The Newlyweds (14 page)

“Want one?” he asked as he pulled two longnecks out of the door.

“Sure,” she told him, loving how comfortable everything felt all of a sudden, almost as if they were…well, married.

“You know, we never did have that dance we were supposed to have tonight,” he said.

Until he said that. And then Bridget grew decidedly
un
comfortable.

He twisted the top off of one beer and handed it to her, and a quick thrill of electricity shot up her arm when his fingers made contact with hers. Okay, comfort zone definitely breached now, she thought. Next stop, Uneasy Street. Because the way Sam started looking at her just then…

She took the beer from him and enjoyed a long swallow, thinking it wasn't what she usually drank when dressed up, but somehow finding it perfectly appropriate for the occasion. “No, you're right, we didn't have our dance,” she agreed after swallowing. “We were too busy being
newlywed
ded to death.”

He smiled as he screwed off the top of his own beer with a pleasant-sounding hiss. “Your family and friends from Children's Connection mean well.”

“True,” she said.

But they'd all been just a little
too
gleeful in their newlywed name-calling, she added to herself. As if they really wanted the moniker to fit. But then, that was what always happened to people who found themselves in
love and engaged and married. They suddenly wanted everyone else in the world to be in love and engaged and married, too.

And Bridget wasn't about to let herself fall in love. Not with Sam Jones. Hey, it was nothing personal. She wouldn't fall in love with anyone. She couldn't afford to. She had places to go, people to see, a career to build. Her life was clear across the country in Washington, D.C. If she had her way, her life would even be
out
of the country, thousands and thousands of miles from Portland. Yet Portland was the only place Sam would ever be happy. And that was great. For him. But Bridget had different plans for herself. It would be pointless to fall in love with a man like him.

When she looked at him again, it was clear that he wanted to say something more. His gaze was fixed on her face, and his lips were parted, as if he'd started to speak and then reconsidered. Bridget waited to hear what he would say, if he said anything at all.

And then she was astonished when she heard him murmur softly, “We could do it now, here.”

Do it?
she echoed to herself.
Now? Here? Do it?
But this was so sudden… Kind of…

Then she realized he was talking about their dance.

“Dance?” she asked. Just to be clear on the matter, of course.

He nodded. “Sure, why not?”

Why not indeed? she wondered. Gosh, maybe because, considering what had happened the last time they'd found themselves in each other's arms, it could only lead to trouble? That was a pretty good reason.

“Come on, Bridget, dance with me,” he cajoled. And then he smiled again. “I'll go put on some music. Meet
me in the living room. There's a pretty elaborate stereo system in there. Surely there's some music appropriate for the kind of dancing we want to do.”

We?
she wondered.

Dancing?
she wondered.

Appropriate?
she wondered.

Just what kind of dancing was he talking about? she wondered.

When had the earth shifted on its axis sending everything into another dimension? It hadn't been that long ago that the two of them were both stressing how they needed to keep their distance from each other. Now Sam was inviting her close again. And she was much too eager to get close to him. Just what was going on?

Before she had a chance to ask, he spun around and headed through the kitchen door toward the living room. Bridget didn't want to follow him, though, because the look on his face when he'd asked her—no,
told
her—to meet him in the living room had been very strange. Briefly, she pondered the possibility of fleeing through the back door, but then she had to ask herself why she would want to do something like that when it was raining outside, an environmental condition that wasn't exactly suited to her current mode of dress.

It was, however, well suited to doing things indoors. Like dancing, for instance. Among other things.

As if realizing that had somehow wreaked a magic incantation, the lights overhead in the kitchen flickered and then went out. She told herself it was only the fact that she didn't like being alone in the darkness that made her tiptoe cautiously toward the kitchen door and stealthily follow the route Sam had just taken. But halfway down the hall to the living room, she heard the
sound of music. Soft music. Slow music. Music with lots of saxophones and a woman singing in a low, throaty voice. The kind of music that made people dance very,
very
closely together and think about things they probably shouldn't.

Gosh, had she thought she was scared of the dark? That was nothing compared to her fear of dancing.

