Everlasting (5 page)

He walked to her side. “I own them. I don't have a deed to them, but they're still mine.”

“What?” she asked, puzzled.

“My grandfather used to say that if you love something enough, you become one with it. One entity flows into the other to merge and then to seal.” His gaze was fixed on the mountains with possessiveness as well as affection. “Yes, in spirit these mountains belong to me.”

“That's rather an abstract philosophy for a tough businessman to have adopted. I would think your instincts would lead you to pin down anything you wanted, to buy it outright and to have the deed in your pocket.”

“No one has just one face, particularly not me. There are times when I want to reach out and grab.” His gaze was still fastened on the mountain peaks. “And there are other times when I think that the only way to keep what's mine is to
let it go.” He turned to face her, his gaze meeting her own with the same intensity with which he had regarded the mountains. “That's what many Indian tribes believed, you know. They would strive very hard to acquire rich trappings, slaves, and horses, only to give them away to show how little material wealth actually meant to them. It wasn't the acquisition but the release that was important.” His tone was halting, as if he were trying to express something beyond the surface meaning of the words. “Do you understand what I'm saying to you?”

She shook her head. “I don't think so. It's clear you wouldn't be in the position you're in now if you gave everything away, so you must subscribe to a more materialistic philosophy than your grandfather's.”

He was silent for a moment and then he smiled cynically. “You're right, of course. I'm probably far more philistine than shaman. I suppose I wanted to justify myself in your eyes. I don't know why. I've never been tempted to do that before.” He turned away abruptly. “Come along
inside and have your breakfast. The plane will be ready in two hours.”

She was troubled as she trailed him into the room, pausing beside the bed on which he had deposited the wicker breakfast tray. She had the vague impression that she had hurt him in some way, and it was causing an odd aching deep inside her. “I may not understand you, but I'm not stupid enough to think I have any right to judge an unknown quantity,” she said gently. “Marna trusts you, so I'm sure you can't be as ruthless as you've been portrayed.”

“But I am ruthless,” he said softly. “It's the other side of the coin. Not with you, though, Kira. You won't ever have to worry about seeing the ruthlessness in me.”

His expression was enigmatic, yet it once again generated within her the warm languid heat she had known last night. She drew a deep, shaky breath and tried to smile. “I'll be very grateful for that. I don't think I'm equipped to handle a man like you, Zack.”

There was a sudden glint of mischief in his eyes. “It's a skill I expect to enjoy teaching you. It
will be an exquisite pleasure being handled by you.” He held out his hand. “Starting now. Come here, Kira.”

She hesitated. “You said we had to leave soon,” she murmured.

“Not that soon.” He smiled with a warmth that bemused her. Such a lovely smile, full of gentleness and understanding and… “Come to me.”

Her gaze clung to his as she moved slowly toward him. There was something there, waiting just beyond his glowing intensity. She came to a halt before him and looked up at him searchingly. It was still there, still waiting. She had always hated waiting, she thought hazily, and this waiting was centuries old and curiously timeless.

His hand was waiting for her, too, outstretched in silent invitation. She slipped her small hand into his large one with the supreme naturalness of a trusting child and suddenly experienced a tingling shock of sensation that was immediately drowned in a sparkling sense of perfect
Tightness
. “Hello,” she whispered.

“Hello,” he said thickly. “Welcome home, love.”

Home. Yes, that's what was waiting for her. Why hadn't she realized it? What had been before, was happening again. A smile suddenly lit her face with radiance. “Oh, I'm so happy. I do love—” She broke off. There was something wrong. She frowned, trying to pierce the mists obscuring the shining truth she'd known just a minute before. “Zack?”

His smile was fading as his hand tightened around her own. “I'm still here, Kira. I'll always be here.”

“Yes, I know, but there's something wrong. Something—” She stopped again. Then she shook her head as if to clear it. Crazy. What had happened was completely crazy. Her nerves must be more strained than she thought to have tricked her into a wild flight of fancy. She closed her eyes for an instant and drew a deep, steadying breath. She was experiencing a poignant disappointment that was shaking her to the core and was as insane as the rest of it. She didn't want to return to reality when that moment of piercing recognition had been so magnificent. Recognition? Oh, Lord, she
was
going mad. Her eyes opened and she
smiled with forced gaiety. “Sorry. I think you must have mesmerized me for a moment. Are you sure you're not a shaman too?”

