Midnight Rainbow (14 page)

           
 
When both garments were hanging open, he
shrugged out of his and tossed it on the tarp, never taking his eyes from her.
Tugging his undershirt free of his pants, he caught the bottom of it and peeled
it off over his head. He tossed it aside, too, completely baring his broad,
hairy chest.
As it had the day before, the sight of his
half-naked body mesmerized her.
Her chest hurt; breathing was incredibly
difficult. Then his hard, hot fingers were inside her shirt, on her breasts,
molding them to fit his palms. The contrast of his heated hands on her cool
skin made her gasp in shocked pleasure. Closing her eyes, she leaned into his
hands, rubbing her nipples against his calloused palms. His chest lifted on a
deep, shuddering breath. She could feel the sexual tension emanating from him
in waves. Like no other man she'd known, he made her acutely aware of his
sexuality, and equally aware of her own body and its uses. Between her legs, an
empty throb began to torment her, and she instinctively pressed her thighs
together in an effort to ease the ache.

           
 
As slight as it was, he felt her movement. One
of his hands left her breast and drifted downward, over her stomach and hips to
her tightly clenched thighs. "That won't help," he murmured.
"You'll have to open your legs, not close them." His fingers rubbed
insistently at her and pleasure exploded along her nerves. A low moan escaped
from her lips; then she swayed toward him. She felt her legs parting, allowing
him access to her tender body. He explored her through her pants, creating such
shock waves of physical pleasure that her knees finally buckled and she fell
against him, her bare breasts flattening against the raspy, hair-covered
expanse of his chest.

           
 
Quickly he set her down on the tarp and knelt
over her, unzipping her pants and pulling them down her legs, his hands rough
and urgent. He had to pause to remove her boots, but in only moments she was
naked except for the shirt that still hung around her shoulders. The damp air
made her shiver, and she reached for him. "I'm cold," she complained
softly. "Get me warm."

           
 
She offered herself to him so openly and
honestly that he wanted to thrust into her immediately, but he also wanted
more. He'd had her nearly naked in his arms before. In the stream, that wisp of
wet silk had offered no protection, but he hadn't had the time to explore her
as he'd wanted. Her body was still a mystery to him; he wanted to touch every
inch of her, taste her and enjoy the varying textures of her skin. Jane's eyes
were wide and shadowed as he knelt over her, holding himself away from her
outstretched arms. "Not just yet, honey," he said in a low, gravelly
voice. "Let me look at you first." Gently be caught her wrists and
pressed them down to the tarp above her head, making her round, pretty breasts
arch as if they begged for his mouth. Anchoring her wrists with one hand, he
slid his free hand to those tempting, gently quivering mounds.

           
 
A small, gasping sound escaped from Jane's
throat. Why was he holding her hands like that? It made her feel incredibly
helpless and exposed, spread out for his delectation, yet she also felt
unutterably safe. She could sense him savoring her with his eyes, watching
intently as her nipples puckered in response to the rasp of his fingertips. He
was so close to her that she could feel the heat of his body, smell the hot,
musky maleness of his skin. She arched, trying to turn her body into that
warmth and scent, but he forced her flat again.

           
 
Then his mouth was on her, sliding up the
slope of her breast and closing hotly on her nipple. He sucked strongly at her,
making waves of burning pleasure sweep from her breast to her loins. Jane
whimpered,
then
bit her lip to hold back the sound.
She hadn't known, had never realized, what a man's mouth on her breasts could
do to her. She was on fire, her skin burning with an acute sensitivity that was
both ecstatic and unbearable. She squirmed, clenching her legs together, trying
to control the ache that threatened to master her.

           
 
His mouth went to her other breast, the rasp
of his tongue on her nipple intensifying an already unbearable sensation. He
swept his hand down to her thighs, his touch demanding that she open herself to
him. Her muscles slowly relaxed for him, and he spread her legs gently. His
fingers combed through the dark curls that had so enticed him before, making
her body jerk in anticipation; then he covered her with his palm and thoroughly
explored the soft, vulnerable flesh between her legs. Beneath his touch, Jane
began to tremble wildly. "Grant," she
moaned,
her voice a shaking, helpless plea.

           
 
"Easy," he soothed, blowing his warm
breath across her flesh. He wanted her so badly that he felt he would explode,
but at the same time he couldn't get enough of touching her, of watching her
arch higher and higher as he aroused her. He was drunk on her flesh, and still
trying to satiate himself. He took her nipple in his mouth and began sucking
again, wringing another cry from her. Between her legs a finger suddenly
penetrated, searching out the depths of her readiness, and shock waves battered
her body. Something went wild inside her, and she could no longer hold her body
still. It writhed and bucked against his hand, and his mouth was turning her
breasts into pure flame. Then his thumb brushed insistently over her straining,
aching flesh, and she exploded in his arms, blind with the colossal upheaval of
her senses, crying out unconsciously. Nothing had ever prepared her for this,
for the total, mind-shattering pleasure of her own body.

           
 
When it was over, she lay sprawled limply on
the tarp. He undid his pants and shoved them off, his eyes glittering and wild.
Jane's eyes slowly opened and she stared up at him dazedly. Grasping her legs,
he lifted them high and spread them; then he braced himself over her and slowly
sank his flesh into hers. Jane's hands clenched on the tarp, and she bit her
lips to keep from crying out as her body was inexorably stretched and filled.
He paused, his big body shuddering, allowing her the time to accept him.

           
 
Then suddenly it was she who couldn't bear any
distance at all between them, and she surged upward, taking all of him,
reaching up her arms to pull him close.