She told herself it was only simple curiosity that made her continue. It was, after all, very nice music. And with the electricity out, it was magic music, because that elaborate stereo system in the living room couldn't possibly be working without a jolt of the ol' ac/dc. She just wanted to know how Sam had achieved music in such conditions. And she wanted to know who the artist was. Yeah, that was it. She might want to listen to it again someday. Someday when she had no desire to dance slowly with a very handsome man who had kissed her earlier and made her entire world go haywire.

When she entered the living room, though, she couldn't see a thing. Thanks to the rain outside, not even a glimmer of moonlight filtered through the windows. Bridget was about to call out to Sam, but a tiny burst of light near the fireplace suddenly flashed then calmed, and she saw he was lighting a fire that had already been laid in the hearth. Little by little, the tinder caught, and Sam became more visible with the leap of every new flame. He stayed crouched there until he was sure the fire was burning well, then straightened and lit two candles at one end of the mantelpiece.

In the fine amber light, his hair seemed to be tipped with gold, and his profile, which she had initially thought all strong planes and angles, softened some. He
looked younger in the fainter light, less distant, more carefree. Less overwhelming, more approachable.

Less unattainable. More irresistible.

She honestly wouldn't have thought it possible for him to be more attractive, but in that moment, he was. Although Bridget had done her best to fight her attraction to Sam since the beginning of their assignment together, she hadn't been able, or even willing, to lie to herself. He was very, very attractive. Handsome, smart, interesting, confident, all the things she liked in a man. But he'd plastered Keep Away signs all over himself, and any woman could have seen he simply wasn't interested in getting involved in any sort of relationship. Which was fine with Bridget—she didn't want to get involved at this point in her life, either. That hadn't stopped her from finding him attractive, however. It had only stopped her from acting on that attraction. Now, though…

Now she wasn't sure she wanted to stop herself from acting. Worse than that, at some point in the evening, Sam seemed to have removed all of his Keep Away signs. And now she couldn't help wondering what else he wanted to remove. More to the point, she found herself wanting to remove a few things, too.

Oh, what could it hurt? she asked herself. He was a grown man, and she was a grown woman, and they naturally experienced all the impulses and desires any other adult human being experienced. They'd been on their own for years and had both been successful in steering their lives in the directions they'd mapped out for themselves. Neither of them was a trembling ingenue un-schooled in the ways of the world and the whole man-woman thing. They were both obviously attracted to each other. They'd both had relations with other people.
If they felt desire for each other now, and yet neither wanted a long-lasting relationship, what problems could possibly arise if they responded to their impulses?

As if she'd asked the question aloud, Sam snapped his head up to look at her. But she stood in a pool of darkness on the other side of the room, far removed from the meager illumination of the fire and candles. She told herself he couldn't possibly see her expression or know what she was thinking. Somehow, though, he seemed to know exactly what she was thinking. Because his eyes found hers, even through the darkness, and he held her gaze captive as he began to stride slowly toward her.

“Looks like we lost the power,” he said softly as he approached.

Oh, I wouldn't say that,
Bridget thought. She was feeling all kinds of electrical surges herself. In spite of that, she concurred, “Looks like.”

“Could be out all night,” he added, taking a few more leisurely steps.

She nodded slowly. “It's possible.”

“Whatever will we do to pass the time?” he asked, drawing nearer still. “I mean, what can two people do alone in the dark at night when there's no electricity?”

“And just where is that music coming from, if there's no electricity?” Bridget asked, telling herself she wasn't trying to change the subject. It was a legitimate question.

“Stop trying to change the subject,” he said.

“It's a legitimate question,” she replied.

He grinned. And took another step forward. “Part of the elaborate stereo system is a basic, garden-variety boom box,” he told her. And took another step forward. “Batteries included.”

“Oh.”

“So we at least have music. That'll just make it more enjoyable to do the one thing I can think of that two people can do alone in the dark at night when there's no electricity.”

Bridget swallowed with some difficulty and told herself to respond to the remark with something flip and carefree to alleviate the tension that suddenly settled over the room. But no words came to her rescue. All she could do was watch Sam, and the way he moved through the darkness, and note how the air seemed to grow warmer with every step he took.