There was a flicker in his eyes that might have reflected the same wild disappointment she was feeling. “I'm sure.”

“Well, you could have fooled me,” she said flippantly. “Do you get that response from Mallory Thane too?”

“No.”

Kira could feel the wild color sting her cheeks. She was suddenly feverish. “I'm surprised.” Her tongue moistened her lower lip. “I hear you're quite the ladies' man and she's known to be—”

“Be quiet.” His voice was very soft to be so commanding. “I know you're frightened, but stop trying to put barriers between us.” He released her hand and suddenly was cupping her shoulders. He shook her gently. “Mallory Thane isn't important. None of them were important, and now they're all simply past history.”

She wouldn't look at him. Her gaze was fastened stubbornly on the middle of his chest. “You were expecting her here last night.”

“No, I wasn't expecting anyone but you.”

She believed him, and that was as crazy and frightening as everything else that had gone before. “I don't understand any of this.”

“You will.” His hands moved from her shoulders gently to cup her face in his palms. “It isn't time yet. Trust me, Kira.”

“I'm trying.” Her words were a mere whisper. “I have to trust someone. I don't seem to have much confidence in myself anymore.”

“Do you suppose you could stretch that faith enough to look up at me?” There was a thread of gentle humor in his voice. “I think your fierce glare is burning a hole through my breastbone.”

Her gaze lifted, and his look of tenderness and understanding was like a soothing balm to her troubled spirit.

“That's better.” He smiled. “For a moment I thought we'd skipped a few hurdles, but evidently it wasn't meant to be.” His thumbs splayed out across her cheekbones to rub gently at the corners of her lips. “Perhaps it's better this way. We have so much to experience, and everything is bright and shining and new.” His head came down
slowly. “I'm going to kiss you. Is that all right with you, love?”

He was only a breath away, his dark eyes holding her own. She could feel the warmth radiating from his body and smell the clean, fresh scent of him. Her throat was so tight the assent came out a little huskily. “Yes.”

She had expected warmth and gentleness, but not the honey sweetness. His lips were hard and firm, yet they wooed and tempted, cherished and promised. He built labyrinths of golden intimacy and then led her through them so lovingly she thought her heart would stop with each new, exquisite twist and turn. She didn't know how many times their lips met and parted or how many ways his hands moved and angled her head to take and give and take again. Time flowed, intimacy deepened. Time flowed again. Such a beautiful, meaningful circle, she thought dreamily.

His head lifted at last and he looked down at her. His eyes were night-black, the pupils dilated. “Good?” he asked softly.

“Wonderful…” She wished he hadn't stopped.

Her lips felt soft, pliant; she ached for the sweetness of his lips, and the pain was almost as sharp as the desire she'd known last night. How strange and wonderful were the heights to which his mere kiss could lift her. “I wish it could go on forever.”

“It can't, though.” His lips were pressing soft, loving kisses on her cheeks, the tip of her nose, her temple. “There's too much electricity stored up between us.” He tilted her head back and his warm lips drifted over the sensitive cord of her throat. “It has to change, but we'll always have this to come back to, you know.”

“Will we?” It was very comforting to know that, she thought hazily. But he was right; it was already changing. His lips were growing hotter against her throat and she could see his chest rising and falling with the harshness of his breathing. The tiny changes she could detect in his body triggered identical ones within her own. She was no longer languid and dreamy.

The sensations she was feeling now were all sharp and aching and fever-hot, and she wasn't sure she wanted to be jarred out of blissful euphoria. There was a liquid throbbing between her
thighs and her breasts felt full and painfully swollen. She wished he'd move his hands from her face and put them on her breasts. Perhaps that caress would ease their strange aching. She was vaguely surprised that the desire didn't shock her. She had never before wanted a man's hands on her, touching intimately. Yet she supposed it shouldn't have surprised her. There was no comparing any of the emotions she was feeling for Zack with those in her previous experience.

