Hunter (21 page)

That was surprising. He didn't seem the type to thrive on a desk job. But then, she'd thought she wasn't the type, either. She managed. Probably the widow didn't want him in a dangerous job anymore, and he'd given it up for her sake. The thought made her sick.

“I'll get your coat,” she said, smiling. Her face would be frozen in its assumed position by the time he left, she thought ruefully.

She picked up his coat from the bed. This would be the last time. He'd marry the widow and she'd never see him again. She'd lost him for good now. She drew his coat slowly to her breasts and cradled it against her, tears clogging her eyes, her throat. She brought it to her lips and kissed it with breathless tenderness, bending her head over it with a kind of pain she'd never felt before in her life. It held the faint scent of the cologne he wore, of the tobacco he smoked. It smelled of him, and the touch of it was precious. She was losing him forever. She didn't know how she was going to live.

She straightened, feeling old and alone, wondering how she was going to go back in there and pretend that it didn't matter about his widow. That the past few months had been happy and full. That her life was fine without him in it.

In the other room, the man who'd happened to glance toward her bedroom had seen something reflected in the mirror facing the door that froze him where he stood. Her lighthearted act had convinced him that she didn't care, that she never had. But that woman holding his coat loved him. The emotion he saw in her face would haunt him forever, humble him every time he remembered the anguish in those soft blue eyes. She wasn't happy without him. He knew now that she'd been pretending ever since he'd walked into the apartment. She'd only been putting on an act about not caring, to hide her real feelings. He grimaced, thinking how close a call it had been. If he'd taken her act for granted and left, his life would never have been the same.

He caught his breath and turned away. All his former arguments about the reasons they were better apart vanished in an agony of need. If he walked out that door, she was going to die. If not physically, surely emotionally. She loved him that much. He loved her that much, too. It was vaguely frightening, to love to that degree. But even with the obstacles, they were going to make it. He'd never been more certain of anything in his life.

He took the coat from her when she rejoined him, her mask firmly in place again. She couldn't know that he'd seen her through the mirror, so he didn't let on. He wanted to see how far she was willing to go with the charade, if she could keep it up until he walked out. Now that he knew how she felt, it was like anticipating a Christmas present that was desperately wanted.

“It was nice to see you again,” she said as she went with him to the door.

“Same here.” He opened the door and stood silhouetted in it, with his long back to her, looking alien and somehow unapproachable. “You haven't said whether you were glad to see me, Jennifer,” he said quietly, without turning.

She lowered her eyes to the floor. “It's always good to see old…friends, Phillip.”

He drew in his breath sharply. The sound of his name in her soft voice brought back unbearable memories. “Were we ever friends?”

“No. Not really. I'm…I'm glad…about your widow, I mean,” she said, unable to conceal a faint note of bitter anguish in her tone.

He sighed, still with his back to her. “The widow just turned eighty-two. She's my godmother.”

Her heart jumped. She took a steadying breath. “The divorced man only takes me out so he can talk about his ex-wife. He still loves her.”

He turned. He shook his head, the light in his eyes disturbing, humbling. “Oh, God, what a close call we had! You little idiot, do you really think I came here on business?” He held out his arms and she went into them. And just that quickly, that easily, the obstacles were pushed aside, the loneliness of the past gone forever.

He bent to her mouth and hers answered it. She moaned, shuddering, her control gone forever.

He lifted his head, and had to fight her clinging arms. “I'm going to close and lock the door, that's all,” he whispered shakily, reaching out to do it. “I don't want the neighbors to watch us make love.”

“Are we going to?” she asked helplessly.

He nodded. “Oh, yes,” he said fervently. He bent, lifting her in his arms. “I love you,” he whispered at her lips, watching the soft, incredulous wonder grow in her face as he said it. “And now I'm going to prove it physically, in the intimacy of lovemaking. At least I won't have to hurt you, will I, little one?” he asked, smiling gently at the memory of that night in his house.

She clung to him, shivering helplessly, her face buried in the heated skin of his throat. “You won't give me a child, ever, will you?” she whimpered.