           
 
She never noticed the tears that ran in
silvered streaks down her temples, but Grant gently wiped them away with his
rough thumbs. Supporting his weight on his arms, sliding his entire body over
her in a subtle caress, he began moving with slow, measured strokes. He was so
close to the edge that he could feel the feathery sensation along his spine,
but he wanted to make it last. He wanted to entice her again to that satisfying
explosion, watch her go crazy in his arms.

           
 
"Are you all right?" he asked in a
raw, husky tone, catching another tear with his tongue as it left the corner of
her eye. If he were hurting her, he wouldn't prolong the loving, though he felt
it would tear him apart to stop.

           
 
"Yes, I'm fine," she breathed,
stroking her hands up the moving, surging muscles of his back. Fine…

           
 
What a word for the wild magnificence of
belonging to him. She'd never dreamed it could feel like this. It was as if
she'd found a half of herself that she hadn't even known was missing. She'd
never dreamed that
she
could feel
like this. Her fingers clutched mindlessly at his back as his long, slow
movements began to heat her body.

           
 
He felt her response and fiercely buried his
mouth against the sensitive little hollow between her throat and collarbone,
biting her just enough to let her feel his teeth, then licking where he'd
bitten. She whimpered, that soft, uncontrollable little sound that drove him
crazy, and he lost control. He began driving into her with increasing power,
pulling her legs higher around him so he could have more of her, all of her,
deeper and harder, hearing her little cries and going still crazier. There was
no longer any sense of time, or of danger, only the feel of the woman beneath
him and around him. While he was in her arms he could no longer feel the dark,
icy edges of the shadows in his mind and soul. In the aftermath, like that
after a storm of unbelievable violence, they lay in exhausted silence, each
reluctant to speak for fear it would shatter the fragile peace. His massive
shoulders crushed her, making it difficult for her to breathe, but she would
gladly have spent the rest of her life lying there. Her fingers slowly stroked
the sweat-darkened gold of his hair, threading through the heavy, live silk.
Their bodies were reluctant to leave each other, too. He hadn't withdrawn from
her; instead, after easing his weight down onto her, he'd nestled closer and
now seemed to be lightly dozing. Perhaps it had happened too quickly between
them, but she couldn't regret it. She was fiercely happy that she'd given
herself to him. She'd never been in love before, never wanted to explore the
physical mysteries of a man and a woman. She'd even convinced herself that she
just wasn't a physical person, and had decided to enjoy her solitary life. Now
her entire concept of herself had been changed, and it was as if she'd
discovered a treasure within herself. After the kidnapping she had withdrawn
from people, except for the trusted precious few who she had loved before: her
parents, Chris, a couple of other friends. And even though she had married
Chris, she had remained essentially alone, emotionally withdrawn. Perhaps that
was why their marriage had failed, because she hadn't been willing to let him
come close enough to be a real husband. Oh, they had been physically intimate,
but she had been unresponsive, and eventually he had stopped bothering her.
That was exactly what it had been for her: a bother. Chris had deserved better.
He was her best friend, but only a friend, not a lover. He was much better off
with the warm, responsive, adoring woman he'd married after their divorce. She
was too honest with herself to even pretend that any blame for their failed
marriage belonged to Chris. It had been entirely her fault, and she knew it.
She'd thought it was a lack in
herself
. Now she
realized that she did have the warm, passionate instincts of a woman in love—because
she was in love for the first time. She hadn't been able to respond to Chris,
simply because she hadn't loved him as a woman should love the man she marries.

           
 
She was twenty-nine. She wasn't going to
pretend to a shyness she didn't feel for the sake of appearance. She loved the
man who lay in her arms, and she was going to enjoy to the fullest whatever
time she had with him. She hoped to have a lifetime; but if fate weren't that
kind, she would not let timidity cheat her out of one minute of the time they
did have. Her life had been almost snuffed out twenty years ago, before it had
really begun. She knew that life and time were too precious to waste. Perhaps
it didn't mean to Grant what it did to her, to be able to hold and love like
this. She knew intuitively that his life had been much harder than hers, that
he'd seen things that had changed him, that had stolen the laughter from his
eyes. His experiences had hardened him, had left him extraordinarily cautious.
But even if he were only taking the shallowest form of comfort from her, that
of sexual release, she loved him enough to give him whatever he needed from
her, without question. Jane loved as she did everything else, completely and
courageously.

           
 
He stirred, lifting his weight onto his
forearms and staring down at her. His golden eyes were shadowed, but there was
something in them that made her heart beat faster, for he was looking at her
the way a man looks at the woman who belongs to him. "I've got to be too
heavy for you."

           
 
"Yes, but I don't care." Jane
tightened her arms about his neck and tried to pull him back down, but his
strength was so much greater than hers that she couldn't budge him. He gave her
a swift, hard kiss. "It's stopped raining. We have to go."

           
 
"Why can't we stay the night here? Aren't
we safe?"

           
 
He didn't answer, just gently disengaged their
bodies and sat up, reaching for his clothes, and that was answer enough. She
sighed, but sat up to reach for her own clothes. The sigh became a wince as she
became aware of the various aches she'd acquired by making love on the ground.
She could have sworn that he wasn't looking at her, but his awareness of his
surroundings was awesome. His head jerked around, and a slight frown pulled his
dark brows together. "Did I hurt you?" he asked abruptly.

           
 
"No, I'm all right." He didn't look
convinced by her reassurance. When they descended the steep slope to the floor
of the gorge, he kept himself positioned directly in front of her. He carried
her down the last twenty feet, hoisting her over his shoulder despite her
startled, then indignant, protests. It was a waste of time for her to protest,
though; he simply ignored her. When he put her down silently and started
walking, she had no choice but to follow.