Fallen Angel (9 page)

Thomas felt his restraint shatter. Slowly lowering his head, he accepted her unconscious summons and sought her lips. He tasted the surprise and relief that rushed out of her. He tasted and savored her, indulging himself by tracing the shape of her lips with the tip of his tongue, then gently teething her lower lip until she moaned.

She edged even closer, angling her head when he released her from the tender vise. She parted her lips.

Another invitation, Thomas realized. His heart raced, the muscles in his body thrummed with tension, and desire scorched his bloodstream.

He kissed her then with the kind of tenderness that he’d never associated with himself, kissed her with gentleness akin to worship. He felt her hands smooth up his back beneath his jacket, then the downward drift of her fingertips as she traced the shallow indentation of his spine. The turtleneck sweater he wore, along with every other article of clothing on his body, represented unwelcome impediments.

He longed to strip away the barriers that covered both of them. He knew better, though. Knew he’d be rushing what deserved to be earned and then cherished.

As if to reward his patience, Geneva slipped her fingers beneath his sweater and rhythmically kneaded his lower back with her fingertips. The heated pads of her fingers added a new dimension of sensation to his sexual consciousness.

Thomas shuddered, then plunged his tongue deeply into her mouth as he lifted her and smoothed her legs around his hips.

Geneva gasped, then darted her tongue into his mouth, searching, stroking, tantalizing, searing his senses in the intimate duel that followed.

He welcomed the sudden change in her response, welcomed, too, this signal that she returned his desire. Without releasing her mouth, he moved away from the center of the entryway, his destination the staircase. He sank down to a seated position on one of the lower steps, relieved Geneva of her parka, then shed his own heavy jacket.

Still perched astride his thighs, Geneva smoothed her hands up over his chest, past his shoulders, and tangled her fingers at his nape.

She trembled when Thomas covered her breasts with his hands. Arching into his palms, little moans carried on breathless pants tumbled past her lips as he shaped and molded her flesh with his fingers. His name spilled past her lips.

He needed to feel the heat of her skin, so he unbuttoned the front of her jumpsuit. Naked beneath the fabric, her erect nipples stabbed at his palms, as if begging for his mouth. He lifted her then, despite her groan of protest when their lips parted. He brought her breasts level with his mouth.

Cupping one breast, he drew the taut nipple into his mouth and teethed her sensitive flesh. She groaned, the sound so seductive that Thomas wanted to plunge into her then.

Instead, he slid his free hand between her parted thighs, cupped her, and then stroked her until she surged against the pressure of the heel of his hand. He aroused her with a steadily escalating rhythm that matched the suckling pull of his lips at her breast. Her repeated gasps of pleasure were an erotic entreaty, one that he was powerless to ignore.

His appetite for her expanded with every deafening beat of his heart. Geneva was more sexually volatile than he’d ever imagined she might be, and the prospect of the full impact of her sensuality almost made him explode. But he kept his focus on her, driven by the need to pleasure her until she succumbed totally to the release he intended to give her.

Taking wasn’t an issue for him now, even though he wanted Geneva more than he’d ever wanted any other woman in his life. Giving meant more. Far more, but he didn’t pause to ask himself why.

She called out his name, her hands frantic as she clutched at his shoulders. He intensified the pressure of his hand and suckled her more forcefully. Then, a groan tore out of her a few moments later. She trembled violently, stiffened, and then cried out as waves of sensation buffetted her body.

When Geneva finally sagged in his arms, Thomas gathered her close and marveled at the stunning force of her climax. He’d never known a more responsive woman. As he held her, he felt the aftershocks that quivered through her body, then the tears that wet his lips when he leaned down to kiss her cheek.

Trying to turn away, Geneva covered her face with her hands.

Thomas refused to allow her to hide from him. He tugged her hands free of her face, cradled the back of her head in his palms, and waited for her to look at him.

Geneva glanced away, then suddenly gave up the fight. She exhaled shallowly before she met his gaze.

"Don’t be embarrassed. Please," he said, speaking slowly. "You’re so beautiful when you break apart in my arms."