Time seemed to stand still as he made his way toward her. And even though she told herself she still had time to make some lame excuse and flee to her room, she stood rooted in place, watching him come.

He just wants to dance,
she reminded herself. That was what he had said in the kitchen. That was the one thing he could think of for two people to do alone in the dark at night when there was no electricity. The minute he pulled her into his arms, though, Bridget knew.

Sam was no more interested in just dancing than she was.

S
he realized Sam's intentions the instant he pulled her body against his and wrapped his arms around her, splaying his hands over her back. She felt the heat of his palms sear her through the thin fabric of her dress, remembered then that the only thing holding it up was two skinny straps that could be broken by the merest tug. Somehow, knowledge of that only made her heart race faster, though. Probably because she immediately began to fantasize what would happen if Sam did just that.

And those fantasies only multiplied and became more graphic when one of his hands began slowly to creep downward from her shoulder blade to her waist to the small of her back. And then lower still. So Bridget, in an effort to make it at least look like she was only interested in dancing, reached behind herself to impede his progress, curling her fingers firmly around his wrist
and replacing his hand on her waist. But Sam obviously wasn't a man to be put off so easily, because he began the journey again with his other hand. So Bridget reached behind herself again with
her
other hand, repeating her actions, too.

Too late, she realized that in placing both of her hands behind her back the way she did, she left her front arching more completely—and more arousingly—against Sam, her breasts thrusting forward to skim against his chest, her torso pressing intimately into his. And, too late, she realized how her position left her almost entirely helpless to change that. Because before she had a chance to alter it, Sam was doing it for her, expertly flipping his hands over to wrap his fingers around her wrists and hold both of her hands in place, lightly imprisoning her against him.

And then he smiled. Salaciously. Even in the darkness she could see it.

“What are you doing?” she asked, hoping he didn't notice the way her heart had begun to pound, but thinking he probably did, since it was banging so hard against his own.

“Can't you tell?” he asked. He tightened his fingers around her wrists and, with a gentle push, crowded her body even more intimately against his. Now, though, Bridget could feel his heart pounding, too, and somehow, that made her feel better.

For all of a half second.

She realized that if his heart was pounding the way hers was, then he was as affected by their current position as she was. And that meant he was probably having the same thoughts that she was, and now there really would be nothing to stop them from carrying this
through to its logical conclusion. Suddenly she didn't feel nearly as cavalier about that as she had only a few moments ago.

“Ah, no,” she lied. Badly. “I have no idea what you're doing. I mean, I know you said you wanted to dance, but this isn't a step I'm familiar with.”

“Yeah, well, it's a dance I haven't done myself for a while,” he told her. “So I guess we'll just have to improvise some.”

“I, uh…I'm not much good at improvisation,” Bridget told him.

“I don't have any complaints so far,” he said softly, dipping his head toward hers. “Besides, I'm
very
good at improvisation myself. I'll lead, and you can just follow along, okay?”

For one brief, delirious moment, Bridget thought he was going to kiss her, but he only rested his forehead lightly against hers. Then he began to sway their bodies slowly back and forth, keeping time with the mellow, jazzy music, and she had no choice but to follow him. Funny, though, she didn't mind following this time. In fact, she was kind of looking forward to seeing where he would lead her.

That wasn't quite right, she realized as she let herself relax against him. She did have a choice in the matter. And she chose to stay here with Sam. Because she wanted to. Because she needed to. Because she—

Well. Just because, that was all. And as far as she was concerned, it was a very good reason.

For a long time, they only moved slowly back and forth in time to the music, the rain pattering softly against the windows, the flames crackling and hissing in the fireplace, their feet scuffing lightly over the
hardwood floor. One tune segued into another, each one more seductive than the one before. And with every new song, Bridget found herself nestling more deeply into Sam, looping her arms possessively around his neck, pressing her body more intimately into his. And he seemed in no way bothered by the closeness. On the contrary, he only made more room for her, adjusted his body so that the two of them fitted together even better and draped his arms around her, too.

