Saints and Sinners (A Classic Romance) (15 page)

But Matthew's purpose exceeded passion. He was after a deeper commitment she'd give her soul to make. And once given, she wouldn't be able to disguise the truth.

"I'm not ready to say that, Matthew." The words cut into her heart. "And besides, you've been through a lot today. What you're wanting from me could be only a reaction to your needing my support and me giving it—gladly. Let that be enough. We shouldn't say or do anything you might regret tomorrow once the hurt and anger start to wear off."

"The only thing that hurts and angers me is your rejection when I'm telling you in no uncertain terms that I need more from our relationship than friendship and kisses."

The pointed flick of his thumb over her white satin blouse caused her nipple to bead. She inhaled sharply.

"Matthew, please." Her voice was urgent. "We have to stop this.
Now."

His fingertips folded sternly about her jaw, and he studied her long and incisively.

"Has a man abused you before? Is that why you're refusing to give us what we need? I know the real reason is that you're scared of something. Don't lie to me, Dee. I'll be able to tell if you do."

"No, Matt. I swear to you. I haven't been physically mistreated. Not the way you're thinking."

"But what, then? I want to know why you're afraid of intimacy when you're as hungry for it as I am. Why you won't return my love when I can feel it so strongly inside you. Something's dogging you, and I want to know what it is."

"I need more time," she said frantically. "More time, that's all."

"I've given you time. We know each other better, feel more for each other than most of the couples I've counseled. And we're talking people who've been married for years." He rubbed a hand over his forehead.

"Ah, hell..." He snorted in disgust. "I say we know each other, but that's not exactly true. Tonight I told you what I wouldn't speak to another soul. And still you keep this thing between us. Don't you ever get sick of it, Dee? I confided in you. Trust me enough to do the same. Tell me.
Love me."

Matt, she ached to cry. Matt, if only you knew how desperate I am to give you that and more. If only...

Those two words seemed to define her life when she needed something real and good. She
had
to have this moment, a too-small slice of time and unity, if she could have nothing else.

With shaking fingers she slid a button free from his shirt. He caught her wrist and stilled her hand.

"Why?" he demanded roughly. "If you're trying to placate me, forget it. Baring some skin isn't what I need from you."

"You do need it, Matthew. And so do I. Let me touch you, taste you. While you feel and see me."

"I told you that unless there's commitment, we can't—"

She silenced him with her mouth full on his. When she drew back, Dee knew that she'd increased his ardor sufficiently to take her offering, a paltry substitute for his greater demand. She had to be careful, but she hadn't the heart or will to deny them a closer bonding.

"No consummation tonight, Matthew. But
we
both need more than friendship and kisses. For now, the only thing standing between us that matters is your shirt."

Chapter 10

"Hold my glass." He thrust it into Dee's unsteady grip, then scooped her into his arms with an impatience matched by his stride.

"Where are you—"

"We're taking this to your bedroom. I have no intentions of dividing my attention between you and listening for a squeak from the upstairs. Got a lock on your door?"

"I... yes, but—" Before she could finish he'd turned the lock and tumbled her onto the mattress.

Moonlight spilled through the thin sheath of white curtains, revealing him in shadow. Even if they'd been shuttered in absolute darkness, she would have picked up his unique scent, the sound of his breathing.

His body strained close, calling to her own. But it was his spirit, the intangible force that composed his essence, that she felt most strongly. It exerted a hold over her that went far beyond the realm of the senses.

"Do you have any candles in here that we can use?" His voice was a touch in itself, stroking her in places unseen.

"I wish I did, but no."

"Let there be light anyway." The bedside lamp went on, surrounding them with a soft illumination. "I hope you don't mind, but I have a need to see what I've only been able to imagine."

"Imagine no more." Dee stood—close, but not so close that he couldn't watch her shy yet eager disrobing. The peach silk beneath her fingers gradually parted, each tiny pearl unlooped revealing more to his gaze. He looked torn between wanting to strip her with haste and relishing the anticipation.

Dee made it last. This was a first, and first times could never be repeated. Besides, she wasn't too sure of herself when it came to enticing a man.

She needn't have worried. Matthew's groan of near ecstasy assured her as she dropped her blouse to the floor, followed by a pale lacy bra.

"Sweet heaven," he breathed. "I pictured you in every way imaginable, but the fantasy was nothing like this."

"Do you like what you see?" she asked anxiously.

"Do I like what I see?" His hand hovered a hair's breadth away, so near she could feel their body heat join—then sizzle as he cupped her and slowly squeezed. "No, Dee, I don't like what I see.
I covet it."

"And I covet you," she confessed, damning caution. Matthew was, after all, a man who held fast to his principles. Knowing that, she embraced a limited freedom. As long as she didn't give him the commitment he demanded, she was protected, and thus Matthew. They could want, see, feel, and taste. They could almost have it all.

"If you want me, then take off my shirt and see me as a flesh and blood man."

It was all the prompting she needed. As she fumbled with buttons, his hands were divided between massaging her breasts and stroking her nipples.

When she reached the last visible button, her gaze fixed on the straining front of his pants. Dee quickly tugged his shirttail free and finished her privileged task. Cotton joined silk on the floor.

She stopped. On his chest was a stunning work of needled art.