She stared at him, her blue eyes huge in her pale face. "I’m not embarrassed."

"Then tell me what’s wrong.  Why the tears?"

She swiped at the tears before answering him. "I felt… I didn’t know…" She stopped, clearly frustrated.

It cannot be, Thomas thought, but he suspected he knew what troubled her. Her startled reaction to his touch had been more telling than she probably realized. "Was that your first climax with a partner?" he asked.

Flushing, she nodded.

"The men you’ve known really were idiots."

Geneva held up a single finger. "One man. A long time ago."

"He was an idiot."

She smiled faintly. "Selfish. Not like… you." Her smile faded.

She shifted against him, frowning as her hand drifted down between their bodies. She smoothed her fingertips over the rigid length of his sex, prompting a smothered groan from Thomas. "Not very fair to you."

Thomas chuckled in spite of his physical discomfort. "I’ll be alright. I told you I wouldn’t rush you. I meant it."

"Most men wouldn’t care. They would expect…"

He captured one of her hands and pressed a kiss to each fingertip. "I care, and I can wait until you’re ready. You’re worth waiting for, Geneva."

She leaned forward, claimed his lips with acute tenderness, and kissed him. Once she eased back, she admitted, "I can’t promise when."

Thomas nodded soberly.

"Thank you for understanding."

"I do," he said. "Far more than you even realize, I suspect."

He held her then, savoring the bond they’d unexpectedly forged. Not long after, they departed the lodge.

Following a stop at Geneva’s chalet, Thomas drove her to the garage in Cedar Grove to collect her Jeep, and then followed her to the business district of the small northern Nevada village.

Before the close of business that day Thomas signed the documents to lease Nicholas Benteen’s lodge. He also telephoned his moving company and ordered the delivery of his household goods, which had been in storage since his departure from San Diego the previous month.

Although it surprised her to realize it, Geneva wasn’t embarrassed by what had transpired at the lodge, especially after she replayed the entire episode through her mind several times in the days that followed. At first, she feared she’d made a complete fool of herself, but her anxiety ceased once she settled down enough to think clearly.

The real test came each time she encountered Thomas, either when he stopped in at her shop for a few moments of idle conversation, when they ran into each other in the office building hallway, or when they dined together after work. True to his word, he didn’t rush her. His desire for her showed in his eyes, so she appreciated even more his restraint as she embraced the idea of living a less–guarded life.

Even Rose noticed his subdued demeanor, but she credited her nephew’s behavior to the pressure of setting up his law office and settling into a new home. Geneva didn’t correct her perception.

The awkwardness Geneva
didn’t
feel around Thomas made her briefly wonder if her pride was blinding her to what any other woman might consider a lapse in judgment. She finally concluded that she could trust the emotions that had guided her into his arms. In her mid–thirties, she possessed more than a rudimentary knowledge of human nature. She’d seen people at their best and at their very worst, and at many points in between.

Geneva sensed that she might be over analyzing, but she felt the need to come to terms with her own attraction to a man like Thomas Coltrane. A unique man. A man of apparent integrity and honesty. A man capable of awakening her passions and stirring her emotions. The kind of man she’d dreamed of having as a life partner. The same man who was gently, but doggedly, courting her.

Her lack of sexual experience was a reality she knew she couldn’t ignore, but then she remembered what her father had told her as a teenager during her first crush. He’d assured her that she would eventually discover that intimacy between two consenting adults transcended any real or imaginary obstacles.

He’d also told her that physical desire was nothing to be ashamed or afraid of. And among the people she thought of as her family, she’d witnessed every possible pairing of men and women, from long–term relationships to short–lived affairs.

As she stared at the flames dancing above the logs in the fireplace in her bedroom late one night, she wondered what her father would have said to her if he’d known that a man like Thomas Coltrane would breach the barriers she’d erected around herself—that he would become the force destined to reacquaint her with the passionate woman secreted within. She suspected that Patrick would have encouraged the relationship, perhaps even given it his blessing.

