C's Comeuppance: A Bone Cold--Alive novel (32 page)

“But you didn’t date any?”

“Not much. And I was always rather—” she searched for a word “—rather standoffish, I guess is as good a term as any. Cold. Frigid.” He squirmed at her casual use of the word. “I stayed on my side of the front seat and pretty soon, information like that gets around.”

***

Jemma’s decision that she couldn’t make love with C until she had told him the truth about herself had taken only a second to make. Standing in the dressing room of the lingerie store, trying to ascertain if her auburn-haired paleness looked better in a soft teal or a midnight blue, she’d quickly known what she had to do. It wasn’t so much a confession as a cleansing of the soul, a starting over place. An almost-clean sweep.

He’d reacted as she’d prayed he would. Deep inside, she’d known he would listen, ask the right questions, stay the course. Was it possible he was the one to fulfill her hopes and dreams? Didn’t God have a sense of humor?

She finished the glass of wine in small sips. He downed his in a gulp.

“Well, what now?” She hesitated over the last word. He might not be inclined to take her home, but then, he might not be inclined to take her to bed either.

He shrugged. “I’ve heard nothing to change my feelings for you. I am the last person in the world to point fingers in any direction but my own.” He reached for the merlot, started to pour it, stopped and set it back down. “I just
thought
I wanted to make love to you tonight when we came in here.”

What?
Jemma’s heart seemed to stop. Had she been wrong, so wrong? Had she trusted him when she shouldn’t have? She held her breath as he continued.

“Do you know—do you have
any
idea what it did to me when you took my hands at supper tonight and kissed them?”

She shook her head weakly.

“I lost it. My control. I fell so hopelessly in love with you. For the first time in my life, I knew I had someone who would love me the way I desired to be loved. Someone I could love the way I needed to love. Why
you
should want to make love to me, I have no clue, Jemma.” He reached for her hands, pulled on them so she would rise and stand before him. He looked up at her. “Let me show you how it ought to be. How it is when two people only want the other one to be happy.”

The heart that had seemed to stop now raced. She let out her held breath. She could only nod.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

H
e made her stop in the hall outside his room, stand with her back to the wall, close her eyes. She heard him stumble in the dark and stub his toe, let out an epithet that would burn a saint’s ears. She heard the strike of matches.

“You can come in now.”

The bed was surrounded with candles in glasses. All sorts of glasses raided from Norm’s kitchen. The light flickered and bounced and showcased the old iron bedstead. The bed was turned down and something was scattered on the sheets. She stepped over the candles and felt the sheets.

“Rose petals? You
can’t
be left alone to your own devices, can you?”

He put his hands on his hips, twitched his shoulders, swung his hair. “Well, it was hardly an original idea, so don’t go comparing notes with Lyla.”

Jemma tried to swallow the laughter but couldn’t. It bubbled up and exploded. She laughed so hard all the tension of the previous hours rolled away as she leaned on the bed and finally had to sit on it.

“You know, I was going to carry you in and place you gently down. Start kissing you all over. You are really spoiling my tableau.”

“Oh, Charles.” She scooted up on the bed, reached to take her shoes off and pitch them toward the door. “I brought lingerie if you care to wait while I change.”

“Just what I have more of—time.” He sat on the opposite side of the mattress, feigned impatience. “Like I haven’t been waiting on you for weeks as it is.” He folded his arms across his chest and pretended a pout.

“So is that ‘I’ve been waiting on you for weeks, what’s five more minutes’, or is it ‘I’ve been waiting on you for weeks and I can’t wait any longer’?” She curled her legs underneath herself.

He cast his eyes over her. “It’s ‘I’ve been waiting on you for weeks and nothing is going to make me let you out of this bed until you have your way with me.’”

“Hmm. In all honesty, I may need coaching.”

“In my experience—and it is vast—I’ve found that nature has seen to it that we all have a grasp of the basics.” He pulled off his shoes and flung them clear of the candles before stretching out on one side of the bed. He fluffed the pillows underneath his head and left his hands there. “But, just to be on the safe side, why don’t you come here and let’s go over a few guidelines.”