As they danced, Bridget grew more and more aware that the soft friction of their swaying bodies was increasing, generating an enticing sort of heat. It began as a soft shimmer of warmth that curled indolently through her, then gradually, it escalated, threatening to become an urgent fever that demanded satisfaction. Sam must have become aware of it at the same time she did, because his hands began to move slowly over her body at exactly the same time hers began to wander over his.

When he pressed his hand into her back and let it drift lower, she moved hers to his chest and opened it over his heart. When he skimmed his fingers down over her hip to her thigh, she countered by raking her fingers over his shoulder and down one arm. When he curled his hand intimately over her thigh, she tucked her other hand beneath the fabric of his jacket and began to push it away from his shoulder. So Sam retaliated by dipping his hand to the hem of her dress and pulling it higher.

“I want you, Bridget.”

The words seemed to come at her from a silvery mist, quiet and soft and shimmering. Unreal somehow, in spite of their heavy impact. And she was helpless not to reply, “I want you, too.”

Her quiet words must have been all the encourage
ment Sam needed, because he dipped his head then, to the sensitive place where her shoulder joined her neck, nuzzling her throat softly with his nose before skimming his mouth lightly over it.

“Oh,” Bridget cried softly at the caress. “Oh, Sam.”

He had lifted her dress up over her thigh, halting at the lower curve of her derriere, but now he bunched the fabric in his fist and pushed it higher still, over the silky panties hugging her bottom. And as one hand rose, the other fell, until both were cupped over the elegant contours of her fanny. Instinctively, the lower half of Bridget's body surged forward with the contact, thrusting her against that part of him that had grown hard and heavy in response.

She gasped at the depth and swiftness of his reaction, and he covered her mouth with his, thrusting his tongue inside. Bridget's hand on his chest convulsed at the contact, then moved to join the other in divesting Sam of his jacket, which fell to the floor at their feet. Feverishly, she went to work on his buttons next, pushing each through its hole with a deftness that belied her nervousness about what was happening. Sam tore his mouth from hers, only to move it to her jaw, her neck, her cheek, her temple, driving his hands upward again, over her waist, her rib cage, to just beneath her breasts.

And then his hands were on her breasts, palming them through the fabric of her dress, first coddling then ravaging them before reaching behind her for the zipper. He had it down in no time, and was pushing at the garment to lower it over her waist and hips, and then her dress, too, was heaped on the floor at their feet. Bridget hadn't bothered with a bra or stockings tonight, so she stood before Sam in nothing but black silk panties and
high heels, and there was something so acutely erotic about that, about him still being nearly fully dressed while she was nearly naked. She felt vulnerable, something she normally didn't like to feel. But she trusted Sam implicitly, and somehow, that made her embrace her vulnerability.

And then he was pushing at her panties, too, pulling them down, and Bridget was stepping out of them. She started to kick off her shoes, too, but Sam said, “Don't. Leave them on.” The huskiness of his voice when he said it told her that he was every bit as aroused as she.

His order sent a thrill of something electric and wholly erotic through her. And she nearly burst into flames when he covered her mouth with his again and began to run his hands all over her naked body. He raked them up over her legs and hips, to the insides of her thighs, across her belly and ribs, along her bottom and back, tracing her spine and her collarbones and down over her breasts, where he held one reverently in each hand. And all the while he kissed her, passionately, deeply, until Bridget didn't know where her body ended and his began.

His shirt was hanging open by now, thanks to her nearly incoherent actions, over a broad, muscular chest covered with dark hair that seemed to be tipped in gold in the firelight. Bridget tore her mouth away from Sam's long enough to gaze down upon him, the sight of their bodies pressed together sending a thrill of heat rocketing through her. Like his, her body, too, seemed to glow in the warm illumination of the fire, and she felt herself grow warm from the inside out. She glanced past Sam then, toward the windows of the living room that looked out on the front yard.

“The windows,” she hissed. “Someone will see us.”

“No, they won't,” he told her as he palmed her breasts. “There's not enough light. And the street is too far away.”

