A Loving Man (11 page)

Stefan cherished that memory while he considered how to make his next move. He wanted it to be well-planned, so that his words flowed smoothly for her.

He didn’t have to make that move, because the next day he was alone, on top of the barn. He worked to straighten the old copper rooster weather vane. Below him, Rose’s pickup shot like a bullet over the curved road shaded with oaks. She had given him just one week before she came calling. It had taken all of his strength not to see her, to touch her, to call her, but Rose didn’t trust him now—not enough to openly share her nightmares with him. That slight bruise had hurt—that she didn’t trust him. With trust as a missing ingredient in their relationship, the future would always be threatened.

Now, with Rose’s pickup skidding to a stop in his driveway, Stefan shook his head. Behind the windshield, her expression was similar to his mother’s, when she decided to clean house and let nothing stop her. He was without the protection of his mother’s smoothing grace and his daughter’s lighthearted conversation. Estelle was at work at the hamburger drive-in and Yvette was at a church social. Later, she would stay with the widow Harris for “girl talk” and Estelle would stay overnight with her friends. Everyone in his home had a social life but himself, Stefan brooded, and admitted that his body was already humming at the sight of Rose.

He studied the way she slammed her pickup door and headed for the house, before she saw him up on the old barn’s roof. “I want to talk with you,” she called as she started toward him. Her tone said she was not happy; her frown said lightning bolts were about to strike. Stefan
could almost hear the rumble of thunder. He could feel the excitement that Rose always created, simmering inside him.

He descended the ladder and Rose stopped in front of him. Her eyes widened as she looked at him, her gaze tracing his hair, his cheeks and lips and throat and bare chest and all the way down his legs. “You’re all sweaty,” she whispered in a husky, sensual way that dried his throat.

Stefan couldn’t move. Every part of him wanted to snare her close and feed upon her, to carry her into the barn and— But that was not his intention on his way to understand Rose’s needs. “Of course. If you wish, you may wait while I shower. Then we can talk.”

He added a shrug to appear casual, when his senses were racing. “Then perhaps I could cook for you. It is almost time for dinner and my family will be away for the night. It would be very nice to talk with you.”

“A shower?” she repeated in a tone that unnerved him. “Yes, I think I’d like that.”

In the shower, working hurriedly, Stefan reconsidered her words. Of course, she meant that he needed a shower; he had obviously misinterpreted her statement. He quickly ran through his planned talk with her—about how he knew that trust was difficult for her, but that he would cherish her and never do anything to make her feel less than safe. He would tell her he understood about her fears and how she had talked in her sleep; he would tell how he knew that her pain from her mother’s desertion was unresolved and sometimes pain had no easy closure.

Then he weighed not discussing her mother and Rose’s fears of safety and stepped from the shower, drying and wrapping a towel around his waist. How could he explain to her that on a primitive level, he sensed she was the other part of his heart, his body? If she was wary of a deep
relationship, a commitment to a love, that might frighten her even more.

Crossing the hallway from the bathroom to his bedroom, he saw Rose standing in the living room. And then she turned to find him in the hallway and he stopped, pinned by Rose’s sultry expression, the way she seemed to soften as she studied him through the shadows. He made no effort to hide the hardening of his body, though he feared the obvious beneath his towel might shock her. In that moment, as natural as sunrise and spring rain and the dark secret night, they were nothing but a man and a woman, without the years of complications between them.

“I hadn’t planned on you, or feeling like this,” Rose whispered so quietly it rocked his soul. “I’m terrified, but I want you.”

“I do not see this as a problem, because I want you, too,” he answered slowly, but with all his heart.

“What shall we do?”

“I think we should explore all possibilities,
ma chérie.
”

R
ose’s heart pounded as Stefan walked down the hallway to her, a tall man whose shoulders filled the narrow space. He moved sleekly, gracefully toward her, the dim light skimming over his powerful body. In a suit, he looked hard and chiseled and cold, but with only a towel around his narrow hips, he bore a primitive warrior look as if his time had come to take what he wanted.