***

Either she was wide-eyed innocence or he was letting his emotions color what was happening. She crawled the width of the bed to him and, if possible, he found himself harder than he had been even a minute before. She sat on her legs in the middle of the bed and folded her hands in her slanted lap. “So there are guidelines?”

He shook his head. He could hardly think, how in hell was he going to talk? “Why don’t we save them for later?”

She shrugged. “Your guidelines.”

He sat up and faced her, surrounded her with his legs. He traced her jawline with his fingers and finally, when he could stand it no more, leaned over and kissed her softly.
“Remember when I had coffee cake at your house?” She nodded as he kissed her again. “You ate the topping first, the good stuff.”

“Life’s short. Sometimes you have to enjoy the smallest pleasures first.”

“That’s the way I thought you thought.” He began unbuttoning her blouse, pulled it out of her slacks, leaned over and kissed the tops of her breasts where they pushed out of the satin teddy. He pushed her back on the bed, laid his body down half over hers, moved his hand to the waistband of her slacks and unbuttoned them. “So we’ll think about guidelines later. Right now, you need one of life’s little pleasures first.”

“You’re not worried about spoiling me?”

“Let’s see how you like it first.”

***

She couldn’t believe it was happening, honest to God, could not believe. He pushed the blouse off her shoulders, ran his fingers under the top edge of the teddy until her breasts were bared to him. If his kisses there were even the tip of the “life’s little pleasures” he had in mind, she’d explode with joy.

He held her hands over her head while his mouth took hers, while his now-bare chest slid over hers. He was broad and well muscled, and curly light blond hair tickled her nipples just as the hair streaming down his back softly teased her body.

He lifted his lips from hers. “I don’t want you to touch me.”

“What?”

“No.” He kissed her eyelids. “And close your eyes. Here.” He curled her fingers around the iron bedstead top railings.

“I want to touch you, Charles. I think I’m going to have to.”

A smile snaked across his features. “Why don’t we see how strong you are? What did that fortune cookie say today?”

“You rigged that.”

“You’ll never know. Don’t” —he pecked at her nose— “touch” —he teased her lower lip— “me.” His final kiss was between her breasts.

Slowly he pulled her slacks off and concentrated his touch on her thighs, her hips. His fingers ran under the lower edge of the lingerie and Jemma gave a not-so-soft cry when he finally touched the snaps between her legs.

“Wear one of these often?”

“Do I have it mis-snapped?”

“No. It just doesn’t look like typical Jemma Lovelace underwear.”

“It’s new,” she admitted through her ragged breath.

He wasn’t undoing the snaps. Why was he not undoing the snaps? What kind of torture was this? He was just moving his fingers back and forth and Jemma thought there was no place on her body that mattered more than that spot under his fingers.

“So, ah, so you’re a lingerie expert?”

“I’ve done my share of field work.”

Back and forth, his touch was back and forth, first between her thighs, then higher, then lower.

“You know, I’ve been a good sport so far.”

“Oh?” He raised his eyebrows and leaned over and kissed the silk fabric that stretched over her navel. “What does your sportsmanship have to do with this?”

“I am fixing to touch you.”

“Why?”

He undid a snap.

“Because you weren’t doing that.”

“Thought you needed coaching.”

Another snap.

“Nature just kicked in.”

He trailed kisses over her lower abdomen. “What would nature have me do now?” He pulled at the third snap but didn’t undo it.

“You know.”

“Tell me.” He breathed the words against her and she arched to him.

“Undo the damn snap!”

“Jemma, sweetheart, you have a temper.”

“Edward Charles.” She said his name through gritted teeth.

He laughed against her, blew hot breath on her. Undid the damn snap.

***

He’d known she would be responsive. He could always tell. Once he’d gotten past the fact that women would go to bed with him just because he was Eddie C, then he’d concentrated on learning the signs for the ones who would truly appreciate him for his body or his spirit, not his name. And they did exist. Far too many of them, if truth be told. Along the way, he’d learned a great deal about response in women, a great deal about eyes and sparks and the set of a lower lip. He knew how to make a nostril flare, a nipple peak, a woman’s body squirm. He’d known from Jemma’s eyes, from the touch of her skin, from the quiver in her lip that she’d be responsive to him.

