely not that of a
child, and if he didn't get out of bed and away from her he wouldn't be
able to resist waking her. Besides, his arm and shoulder tingled from
lack of circulation where she lay on them.

Carefully he disentangled himself from her and slid out of
bed. She didn't move, and he walked to the closet and put on his maroon
thigh-length robe.

A glance at the bed reminded him of the delights that lay
under the thin sheet that covered her, and he forced himself to look
away. He needed his wits about him, and remembering her satiny,
responsive body wasn't the way to keep them.

He pulled the drapes away from the sliding door in the
glass wall and opened it. The fresh clean scent of pine wafted on the
cool spring air, and the water in the pool sparkled as light danced
across it. It was a beautiful morning, but for some reason the very
brightness of it depressed him.

Clint leaned against the doorjamb and looked out over the
gardens, a riot of color from daffodils, tulips, hyacinths, primroses
and pansies, but he couldn't keep his mind on the yellows, red, purples
and greens. Instead he focused on the night just past.

It had been fantastic, but was it worth the price he must
surely pay?

The lovemaking had been. He wasn't sure it had ever been
that good before, even with Dinah. The first time had been an exercise
in restraint. He'd been determined not to hurt Elyse, or rush her, even
though he'd been on the ragged edge from the time he'd picked her up
and carried her to the bedroom, but when his self-control shattered
she'd been with him all the way.

The next two times were sheer magic, with neither of them
holding back.

Ah, yes, good sex was important, and maybe it was enough.
Maybe that's what love was all about, after all, the intimate giving
and receiving. The sharing of pleasure too intense to be denied.

Clint shifted from one foot to the other. He knew men who
would give up everything for a woman who could bring them the ecstasy
Elyse had so freely given him. But would it last? Or, more likely,
would it be tamed by repeated exposure until it could no longer carry a
relationship… a marriage… ?

He knew he must either stop seeing Elyse or marry her.
Before last night he'd had a choice; now he didn't. She loved him.
She'd told him so. Not with words, but with her body. She was sweet and
honest and one of the most morally upright women he'd ever met. She
would never come to a man the way she'd come to him unless she were
truly in love with him. He'd understood that, but he'd taken her,
anyway, because he'd felt he had to have her.

Now if he wanted to keep his self-respect and protect
Elyse from losing hers, he'd have to marry her. She'd come to him
freely with love and trust, and he'd accepted what she'd been willing
to give. If he walked away from her now she'd feel betrayed and
humiliated. He couldn't do that to her.

Maybe he did love her, after all. Not the deeply
passionate way he'd loved Dinah, but Elyse was precious to him. He
wouldn't hurt her so brutally.

Elyse opened her eyes and felt a moment of panic. Where
was she? There was nothing familiar about this room.

Then her gaze fastened on Clint, wearing a robe that
exposed most of his strong muscular legs and standing in the open
doorway with his back to her. The memory of the night returned, and she
snuggled under the sheet with a little purr of contentment.

Never in her wildest dreams had she imagined that making
love could be such an incredible experience! It had been good with
Jerry, but with Clint it had been… awesome.

She was disappointed he'd gotten out of bed before she was
awake. She wondered what it would be like to wake up in the mornings
with him in bed beside her.

She rolled over, and he turned around. For just a moment
there was a closed, strained look on his face, but then he smiled at
her. "Good morning. Did I wake you? I didn't mean to."

She smiled back and shook her head. "No, you didn't, but
what are you doing up and about so early?"

He walked over and bent down to kiss her. "I wake up at
the same time every day. It's an automatic reflex from years of early
rising. I rarely sleep past seven o'clock."

He took off his robe and climbed into bed beside her.
"Come here and give me a proper kiss," he said as he took her in his
arms.

She complied immediately, and he rolled her onto her back
and lay partially across her as he ravaged her willing mouth. "Did I
wear you out last night?" he murmured as he moved from her lips to her
throat. "I couldn't seem to get enough of you. Every time I thought I
was finally appeased you'd touch me, and I was ready to go again." He
raised his head and grinned at her. "You're going to make an old man of
me before I'm forty."

She reached up and stroked her fingers through his tousled
hair. "I might as well have been a virgin," she said, and there was a
touch of wonder in her tone. "I've never experienced anything like last
night. I didn't know that making love could be so beautiful,
so…so soul searing."

She ran one finger across his cheek and touched his lips.
"Oh, Clint, I love you so."

She'd hoped he'd be pleased, but the look that flashed in
his eyes wasn't pleasure; it was almost certainly remorse.

With a blink of his eyelids it was gone, replaced by a
melting softness. "Since we seem to have such a great thing going for
us, I guess we ought to get married."

He kissed her again, but a chill replaced the warm glow
that had been burning brightly inside her.
Seem. Guess. Ought
.
Hardly the words of a man impatient to make her his bride!

He must have felt her withdrawal, because he looked at her
questioningly. "What's the matter? Don't you want to marry me?"

"That depends," she said. "Are you saying that you
guess
we should get married because after last night you feel we
ought
to? You don't owe me anything, Clint."

His frown deepened. "That's nonsense. It was just a poor
choice of words." He rolled off her and sat up. "Proposing marriage
isn't something I've had a lot of practice at. Besides, it's hard for
me to think, let alone talk, when you're lying beneath me with no
clothes on."

Was she being overly sensitive? She hadn't expected him to
ask her to marry him at all, so why was she quibbling over semantics?
Words were easily garbled, but it was also possible he'd inadvertently
said what he felt, instead of what she wanted to hear.

She wanted to marry Clint more than she'd ever wanted
anything, but not if he felt trapped into it. After all, she'd seduced
him and then made the mistake of telling him she loved him. Did he feel
guilty? Did he think he'd taken advantage of her because she was
younger and relatively inexperienced?

Was he still carrying a torch for Dinah?

Elyse sat up, too, and pulled the sheet over her breasts.
Clint was sitting beside her, with the same sheet covering his lap. He
was so definitely male, and she wanted to throw herself into his arms
and tell him yes, of course, she'd marry him, and to hell with the
consequences.

She could make him happy. She'd love him and cherish him
and give him children of his own. But could she share him with the
ghost of another woman? Would his first love always stand between them?