Paper Rose (13 page)

He stuck his hands into the pockets of his slacks. In the silence of the room, she heard the faint jingle of loose coins as he touched them.

“I wish you'd told me this before.”

“It wouldn't have changed anything.”

“Maybe not. But talking about wounds can help heal them.”

“You don't talk about yours,” she pointed out.

He sat down on the sofa facing her and leaned forward. “But I do,” he said seriously. “I talk to you. I've never told anyone else about the way my father treated us. That's a deeply personal thing. I don't share it. I can't share it with anyone but you.”

“I'm part of your life,” she said heavily, smoothing her hair back again. “Neither of us can help that. You were my comfort when Mama died, my very salvation when my stepfather hurt me. But I can't expect you to go on taking care of me. I'm twenty-five years old, Tate. I have to let go of you.”

“No, you don't.” He caught her wrists and pulled her closer. He was more solemn than she'd ever seen him. “I'm tired of fighting it. Let's find out how deep your scars go. Come to bed with me, Cecily. I know enough to make it easy for you.”

She stared at him blankly. “Tate…” She touched his lean cheek hesitantly. He was offering her paradise, if she could face her own demons in bed with him. “This will only make things worse, whatever happens.”

“You want me,” he said gently. “And I want you. Let's get rid of the ghosts. If you can get past the fear, I won't have anyone else from now on except you. I'll come to you when I'm happy, when I'm sad, when the world falls on me. I'll lie in your arms and comfort you when you're sad, when you're frightened. You can come to me when you need to be held, when you need me. I'll cherish you.”

“And you'll make sure I never get pregnant.”

His face tautened. “You know how I feel about that. I've never made a secret of it. I won't compromise on that issue, ever.”

She touched his long hair, thinking how beautiful he was, how beloved. Could she live with only a part of him, watch him leave her one day to marry another woman? If he never knew the truth about his father, he might do that. She couldn't tell him about Matt Holden, even to insure her own happiness.

He glanced at her, puzzled by the expression on her face. “I'll be careful,” he said. “And very slow. I won't hurt you, in any way.”

“Colby might come back….”

He shook his head. “No. He won't.” He stood up, pulling her with him. He saw the faint indecision in her face. “I won't ask for more than you can give me,” he said quietly. “If you only want to lie in my arms and be kissed, that's what we'll do.”

She looked up into his dark eyes and an unsteady sigh passed her lips. “I would give…anything…to let you love me,” she said huskily. “For eight long years…!”

His mouth covered the painful words, stilling them. He delighted in her immediate response. Even without knowing the whole truth of her traumatic experience, he'd wondered sometimes if she'd ever be capable of complete intimacy. He'd worried about it, because some men were insensitive with women. Such a man would have scarred her permanently. He wouldn't. Even if she wasn't capable of giving herself completely, he was going to make her first intimacy a joyful experience.

He smiled as he felt her mouth open under his, with more enthusiasm than experience. Yes, she wanted him. That was the first step.

She felt the smile and drew back, her wide eyes meeting his anxiously.

“We're all beginners once,” he said gently. His lean hands framed her face and he searched her eyes warmly. His mouth brushed lightly, teasingly, over hers, nibbling at first her upper lip and then her lower one with lazy pleasure. His thumb drew over the corner of her mouth, feeling the kisses sensuously as he coaxed her to relax against him.

Her fingers had a tight grip on his shirtfront. She hung at his lips, feeding on the slow, sensual tracing of his mouth in the silence of the living room.

His hands left her face to smooth over her shoulders and down her back, bringing her slowly against his taut body. The touch of her hips against his had a predictable effect and his breath drew in at the impact of it.

She moved away to look at his face, seeing the new rigidity in it, the flare of his narrowed eyes. He didn't seem to be teasing now. She could feel a faint tremor in his powerful body as his head bent to hers again. His lean hands pulled a little roughly at her hips, dragging them against his while his mouth began to devour hers with kisses that were no longer playful. This, she thought dazedly, was pure seduction. Even if she'd never experienced it before, she recognized the skill that drove it. She moaned as new sensations began to ripple through her untouched body. Her hands contracted. She began to lift toward him, encouraging the fierce hands that were moving her hips sensually against the hard thrust of him.