Rose couldn’t move, pinned by the sight, his muscles flowing beneath that dark skin, that wedge of hair on his chest, droplets gleaming there. He came to stand near her, framing her face with his large, rough hands. In his eyes, she saw a reflection of her desire; it sparkled in the beads of water on his shoulders, in his waving hair. He lowered his head to hers, placing his lips exactly so on hers. Then he studied her so closely she thought he could see the fears and shadows she didn’t want exposed. “I didn’t expect
you in my life, either,” he whispered. “Are you certain you want to make love with me?”

“If you’re feeling up to it,” she returned unevenly, shivering as she controlled her need to wrap her arms around him.

His smile was soft and tender, his gaze searching her face. “It has been so long since I’ve first wanted you. That first need to make love to you has grown with each day. In my lifetime, I have never wanted another woman like I want you.”

She hovered between the fear and the need for Stefan. “No inconvenience then?”

“None at all. In fact, it will be a pleasure,” he returned softly. With that, Stefan gently lifted her in his arms. It seemed so natural to settle against him, to place her head on his shoulder. His heart pounded heavily, safely, as he carried her up the stairs. She hadn’t realized how powerful he was, how hot his skin was beneath her lips, how strong that vein in his throat pounded as he carried her into a large room, starkly masculine and uncluttered.

The setting sun slid through the windows, laying gentle stripes across the heavy wooden furniture, books stacked on the night table beside the sturdy, big bed. Browns and tans mixed with the sheen of the wooden floor, broken only by a rectangular cream rug. On the tall, old dresser, bold with its antique metal knobs and pulls, lay his trappings for business—his expensive gold watch, a flat wallet, his compact cellular phone. Framed pictures of his family stood nearby. On the outside door of the closet hung two suits, a gray and a black, a tie hung round the hanger of a pristine white shirt. Nearby were his dress shoes, the Italian leather polished, almost mirrorlike. His work books, with leather lace, stood by worn running shoes. Jeans, pressed with a crease were folded over the back of a big
chair, and a stack of folded T-shirts rested neatly on the seat.

Holding her, Stefan breathed quietly, his body tense. She sensed that this was important to him, bringing her to his bed, a ritual that was both beautiful and terrifying. There in the dark planes of his face, he shielded his emotions, as though giving her time to deny what had begun.

Rose closed her eyes, taking in the moment, dissecting it. Long ago, she dreamed of a man carrying her just like this, of making her feel feminine and desired. She smoothed his damp shoulder, admiring the beauty of the powerful planes, the tense cords and muscles shifting beneath that wonderful tanned skin. The soft light of evening spread gently into the room, filling her heart with peace. Somehow, a part of her always knew that Stefan would be very courtly, very gentle with her.

He placed her on her feet and traced her flushed face with his fingertip, tilting her chin up for another intense study as he waited for her to tell him this was what she wanted, to let her decide. Rose stood very still, then let her hands speak for her, smoothing his shoulders, his throat and latching in his hair. “Yes,” she whispered, drawing him down for her kiss.

She hadn’t expected the heat, the sudden storm as Stefan trembled and opened her lips with his, his intimate kiss searching and pleasuring. She heard the tear of cloth and knew that he was as eager as she, and that pleasured her more. The seductress rose in her, slipping from her lifetime hiding place, as she skimmed his body with her hands, over that flat stomach and lower and up to flatten on those sliding muscles of his back. They quivered to her caress, exciting her because she knew that his body was susceptible to her touch, reacting almost as if the leashes of his control were slipping. The temptation to tear away those
tethers circled her, for she had never played at lovemaking, and in comparison, her one experience had seemed sterile and without emotion, a mechanical disaster that left her unsatisfied.

She sensed deep inside, where all her fears lay quivering, that Stefan would not use her quickly and for his pleasure alone. He was too thorough, too thoughtful and considerate. She gently nipped his lip and enjoyed his suddenly indrawn breath, the shock and the surprise heightening the passion between them. Her blouse and bra came away, carelessly tossed by Stefan onto a chair. He eased her body against his, looking down to where her breasts nestled against his chest. He had that same fierce look she remembered, as if he would struggle against his own primitive desires to please her, yet the sight of her breasts, small and pale against him, seemed to intensify his need.

