For the Roses (40 page)

Mary Rose's heart was pounding frantically, her knees were shaking, and she was desperately trying to remember how to breathe.

Staring at Harrison didn't calm her down. He was sitting up in his bed, with his back propped against the bedpost and his long legs stretched out on top of the covers.

He wasn't dressed for sleep. He was bare-chested and barefoot, but he still had his pants on, though only partially. The pants weren't buttoned up. The dark, curly hair covering his chest narrowed down into the opening. The sight of him caused her heartbeat to quicken. She suddenly realized where she was looking and immediately turned her gaze away from his groin.

She noticed the open book in his hands when he closed it. Her eyes widened in reaction. He'd been reading while he waited for her to come to him. Honest to heaven, she didn't know how she felt about that. While she'd been pacing back and forth in her bedroom, agonizing and fretting and quaking with fear, he'd been calmly reading.

Once she got over her astonishment, she thought she just might hit him. Harrison hadn't moved from the bed. He'd seen the fear in her eyes when she'd walked inside and knew he was going to have to find a way to soothe her before he touched her. He had meant what he'd said when he told her he wouldn't force her. If she suddenly changed her mind and went back to the house, he wouldn't stop her. It would kill him to watch her walk away from him, but he would willingly die before he interfered with her choice.

He realized he was only being noble now because, in his heart, he already knew she was going to stay. It had taken courage for her to come to him. He hadn't expected less from her.

"You were reading."

Her statement of fact sounded like an accusation. He didn't remark on it. He nodded and continued to stare at her, waiting for her to let him know she was ready to be held. The fear, he noticed, was disappearing. She appeared to be disgruntled now.

He couldn't imagine why. "Do you want to close the door?"

"No."

She didn't shout the denial, and there wasn't a trace of panic in her voice. Harrison put the book down on the table, swung his legs over the side of the bed, and started to stand up. He assumed she wanted him to close the door for her.

She stopped him with a silent command by putting her hand out to indicate she wanted him to stay right where he was.

"I have a question to ask you before you move. Why aren't you wearing your nightclothes? That wasn't the question," she hastily added.

God help her, she sounded like a twit. She forced a shrug. "I was just curious about your attire."

"I don't wear anything when I sleep."

Her knees felt weak again. She couldn't stop herself from picturing him naked. "You probably shouldn't have mentioned… that."

"You're going to find out soon enough. Are you going to stay with me tonight?" She couldn't believe how reasonable and calm he sounded. "I haven't made up my mind yet." She managed to give the lie without smiling.

She had made her decision in her bedroom, but she wasn't quite ready to let him know. She was being stubborn and didn't care, for she was still reacting to the fact that he'd been enjoying a book while she'd been dancing through the fires of purgatory.

How each one of them had spent the evening summed up all the wonderful differences between them. She had agonized. He had read.

"You're the most determined and methodical man I've ever met, and pretty much everything else I thought I would detest in a mate. I wanted a sweet, vulnerable man because I believed he would always need me. How in heaven's name did I end up with you?"

The wonder in her voice made him smile. "Because I need you, more than all those other men. You need me too, Mary Rose. It would be nice to hear you admit it."

"Yes, I do need you. I don't like arrogant men though, and I especially dislike being ordered about. I'd

keep that in mind if I were you."

"Sweetheart, how long is it going to take you to make up your mind? I have to touch you." The urgency in his voice soothed her. She watched him stand up, then promptly made him stop again.

"Stay where you are, Harrison. I still have my question to ask you. If I don't like the answer, I'm leaving."

The sparkle in her eyes told him he didn't have to worry. "It's getting damned cold in here. What do you want to ask me?"

She took a step toward him, letting the anticipation grow inside her. She was shivering now with her need to kiss him.

Oh, how she loved him. He looked like a rake to her, with his lock of hair drooped down over his forehead and his devilish smile. He was strong and commanding, arrogant and proud, solid and reliable, and she would spend the rest of her life adoring him.