She went on her toes to prolong the contact, shivering as she felt the first wave of desire send a tremor through her.

His hands pressed her closer while he deepened the kiss. He could hear her heartbeat. She was gasping, moaning, sobbing under the ardor of his mouth. He smoothed his hands under her blouse and around her, slowly tracing the slope of her breasts before he eased steadily toward the hard peaks with his thumbs.

She moaned again and her arms went up around his neck, pulling, pleading, her mouth answering his kisses with utter submission.

He bit her lower lip and lifted his mouth a fraction of an inch away to look into her eyes. She looked feverish, so completely yielded that he could have her where she stood. “If you want me to stop, tell me now.”

She couldn't think, could barely breathe. The main thing, she thought dazedly, was that he mustn't stop. “Don't…stop,” she choked. Her body trembled as she tried to drag his mouth back over her swollen lips. “I love you,” she whimpered.

He groaned harshly as he kissed her again. He lifted her like priceless glass, and carried her down the hall to the guest room she occupied, pausing just long enough to kick the door shut and reach down to lock it.

She lay on the quilted coverlet in the tiny room, vibrating with sensations she'd never felt before while he stood over her and slowly stripped the clothing from his powerful body. Then he stood beside the bed, letting her look at him, indulging her curiosity about the raging arousal that even a virgin couldn't mistake.

“You've seen photographs like this, I imagine,” he murmured as he bent to remove her own things.

“Not like you,” she replied huskily, her eyes wide and curious.

He smiled. “No last-minute reservations?” he asked softly, moving the last flimsy piece of fabric from her warm, pretty body.

“No,” she said. She watched him smooth a lean hand down her bare flesh, watched him smile tenderly as his dark eyes enjoyed her for the first time without clothing. It wasn't embarrassing at all. It was exciting.

He bent and pressed his mouth gently to her soft belly, moving lazily onto the bed with her as his lips traveled up and suddenly began to suckle hungrily at her breast. Her soft cry of pleasure made him ripple with delicious anticipation. Her hands caught in his long hair, tangled in it as she held his mouth to her body, frightened that he might stop.

He smiled against her damp body. It was going to take a long time, but he wasn't worried about it anymore. She wanted him. It would be all right.

He slowed the rhythm of his caresses to suit her inexperience, teaching her how to touch him, how to give back the pleasure he was giving her. She clung to him, fascinated with the newness of physical pleasure, overwhelmed by the mastery of his lean hands as he gave her little tastes of fulfillment that lifted her completely off the bed in mindless delight.

Finally, when she was trembling with unexpected urgency, her eyes wide and dazed with the tiny bursts of pleasure he'd already coaxed from her taut body, he eased down against her. He saw her eyes widen more as he positioned her.

“This is a rite of passage,” he whispered as he nibbled at her lips, moving his hips into stark contact with the threshold of her innocence. “Don't be afraid of it. If I have to hurt you, I'll make up for it. All right?” She nodded, and as his hips moved down tenderly, she looked straight into his eyes. Her hands contracted around his strong fingers where they pressed into hers at either side of her head. She tensed at the first tiny stab of pain. She'd never dreamed that he'd be looking into her eyes when it happened. Or that having his eyes on her face would excite her so much.

“Are you afraid?” he whispered softly.

“Oh, no,” she whispered back lovingly, surprised that they could talk during such intimacy. Her legs trembled as he pushed against her once more. It was…incredible, the way it felt. She moved her legs to accommodate him, watching his face tauten as he eased closer and she felt the sting of his soft, slow invasion.

When she gasped and her fingers clutched wildly at his, he smiled. He moved sensually and felt her body lift toward his. “There? Right there?”

“Y…es!” she cried, gasping again.