Geneva couldn’t deny the volatile chemistry between them. It literally took her breath away each time she saw him. She felt drawn to him, attracted not only to his rugged exterior, but to the man within—a man of strength, intellect, and compassion, not to mention his unexpected sensuality—the kind of primitive sensuality that provoked fantasies about what he would be like as a lover without any barriers between them.

Even now, her body quickened deep inside at the prospect of making love with him. His touch was the closest thing to heaven she’d ever experienced. She’d felt his heartbeat in his fingertips when he’d stroked her body, and she shivered at the thought of experiencing his seductive touch again.

He had allowed her glimpses into his soul, an act of faith she didn’t doubt was a rare occurrence. And what she saw was that Thomas Coltrane understood regret and loneliness. Rather than discourage her, the knowledge served to seduce both her emotions and her heart even more.

Although she still felt somewhat off–balanced by her powerful feelings for Thomas—feelings that grew stronger with every passing day—she also felt hopeful for the first time in many years.

Perhaps, she mused, he
was
the kind of man capable of understanding her past. Perhaps he wouldn’t feel compelled to judge her. And perhaps he was the answer to her yearning for the ultimate emotional and physical union between a man and a woman. She already knew he experienced that same yearning, but he managed to contain and control it.

Because of her.

For her.

She sighed softly as she settled against the pillows on her bed and drew up the quilt. She wanted Thomas not just as a lover, but as a friend, companion, and confidante. She wanted him in her life and in her bed, but did she possess the courage to tell him the truth about herself at the risk of repulsing him?

Geneva knew that the greatest danger she faced was the possibility of falling in love with him. A voice in her head warned that the point was moot. She didn’t bother to contradict it. She already cared about Thomas, cared more deeply than she’d ever cared for a man before.

As she turned off the bedside lamp, she reminded herself that cowardice didn’t suit her. It never had. The bottom line was simple. She wanted Thomas Coltrane enough to risk her heart.

The one thing she refused to risk, however, was the safety of her family. So she needed to find a way not to jeopardize those she loved and still satisfy her longing for Thomas.

Geneva drifted off to sleep, wondering how one turned fantasy into reality.

** ** **

A few days later Geneva was juggling the fresh pine boughs she’s just cut from the lower branches of an ancient pine tree not far from her chalet when she saw Thomas stroll into the clearing. A welcoming smile sprang to her lips.

He waved and walked toward her. "Rose told me you decided to take the day off," he signed as he spoke.

She met him in the middle of the clearing. "You’re a nice surprise."

"When you didn’t answer your front door, I thought I’d scout around a bit. I followed the sled tracks."

She deposited the boughs onto those already piled atop the sled, then stepped back to dust the stray needles from her parka.

"It’s almost dark. How about some help?"

She glanced up at the early evening sky and shook her head. "I lost track of the time, I’m afraid." Geneva gestured to the stacked boughs. "As you can see, I also over–estimated the capacity of my sled."

"No problem." Thomas gathered up an armful of boughs and placed them in her outstretched arms. "If you can handle these, I’ll deal with your sled."

She grinned. "Excellent plan."

He paused, then said, "You have the sexiest voice I’ve ever heard."

Startled, she said, "Excuse me?"

He gave her an amused look. "You understood me correctly."

"You’re right, I did. You surprised me, that’s all."

"Then we’re even, Geneva Talmadge, because you’ve been a constant surprise since the first moment I saw you."

"Is that good or bad?" Geneva teased, responding to his upbeat mood.

"I’m not complaining, so I guess it’s good."

She grinned. "I’ll have to trust you. In the meantime, my toes are in danger of turning into ice cubes."

Reaching out, he cupped the side of her face with his glove–covered hand. He didn’t speak. He simply studied her upturned face.

Geneva’s grin slipped, then faded completely. Heat drenched her senses and flooded her bloodstream. Desire sparkled throughout her body like tiny flash fires. All because of Thomas. All because he’d touched her cheek.

She trembled, but she didn’t move beyond his reach. She wanted his hands on her. She wanted his passionate nature and all of the other parts of his personality that formed the entire man.