She couldn't wait another minute to hold him. "When you were telling me what you were thinking and you described me in your bed… and we were making love?"

"Yes?"

"Was I smiling?"

He was laughing when he pulled her into his arms and hugged her. His chin dropped down to rest on top of her head, and he assured her in a tender, loving voice that in all of his erotic fantasies and dreams about her, she had been very happy, extremely happy as a matter of fact, satisfied, content, humbled, appreciative and grateful, and completely overwhelmed by his magnificence and, now that he had time to think about it, really amazing sexual prowess.

"You couldn't find enough ways to thank me," he ended.

She leaned away from him and looked up into his eyes. "Ithanked you for making love to me?"

"It was my dream, sweetheart, not yours."

She rucked her head back under his chin, wrapped her arms around his waist, splaying her hands wide against his warm back. "Heaven help me, you're even arrogant when you dream. What am I going to do with you?"

Several suggestions came to mind, but Harrison decided now wasn't the time to share them with her. All of his ideas involved her mouth, her tongue, and her hands.

"Your hands feel like ice," he said instead.

"You left the door open. You should probably close it. It's freezing in here." Harrison reached behind her, shoved the door closed, and pulled her arms away from him. He took hold of her hand and led her over to the side of his bed.

They stood facing each other about a foot apart and stared into each other's eyes for a long, breathless moment, letting their anticipation and their need grow between them.

She looked like an angel in the soft lamplight, with her hair spilling down her shoulders and her pale, delicate robe swaying about her feet.

The longer he stared into her blue eyes, the more convinced he became that she was indeed the most perfect of creatures.

She moved before he did. She lowered her gaze to his chin and slowly untied the knot in the belt of her robe, and then removed her wrap. Her hands were trembling quite noticeably by the time she finished the task.

She handed the garment to him. He didn't take his gaze away from her when he tossed the robe behind him.

He stopped her from unbuttoning her nightgown. "Let me," he whispered in a voice deep with arousal. Her hands dropped down to her sides. He felt her shiver when his fingers slipped under the thin fabric along the neckline of her cotton gown and he brushed against her silky skin. He acted as though he had all the time in the world to undress her so that she wouldn't feel at all rushed, and he had to exert a great deal of self-discipline. He wanted to pull the garment off, but he wasn't about to give in to his impatience. He wanted this night to be as perfect for her as possible. He slowly worked his way down to her waist, deliberately pausing to caress her skin around each opening, and when he had all the buttons undone, he reached up and spread the gown wide. The sight of her perfection took his breath away. She was so very beautiful. Her skin was smooth and creamy, her breasts were full, her nipples rosy, and her soft, womanly curves were exquisitely proportioned.

His hands shook with his need to take her into his arms, to feel her pressed up against him, but he resisted the demand for yet another minute and slowly pushed the gown down lower, until the fabric rested on the gentle flair of her hips. The palms of his hands rested against the sides of her narrow waist, and he ever so slowly caressed his way down her thighs. The feel of her skin, so cool and smooth and flawless, made him shudder with desire.

The gown pooled on the floor around her feet. He took a step back and gazed at her.

"You're even more beautiful than I could ever have imagined." Her embarrassment vanished with his fervently given praise. The look of pleasure in his eyes made her forget all about being shy. He thought she was beautiful, and his love for her made her believe she was. She couldn't stand still any longer. She stepped out of her slippers and then reached out to him. "Do you want me to undress you?"

"Not yet," he answered. "I want this to last. If I take my pants off now, I'll go too fast. I don't want that to happen. It has to be perfect for you."

"Is going fast wrong?"

He shook his head. "Nothing we do together will ever be wrong." He didn't give her time to think about what he'd just said to her, but pulled her into his arms and held her close. Her hands rested against his chest, her fingers surrounded by his crisp hair. It tickled her fingers, and she knew that if she moved her arms, her breasts would feel the same sensation. She moved before he could make her. He buried his face in the crook of her neck, inhaled her scent, and let the pleasure of feeling her soft breasts against him consume him. Her gasp of pleasure told him she was feeling the same way.