“But—”

“Don't worry, Bridget,” he told her. And then he lowered his head to one breast and traced its sensitive peak with the tip of his tongue, before opening his mouth over it and sucking it deep inside.

And then all Bridget could do was say, once again, “Oh, Sam.”

After that, Sam took control of the situation, and Bridget eagerly surrendered to him. For long moments, he sucked on her breast, laving it with the flat of his tongue, teasing it with the tip, then switching to the other and treating it to the same delight. Bridget wound her fingers tightly in his hair and thrust herself forward, offering him freer access, even though he was taking what he wanted already. As he held one breast and pleasured it, he skimmed his other hand downward, over her torso and between her legs. Instinctively, she parted for him, knowing she was already dewy with her anticipation of his touch.

And touch her he did, dipping his fingers gently into the damp folds of flesh, caressing her, stroking her, exploring her and finally penetrating her with one long finger. Bridget cried out again at the invasion, but she moved her own hand down over his, guiding him in his exploration. Slow, then faster, soft, then hard. And deeper. Oh, so much deeper.
Yes, like that… Oh, Sam, yes…Yes…

Together they brought her to her first climax, her entire body shuddering as she cried out her completion. Sam paused in his attentions to let her orgasm run its course, then, when her body relaxed some, pulled her more
fiercely against him. He kissed her again, more deeply than before, then swept her up into his arms. Bridget closed her eyes and trusted him to take her wherever he wanted, knowing that no matter where it was, she would want, too. She wanted Sam. More than she'd ever wanted anyone. More than she'd ever wanted any
thing.

She told herself the realization should terrify her. But somehow, it only made her feel very, very good inside. So she rested her head against his shoulder and didn't open her eyes again until he cleared the final step. Even in the darkness, she could tell he was smiling down at her, an errant strand of dark hair falling down over his forehead, just like Rhett Butler. He carried her to the bedroom he'd been using himself, finding his way through the darkness to the bed with no problem. There, he carefully laid Bridget upon it, then leaned over her and kissed her, long and hard and deep.

“I'll be right back,” he said softly.

And then he was gone, and all she could do was wish him back. In the meantime, she fumbled with the bedspread, sheets and blankets until she'd turned the bed down, and stretched herself out on her side. Her body was still humming in the wake of his earlier caresses, her skin so sensitive that even the cool kiss of the sheets aroused her.

Hurry back, Sam,
she thought.
I miss you.

As if her silent plea had summoned him, he appeared in the doorway, carrying the two lit candles from the mantel. “I was going to bring the music, too,” he said, “but I didn't have enough hands.”

Oh, Bridget didn't know about that. A few moments ago he seemed to have plenty of hands. “That's all
right,” she told him. “All I need is you. Please, Sam. Make love to me.”

He strode across the room to place the candles on the dresser, then turned to look at Bridget, who patted the mattress beside her in invitation.

He smiled. “You still have your shoes on.”

She smiled back. “I thought you wanted me to keep them on.”

“I do. You look sexy as hell lying there.”

“There's barely enough light to see me.”

“Oh, believe me, I can see you just fine. And you look sexy as hell.”

“You're not so bad yourself. Except for still being dressed.”

He glanced down at his clothes, which, admittedly, were in a state of disarray, but were still on his person. “So I am.”

“Take them off,” she instructed him.

He grinned. “Yes, ma'am.”

She grinned back. “I like the way you say that.”

“Then I'll have to say it a lot.”

“Which means I'll have to give you lots of orders.”

“Which I will happily obey.”

“Good. Take your clothes off. Now.”

Without hesitation, Sam reached up to unbutton his shirt, realized belatedly that it was already unbuttoned, and shrugged it off. It glided to the floor soundlessly, and Bridget could only gaze upon him in wonder, at the generous thatch of dark hair that covered his torso, thinning as it speared into the waistband of his trousers. Muscles corded his abdomen and chest, and veins striped his shoulders and arms, bunching into noble ridges as he settled his hands on his waist.

Wow,
she thought. That was all. Just…wow. “More,” she told him.