His hands were at her stomach now, shaking, hurrying to unbutton the snaps of her denim shorts. They slid from her and Stefan’s touch roamed her bottom, before sliding inside, tugging away her briefs. And there in the cool, dark room, he held her away from him as he roughly stripped the towel between them, and slowly, so slowly fitted her body to his. The brand of his desire nudged her, and Rose stood still as the shocking warmth spread within her, the softening and opening.

“Rose….” he whispered unevenly as his hands caressed and seduced and prowled intimately lower. The clean sheets on his bed smelled like sunshine and wind as he settled her upon it. Lying beside her, Stefan tugged her against him, and Rose quickly caught him with her arms and legs.

He momentarily stiffened with the gentle attack, then began to smile. It was a confident, devastating, tender
smile that warmed and softened his face. “That’s it. Hold me, Rose.”

For an instant, she regretted her action, a strong athlete claiming a prize, rather than a woman softly welcoming a man to her. But Stefan’s smile said he was pleased.

It would be no gentle journey, she knew, for the need to devour him, to pleasure him rose too sharply within her. He came slowly upon her, pushed back a bit to study her in the shadows, his expression honed and tense before he kissed her throat, her breasts. She cried out, vibrating with excitement and pleasure, as he suckled gently there, pleasuring her. She couldn’t lie still, her body undulating, aching. Then, after reaching for protection, Stefan settled firmly over her with the caress of his hand sweeping her body, her thigh.

The nudge of his desire caused her to tense and Stefan paused as she adjusted, waiting for her. Their gazes locked, he began the sensual journey, entering her so gently that she cried out at the beauty.

She shivered and gripped his arms, her fingers digging in to hold him as the sensations of fullness riveted her.

He lay quietly, locked inside her, watching her, holding himself slightly away. He studied her flushed face, her shielded eyes, the lips that had opened for his. “I dreamed of you like this—warm and soft and fragrant, tight and damp and—”

Rose shook beneath him, her hips arching, her body taut and she closed her eyes as she sealed in the first rippling pleasure. When she opened her eyes, Stefan had begun to move gently, the rhythm so timeless she met and drifted in it, locking her gaze with his. Then suddenly, deep inside, the pounding, flashing heat would not be denied and she tightened around Stefan, meeting his feverish kisses, digging her fingers in to hold him just there. The riveting
flash and thunder struck within her, she realized slowly as Stefan’s body stiffened, and there on that silvery, glittering plane, time waited and yet ran on in waves of pleasure.

He breathed unevenly, coming slowly down to settle against her, to hold her tight in the aftermath of that heat as her racing heart slowed, her breast against him quivering. His hands skimmed over her, defining the softness and the curves, caressing them lazily.

She wanted to talk, to tell him that now she knew—that now she knew what? How wonderful a caring man could be, a tender man? That she was woman and soft and melting and happy and…in the end, Rose settled against Stefan, wrapping her arm and leg around his so he couldn’t leave her. She drifted in the peace running through her, one she’d never enjoyed. Peace…whatever had been wrong in her life was now right, at least for the moment.

Then Stefan was kissing her again, his warm body seeking hers, filling her and suddenly she was flying and happy and hungry for him….

Rose awoke in the morning, her arms and legs tangled with Stefan’s heavily muscled ones, his heart beating slowly beneath her cheek. She breathed quietly, adjusting to the bold light skimming into the window and the icy slash of fear, the past churned and stormed and caught her.

She could ruin both of their lives, the dark shadows chasing her.

Her muscles ached slightly, her body tingling now, and she fought the tears behind her lids. He was already too close, and he wouldn’t be sent away so easily.