"I knew it would be this good."

She thought it felt better than good, but she couldn't seem to find the right words to describe all the feelings rushing through her now. She noticed his breathing had become ragged and only then realized hers was every bit as uneven. Each time she rubbed against him, the feelings intensified, until every nerve in her body was tingling with heat. It felt wonderful.

He placed wet kisses along the side of her neck, teased her earlobe with his mouth and his tongue, all the while whispering hot promises about all the things he wanted to do to her. His words were as arousing to her as his touch. She wanted to touch him everywhere. She stroked his chest, his shoulders, and his neck, loving the play of his muscles under her fingertips, and kept moving restlessly against him, trying to get closer to his incredible heat.

The uninhibited way she responded to him intoxicated him. Everything about her aroused the fever of passion inside him. He loved the feel of her hair slipping through his fingers, like threads of silk, and the little erotic sounds she made in the back of her throat when he touched her a certain way and she couldn't contain her pleasure, and, oh, how he loved having her body rubbing against him. He held her with one arm around her waist and leaned down to kiss her. His mouth was ravenous now, for the pressure building inside him was making him wild with his need to please her. His tongue moved inside, then withdrew, only to thrust back inside again and again in the erotic mating ritual. He stroked her neck and trailed his fingers down between her breasts, and finally, when she was certain she would die if he continued his sweet torment, he cupped one breast in his hand and began to tease her even more. His thumb lightly brushed across her nipple. She instinctively arched up against him to let him know how much she liked the thrilling sensation, and when he repeated the caress, she squeezed her eyes shut and let out a moan of pleasure.

"You're driving me out of my mind," she whispered against his ear.

"There's more," he promised.

She didn't believe she had the stamina to feel more. The pressure building inside her was becoming more intense, like liquid heat it slowly spread through her middle.

His mouth slanted over hers just as his hand moved down between her thighs, and he began to make love to her with his fingers. His tongue moved inside her mouth to imitate the mock love play.

She thought she would die from the raw ecstasy his touch evoked. Her hips began to move against his hand, until the feeling became too intense for her to bear. She tried to move his hand away from her then. Harrison was shaking with his need. The damp heat surrounding his fingers took the last of his control away. He kissed her again, a long, hot, wet kiss, and when he finally pulled back, he realized her hand was wrapped around his wrist and she was trying to get him to move away from the heat he most wanted to possess.

He lifted her into his arms, pulled the covers back, and placed her on the bed. And then he took his pants off. He was desperately trying to pretend he hadn't run out of endurance. He was overwhelmed by his need to thrust inside her and let her tight walls surround him, squeeze him, love him, but he knew he was going to have to gain her cooperation first. She was beginning to have second thoughts now. He knew what had caused the change in her. He also knew exactly what she was thinking. The love of his life was staring at his erection.

"It's going to be all right," he promised, his voice harsh with passion. "We were made to fit each other, baby."

She shook her head and started to get up. Her breathing was choppy with her passion, but her fear was making her panic.

He didn't give her any more time to feed her fear. He trapped her in bed by stretching out beside her and anchoring her down with his thigh. He took hold of her hands, forced them around his neck so that she would stop trying to get him to move away from her and then leaned down to kiss her. He had to chase after her mouth. She turned her head away from him into the pillow, but his soothing words of love finally calmed her enough to look at him again.

Her eyes were still hazy with passion, and he knew it wouldn't take him long to rekindle the fire inside her.

"Will you trust me, love? Let me kiss you once more. If you still want to stop, I promise we will." He didn't add the fact that he wasn't going to stop until he was fully imbedded inside her, unless she started to struggle against him. God help him, he would stop then, even if it killed him, and he found himself praying he wouldn't have to.