She traced the sweep of two wings that spanned the generous width of his chest. She saw it centered between the wings and running the length of his breastbone.

"An angel," she whispered.

"With hair."

"Matthew." The feel of that hair was marvelous, and marvelously generous in supply. "It's beautiful."

"Then we have a mutual admiration." He moved decisively, sitting on the edge of her bed, then smoothly pivoting her hips so that she faced him. "Are you nervous?"

"A little."

"So am I. But nervous or assured or anything in between, whatever we share is blessed and good. Straddle my hips and let's put each other at ease."

Though her movements were stiff and a little awkward, she knew what they were doing was so right. The flounce of her black velvet skirt hid the place where they joined, where he pressed hard against her softness.

"Shut your eyes. Shut them. For me."

For him she would do anything. Dee was sealed in darkness as effective as a blindfold. Her senses immediately heightened. The smell of him, of her, of the anticipation between them was erotic and thick.

He reached for the glass she'd set on the night-stand, bringing his chest flush with hers. She felt the pounding of her heart meet his. She heard the clinking of ice cubes. And then she gasped.

Sharply bracing, the frozen liquid traced a single areola, then tapped against the contracted tip of her nipple. It became as hard as his bound erection, which he began to rub and slightly thrust.

When she thought she could stand the acute stimulation no longer, he stopped and blew a warm stream of air back and forth against the chill he'd created. She shivered uncontrollably.

"Cold? Or hot?"

"Yes... no. Both." Indeed, she was freezing. She was burning up.

"But you do like it, don't you? If not, I'll stop."

"Don't stop. I love it."

"And I love you. No, don't open your eyes. I want them closed. I want this show of trust from you. If you can't give it to me any other way, I'll take it like this."

She did let him take it. In his exotic torture, the glide of a cube over her other breast, the slice of icy wetness sliding up her neck and around her chin, she let him take it. Her temple received equal attention before she felt him stroke down her cheeks, bathing her in wintry tears.

Even in her mad flight she hadn't felt so totally defenseless, at the mercy of a man's strong will. There was an indomitable power in Matthew. In whatever he did or said she always sensed its presence, but never more than now.

The clinking of ice to glass again. Then came the broad stroke of his palm to her chest. Like a master painter in an artistic frenzy, he swept the cube over her skin until the ice was but a shrunken pebble cinching a taut nipple against his thumb.

Before she could cry out from the pleasure, of the exotic freezing burn, he joined his chest with hers and shared his body's heat, feverishly rubbing, then tenderly pressing. His hands were wet, still cold, as they spanned her back and held her tightly against him.

"Feel my heart, Dee. Feel it beating fast but steady. Do you feel it?"

"I do feel it." She shivered and he held her more tightly. "And Matthew, I need it more than you could know."

"Then open your eyes."

His face was close, intense. Searching hers.

"My heart, beloved, is like the rest of me. Imperfect. Impure. But open and wiser for its mistakes. Whatever the condition, it does beat for you. I am so in love with you. Please, Dee, tell me you feel it too."

Was she in love?

Did an angel have wings?

"Matthew."

His name was a broken sob. A plea to heaven. His name was all she dared say because if she spoke her heart, nothing would be left unsaid. Not even that Loren and Jason could be stripped from her protective arms and given into the keeping of a brutal man who claimed the custody right of a father. Not even that he was searching for her and would use his far-reaching clout to see her rot behind bars. And Matthew, Matthew was the kind of man who would wage an unwinnable battle. A man who would willingly grow old waiting for a woman who could die young in her sleep before the truth could set her free.

"I love you, Dee. Passionately. Carnally. Every way a man can love a woman, I do love you. Keep your secrets for now if you have to, but commit your love to me. Three words, Dee. Say them."

It wasn't easy, but she met his pleading gaze, thus giving her lie credence. "No. Forgive me, Matthew, but
no."

"Then why the tears?"

"Because I wish I could say yes."

He looked deeply hurt. He looked as if her tears were those he'd like to cry himself but wouldn't. Then his eyes narrowed. An expression of determination edged out any sign of acceptance of her statement or sympathy for the position she claimed.

"Maybe you won't say that you love me as I love you. But you do want me and that's something you can't deny." His fingers threaded into her hair before he pulled her forward. "Kiss me. Kiss me, dammit."

"Matt—" Her entreaty was cut off by the crush of his lips. His tongue invaded her mouth voraciously, as if it were seeking out every secret she kept, searching for truths and lies. It was not a nice kiss. It was aggressive and demanding and honest in its anger. Yet it was soulful and sincere, meant to arouse and succeeding.

His chest punished as much as it caressed her bare breasts. And his hands, his hands were the devil's own. In her hair, on her face, between her thighs, over her buttocks before sliding forward. Teasing, tantalizing. Gripping, releasing. She was in agony with each purposeful stroke of intimate pursuit.

When she was reduced to mindless cries for more, he laughed with grim satisfaction.

"More, Dee? You want more? So do I. I want it all. I'm not proud, just desperate. I hurt, Dee. I hurt from wanting you, and it's more than physical. Can you feel it in my hands? Feel them on your body, wanting and willing to grant you anything but release from me. They want to dry every tear you weep and... you're crying again. I'm so glad you're crying. Cry for me. Cry for me to be inside you, in every way, inside you."