His breath caught. He paused at the bedroom door, meeting her sad, hungry eyes. He started to speak, failed. He looked down at her mouth. “I won't…use anything, if you like,” he whispered. His eyes went back up to hers, lost in their shocked delight. “It's all right,” he said, his voice tender. “A child…will be all right.”

She was crying. He undressed her gently, but she couldn't even see him through her tears. She loved him. He loved her. There would be children and years of being together, wherever they chose to live. On the reservation, off it, in the desert, anywhere at all.

She said so, seeing him come down on the bed beside her, a blur of mahogany skin and lean muscle.

“Say the words while I'm loving you,” he whispered, his lips slow and tender on her yielded body.

“The…words?” she echoed, arching as his mouth pressed down on her flat belly.

“That you love me,” he said lazily. “I said it, but you didn't.”

“How could you not know?” she moaned achingly. “I offered myself every time you looked at me. I did everything but wear a button…. Oh!” She stiffened as his mouth touched her in an unexpected way.

He lifted his head, his eyes darkly smoldering. “Do you want that?” he whispered.

She almost didn't answer him. She had a feeling that the experienced women he'd known had expected it, and an equally strong feeling that it was something he'd do for her sake, but never for his own.

She sat up, touching his lean face lovingly. “If you want it,” she whispered. “I…” Her eyes fell to his chest, and further. She caught her breath at the sight of him. “I'll do anything you want me to.”

He tilted her eyes back up to his. “Is it something you want?”

She shook her head. “I'm sorry…”

“Sorry!” He laughed with soft delight and caught her close, his mouth rough on her bare shoulder. “I'm as old-fashioned as you are, in some ways. Not really modern enough for this day and age. But if you want that kind of intimacy, you can have it.”

“Maybe someday,” she whispered. “When I'm less inhibited.” She flushed. “Right now, all of it is a little scary…”

He lifted his head and his dark eyes searched hers. “We'll sit up this time, and you can control when it happens.”

She went scarlet. He brushed her mouth with his. “Don't be shy,” he whispered into her lips. “It's as new to me as it is to you, to make love and be in love. I don't want to make it disappointing for you.”

“It could never be that,” she said gently. “Not with you.”

“Try to remember that it's an art, like any other,” he said, brushing back her hair. “It isn't perfection at first. It may be uncomfortable despite what we did in my bed that night, and there may not be much pleasure in it for you. I can make it up to you afterward.” He drew in a slow breath. “I've been without a woman for a long time, and my body isn't always mine to control. I'll hold back as long as I can….”

His anguish made her feel protective. She lifted her lips to his face and kissed his eyes closed, loving the newness of being in love, of being loved in return, of being wanted. “Whatever you do to me will be all right,” she whispered. “Love me, now, please. Teach me.”

“God, what a thing to tempt a man with,” he groaned. He eased her down on the bed, and his mouth found her with aching expertness. He kissed and touched and teased until the flames were blazing in her slender body, until she was crying and twisting up to his mouth and hurting with her need of him.

She was only dimly aware when he moved, sitting back against the headboard with her body over his. He lifted her, his hands faintly tremulous, and positioned her so that she felt him suddenly in stark, hot intimacy.

Her eyes dilated, looking straight into his. He took her hands and placed them on his hips.

“Now,” he whispered.

She hesitated, but the strain in his face made her realize the torment he was enduring for her sake. She bit her lower lip and pushed. To her amazement, there was only a little discomfort, but not pain. She gasped.

He smiled gently, even through his excitement. “Yes,” he whispered. “I thought it might be so. There's nothing to be afraid of now.”

His hands settled, warm and hard on her hips. He whispered to her, something that made her body shiver, something so intimate that she gasped and her blood surged in her veins. And at that moment, his hands jerked mercilessly and she felt the white-hot fury of sudden pleasure biting into her.

He rolled over with her, still a part of her body, his voice whispering, coaxing. His mouth brushed against hers, his lips tender, his hands touching her. His mouth settled gently on hers and he began to move, very slowly.