He shifted with muted passion and laughed deep in his throat at her soft, throbbing moan, a predatory sort of delight that echoed in the rough kiss he pressed against her open mouth. His eyes glittered as he lifted above her and looked down the length of them as they joined.

She gasped again. She couldn't see him clearly, but she felt him move deeper with every sharp thrust of his hips. She felt him, deep and powerful and so…welcome…in the hungry emptiness of her body. She arched sensually as she felt the stab of ecstacy come again and again with each movement of his lean hips. She clung to him, sobbing. She hadn't dreamed that it would be so pleasurable.

“I've never enjoyed anything in my life so much,” he whispered to her, clenching his teeth as the pleasure shot through him, too. His eyes met hers. He was breathing roughly, raggedly. His hand swept down, tracing her soft thigh as he increased the rhythm. Her eyes closed and she cried out as he touched her. His mouth ground into hers. His eyes closed too, finally, as the glory of their intimacy washed over him like fire. Deep, and soft, he thought, deep and soft and slow, like a river of molten lava flowing, flowing, flowing…!

His body began to shudder. He could feel her twisting under him, reaching for fulfillment, desperate for fulfillment, her gasping pleas lost in the fierce thunder of his own heartbeat. Her name pulsed out of his tight throat as he drove against her desperately in search of that hot, sweet, oblivion. “Cecily…Cecily…Cecily!”

She cried out and she didn't even recognize her own voice. The pleasure was unbelievable, unbearable! She couldn't let it go, not yet…oh, not yet! She arched up to him with failing strength, whispering to him, begging him. Her body was a roman candle with the fuse burning, burning, and there, yes, there, was…the…explosion!

“Tate!” She heard his name pulse out of her mouth in startled triumph as what her body had been searching for was suddenly, shockingly, found. Waves of pleasure throbbed in her legs, her belly, waves that lifted her, that convulsed her. She stared at his face above her with blind ecstasy, saw it contort and clench as if in a dream.

He cried out hoarsely as his lean body arched down violently into hers. It corded and stilled above her. A sound like a hoarse sob accompanied the harsh convulsion of him above her. He shuddered and shuddered. For a second his eyes opened, black as night, stabbing down into her own.

“Never…this intense…” he bit off, shivering over and over again. “Oh…God…never this deep, never…!”

He convulsed, as she had. She held him, comforted him, while the waves made him groan hoarsely, momentarily helpless in her soft arms. She whispered to him, kissed his face, his eyes, adored him with her mouth.

It was a long time before he was still. She felt his eyelashes, thick and soft, against her cheek. They could have made a baby, she thought suddenly. He hadn't asked if she was protected. She hadn't asked if he was protecting her. She wouldn't say a word. He would never have to know. Then she remembered Senator Holden who had a son that Leta had never told him about, and felt guilty to her soul.

He stirred slowly, moving against her in remembered pleasure, his body throbbing deliciously in the aftermath, every movement rekindling the delight.

His hand swept down the side of her, lingering on her soft skin, exploring lazily. He lifted his head and drew slowly away from her, watching the faint shock and embarrassment in her eyes, smiling at her fascination. For a first time, he thought, it had been fairly volcanic.

He rolled over onto his back and stretched a hand to catch her waist. “Come down here.”

He drew her against him with possession, smoothing a hand down the length of her hair. He was satiated, and he wished he could feel guilty about what amounted to pure seduction, but he couldn't. She loved him. He'd enticed her in here and made beautiful love to her. Now he knew what it meant to love a woman physically, and he was shocked and awed and frightened by the ecstasy she'd given him. That he'd given it back was pleasing, but he felt as if he'd taken advantage of something she couldn't help. He hadn't used anything. He hoped that she was on the pill. He hadn't asked. He didn't want to ask. He'd been irresponsible and she was too green and far too aroused to realize it. Amazing, he thought, that he was such a fanatic about birth control, and he'd had this sudden lapse. With a virgin.
His
virgin. His woman. He drew in a long, slow breath, amazed at the pride he felt. Of all the men in the world, she'd chosen him. Considering her traumatic past, it humbled him to realize the magnitude of her gift.