What he hadn’t quite figured out was why he’d be so (seems like responsive should go here) to her look, her touch.

His unselfishness in satisfying her first, of serving dessert, was costing him. He hadn’t wanted to remove his jeans. He’d wanted to give her pleasure before he revealed himself, but it just wasn’t going to happen. He couldn’t handle it. If he stayed so tightly confined, he’d explode, and he hadn’t done
that
since junior high.

Just as the third snap gave way, just as she gasped in response to his full touch and breath, just then he unbuttoned his jeans and pulled them off. Even in his haste, he tossed them clear of the candle-ring. He didn’t want to literally get his britches burned.

Better. So much better. The boxers afforded him the freedom and relief he needed and he bent to the entirely pleasurable task at hand.

He ran his hands under the teddy and cupped her breasts. She was holding to her part of the bargain, though barely. He felt the little shivers start when he touched inside her and all he could think about then was covering her mouth with his and kissing her cries of joy away.

“Now,
now
can I touch you?” She exhaled slowly.

“Start wherever you’d like.” He balanced above her.

“You’re still not worried about spoiling me?” She put her hands on his shoulders, gingerly followed the line of his muscles to mid-chest.

“Did you like it?”

“I think maybe you’re as bad as they say.” She drew up and kissed his nipples.

“When it comes to sex, there’s a lot to be said for my bad ways.” He nuzzled her neck, traced the outline of her ear with his tongue. “We need to get rid of some stuff.” He finished pulling her blouse off, rid her of the teddy. She sat naked beside him as he extended himself on the bed, his boxers all that stood between them. C eyed himself. Yes,
stood
was the right word.

“So, now you expect me to—what?” She placed her hand between his thighs, started a slow windshield-wiper dance with her thumb.

“What does nature say?” He put his hands behind his neck, took a deep breath. She sat before him with tightened nipples and pale skin. Whatever extra weight she carried translated itself into more generous curves. She dropped her gaze to his midsection and her eyelashes swept over the softest of cheeks, hid the eyes he couldn’t get out of his mind.

“Nature says you might like dessert, too.”

***

His skin was soft. That surprised her. His belly was taut, like an athlete’s. That didn’t. She wanted to touch it, to feel the muscles bunch and jump to her touch. She wasn’t disappointed. She ran her fingers underneath the waistband of his boxers and gently eased them up and over and then off.

Jemma wasn’t quite sure what she expected. A man of Eddie C’s reputation would surely be considered well endowed. And while she was farthest from any expert on the matter, she’d have to side with the fact that if he wasn’t, somewhere in this world, there were some men of
considerable
attributes.

“Well?” Did his voice just crack or was that her imagination?

“Well, what?”

“Are you just going to continue staring?”

“I’m not staring.”

“Looking. Are you just going to continue looking?”

“Well, it hasn’t come to me quite what to do yet.” She crooked a little smile at him and crossed her arms under her breasts.

“Shall I make some suggestions?”

“If you wish. Otherwise, I may just go on looking.”

“Maybe you’re admiring.”

“Maybe I’m contemplating that it’s never going to fit and how
am
I going to get out of this?”

“Trust me. It’ll fit.”

“One size—”

“Very funny, Jemma.” He sat up, leaned on his right elbow. “Shall we start with the basics?”

“I’m not a virgin.”

“Nor do I have the patience of a saint.”

She steadied herself on her hands and knees and kissed his mouth. “Charles, don’t blaspheme.”

“Damn, Jemma.” He returned her kiss with renewed ardor and gently turned her onto her back. He hovered over her, balanced himself above her. “But I do know my responsibilities.” He reached to the bedside table, and she watched him retrieve and open a foil packet.

“Thank you, Charles.”

“Everything tonight is my pleasure to do.” He touched her again, found her ready for him. “I’m sorry if—”