That afternoon, while repairing the barn’s stall, Stefan damned himself for his hunger, for his need of Rose. He’d taken her twice in the night and once almost before she awoke. No considerate lover would initiate his sweetheart
so quickly—in one night—especially when she was so tight and new— Stefan held very still in the silence of the barn, the kittens mewing in their mother’s nest. His mind flashed back to that tightness, to Rose’s surprise, and he damned himself again. Whatever sex Rose may have had, it wasn’t with a demanding lover who also gave her pleasure. Her blush this morning, her hurried, flustered exit from his bed, leaving her bra and briefs behind, wasn’t that of an experienced woman. Stefan scrubbed his hands over his face, and shook his head. He’d wanted to say so much, but his body and heart had taken control. So much for a man, powerful in business and helpless in love—
love?

Of course he loved her. Who wouldn’t? The whole town loved Rose Granger, a tall, fresh-faced woman with a beautiful, caring heart and a dazzling smile. They were a part of her life, just as she was of theirs. She was probably having a difficult time this morning, and seeing him might only disturb her. Stefan decided that the next time he saw Rose, he was going to draw upon whatever charm he could manage and tell her—what? In his stiff, rigid way when he was affected by his emotions, he could hurt her. But the next time, Stefan promised himself, he would not make love to her until she knew how much he cared. He should try that sexy telephone talk Estelle recommended. He should call Rose—it was almost quitting time and only hours since she’d awakened in a tangle of sheets and had blown the strand of hair from her face.

Stefan smiled wistfully. She’d looked like a faerie, all rosy and warm and tousled in his bed, bewildered as she slowly awoke to him. He frowned then, remembering her sharp knee as she quickly crossed him, scrambling on her way to the floor on the other side. Just awakened and rudely so, he wasn’t exactly happy, his unique ache not
the one he had planned, as she hurriedly tugged on her clothing and muttered about being late to open the store. Stefan was still recovering when the front door had slammed behind her. Her pickup had skidded out of his driveway, hitting the already crooked post once more. Rose’s expression had been that of fear and shock and because of that, he’d decided to give her time to resolve what had happened between them.

She wasn’t afraid of him; she’d come too freely to him, opened for him. Yet another fear held her, that of loving and losing.

He watched his mother in her vegetable garden, the sound of her happy humming carried to him by the gentle summer breeze. Yvette snipped her roses and began filling her basket. When Stefan finished hammering the last board into the repaired stall, he had sorted his priorities for dealing with his long-term Rose-relationship. He would make her comfortable with him—how could he do that when his body ached for hers so passionately? Would she ever trust him enough to share her heartbreak?

He rubbed his forehead. If he were better at relationships, his words more smoothly crafted, he might be able to open the shadows she guarded so fiercely. They slithered between a complete relationship and full trust. Rose’s pain wasn’t something he could lay out as he might a problem on the business table.

Last night, one look from Rose and he had been stirred into desire that he couldn’t waylay. He looked at the bouquet of summer flowers his mother had stuck in front of his face. “Go to her,” Yvette ordered softly, an understanding, tender smile upon her face.

“Everybody knows,” Rose whispered urgently as she sat across the café booth from Stefan. She held the bouquet
tightly against her, not yielding it to Peggy the waitress to place in water. “Don’t ask me how, they just know you and I…
you know.
”

Stefan smiled as he studied the café’s menu. He didn’t want to tell Rose that her expression hid little, that she glowed. Everyone in Waterville knew Rose’s very open expressions and when she was distracted and by what—rather, by whom. He was quite happy with that rosy glow, because it meant he had succeeded in giving her pleasure that wasn’t easily forgotten. Rose’s flustered expression when seeing him at the store’s closing time had shifted into a sensually hungry look. Stefan inhaled slowly; life was good. With Rose as a dinner enchantress, all rosy and warm and flustered and nervous of him, he could tolerate whatever the cook could serve.

“You’re not picking at the food,” Rose noted as they ate.

“It’s good,” Stefan returned lightly. “Filling, nutritious, fresh vegetables—a bit overcooked, but good.”

“Doesn’t it bother you?” she asked, leaning across the booth’s table to whisper to him. She glanced at Danny, whose hands were on his generous hips, his eyes narrowed on Stefan.