The muscles of his body were hardening, rippling. She was aware of that meaningful tautening, even though he was only touching her with his hands. His body was readying itself. The knowledge sent a near savage jolt of pure desire through her. He wanted her. She could see the pulse leaping crazily in his temple and feel the soft nip of his teeth on the flesh of her throat.

“You see?” His voice was guttural. He lifted his head and his face was flushed and heavy with sensuality. “It never stays the same. There's too much waiting for us.”

“Yes,” she whispered. She wondered if her eyes were as glazed and wanting as his. They probably
were. She felt as if every breath she drew was exploding little fiery sparks into her bloodstream.

“I want to touch you. I want my hands on you.”

“Yes,” she said again. She couldn't seem to say anything else to him. Response and assent. The reaction was as basic as nature itself.

“You want it too? I don't want to take, Kira.”

“I want it too.”

His lips curved in a rare smile. “That's all I wanted to know. I'm surprised I even had the restraint to look this particular gift horse in the mouth. Come along, love.”

He was taking her by the hand and, to her surprise, leading her away from the bed across the room. “Where are we going?”

“Right here.” He had stopped beside the deep-cushioned contemporary easy chair against the wall. He sat down and positioned her between his legs. “If we used the bed, I'm sure this preliminary foray would result in an instant merger.” His hands were swiftly untying the belt of her robe.

She felt a swift thrust of disappointment. “I assumed you had grown impatient with your little anticipatory game.”

“I am impatient,” he said dryly. “And hurting and…” He opened the robe and stared at her for a long moment. She felt scorched, burned, and knew her body was responding helplessly and very obviously to his hot, lingering appraisal. The sheer veiling of the yellow chiffon nightgown might just as well not have been there for all the covering it gave her. “Oh, Lord, am I hurting.”

And so was she. The robe dropped, making a pool of sunshine color on the dark brown carpet at her feet, and she stood before him in only the sheer nightgown. There was something vaguely barbaric about their positions—Zack sitting fully clothed and she standing almost naked between his legs like a slave girl waiting to pleasure him.

“What are you thinking about?” His gaze had moved from her body to her face. The tip of his tongue reached out to moisten his lower lip and the unconscious motion sent a surge of aching tension to every muscle in her body. Sweet heaven, those lips were so diabolically and beautifully sensual in his taut face.

“I think you know.”

“I probably have a good idea.” His gaze traveled slowly from the creamy satin of her shoulders to the full thrust of her breasts against the chiffon. “Do you like me to look at you?”

“Yes.”

“That's good. I think there's every chance it will be one of my very favorite things to do.” He slowly reached up and slid first one thin strap off her shoulder, then the other. The bodice of the gown slipped until only the swollen fullness of her breasts was holding the clinging material in place. Zack leaned back in the chair and simply looked at her for a long moment. “You have wonderful skin. It radiates a sheen that glows with life.”

“Do I?” She scarcely knew what she was saying. How could he just sit there looking at her when every muscle and nerve in her body was on fire with frustration? Why didn't he
touch
her?

“Yes.” He leaned forward and laid his cheek against her abdomen. She inhaled sharply as she felt the sudden warmth of his flesh through the sheer fabric of the nightgown. “Wonderful skin. Strong, firm muscles.” One big hand was lazily rubbing her belly. “And softness.” His palm slid
down to gently cup the apex of her thighs so that only the mist of material separated him from that most intimate part of her. She could feel the heat of his hard hand and made a low sound deep in her throat as he started to rub back and forth, alternating hard pressure with gossamer lightness so that she could become accustomed to neither, his every touch then giving her a fresh jolt of sensation. “Do you like this?”

She nodded. She didn't think she could have spoken if her life had depended upon it. With his cheek pressed against her, he couldn't see the nod, but it didn't really matter. He knew very well what pleasure he was giving her. “What else would you like me to do to you?”

She could scarcely breathe. How could he expect her to speak? But he evidently did, for he was lifting his head to look up at her. His hand was still moving gently against her. “What else, Kira?”