She jerked helplessly. “Phillip!” she exclaimed as the sudden pleasure made her rigid.

“Hold on,” he murmured against her mouth. “I'm going to make you want me so badly that you'll fly in my arms. Bite me. That's it, bite me!” he whispered fiercely.

She'd dreamed of a tender, slow initiation with moonbeams and pink clouds. Instead, it was like a vicious fever with pleasure so throbbing and fierce and merciless that she became wanton.

Her nails bit into him, like her teeth. He pushed her down into the mattress with the rough thrust of his body and she arched up to receive it, her legs tangling in his. She looked up at him, her eyes fastened to his, her breath gasping out as his face moved closer and then away, and the mattress rose and fell noisily.

“Look down,” he said under his breath.

She did, too lost in him to be shy anymore. He looked, too, and when her eyes met his, passion was smoldering in them.

“Show me where, Jennifer,” he whispered, moving her hands to his hips. “Teach me where you feel the most pleasure when I move.”

She flushed, but she obeyed him, guided his body, and cried out when he followed her lead. And then it all seemed to explode at once. His movements were rough and quick, his powerful body strong enough for both of them, his hands controlling her wild thrashing, holding her down, making her submit. His mouth crushed into hers and she heard his tortured breathing, his harsh groans, as the pleasure arched him into her body.

Incredibly she went with him. Soaring. Up into the sun. Shivering with cold and heat so intricately mingled that she was only living as part of him. She was saying something, but she couldn't hear her own voice.

When she opened her eyes again, there was a new kind of lassitude in her limbs. They felt numb and boneless, like the rest of her body. She could breathe again. Her heartbeat was almost normal.

A dark, loving pair of eyes came into view above her. “That,” he whispered, “is the sweetest expression of love I'll ever experience in my life. You're my woman.”

“Yes.” She said it with shy pride, because now it was over. The mystery was gone, but the magic remained. She touched his mouth, fascinated. “Will I get pregnant from it?” she whispered.

He smiled lazily. “I hope so,” he whispered. “Creation should be like this, from seed so exquisitely planted in love. Now do you understand what I meant, about not making a casual entertainment out of something so profound? The ultimate glory of lovemaking is the act of creation.” He bent and kissed her with rapt tenderness. “I want to plant my seed in you. If we can make a baby together, even if he is a product of two worlds, I want to.”

She clung to him, her mouth ardent and loving. “So do I,” she whispered huskily. “Oh, so do I! I love you.”

“I love you just as much,” he said with fierce possession. He was surprised at how quickly his body responded when he kissed her, at the kindling passion that bound them together almost at once.

“No, don't stop,” she whispered when he hesitated.

“It's too soon…”

“No!” She pulled him down to her and put her mouth hungrily against his and felt him shudder. She opened her eyes as his body slid over hers and they melted together with delicious ease.

“You see?” she whispered shakily. “It's so easy now.”

“So easy.” He smiled tenderly and his mouth bent to hers. He bit at it, very gently, and his body echoed that tenderness, his arms enfolding hers. He rolled abruptly onto his side and smiled at her surprise. “That night in Washington, I wanted to do it like this, remember? Now we can. Put this leg over mine, here,” he guided softly. “Now, like this…!”

She watched his face contort as his hand brought her hips suddenly against his. It was fascinating to watch him, to see the passion kindle and ignite.

“Jennifer, you're staring,” he whispered.

“I know. I want to watch you,” she whispered back, her eyes wide and soft and curious. “Is it all right if I look?”

He shuddered. Her fascination with his pleasure brought it all too soon. His body buckled and began to shudder. He felt the familiar tension building to flashpoint, hamstringing him, racking him. He looked into her eyes and felt her hands shyly tugging at his hips and he cried out.

Convulsions of unbearable pleasure ripped through him. He was aware at some level of her stare, of her scarlet face as she saw him experience fulfillment. It made it all the more shattering. He was helpless and she was seeing him this way, but it didn't matter. Nothing mattered. He was burning. Burning. Burning!