Heart of the Raven (9 page)

But how could she ignore him when he rubbed her
back like that, the strokes long and even. Her eyes stung and her throat burned.

“Want to lie down?” he asked.

“I need to go to my own bed,” she said, pushing away.

He let her go. She didn't even say good-night but hurried across the hall. As soon as she reached her bedroom she regretted leaving him, knowing she was giving him mixed messages. She turned to go back, not sure what she would say, and came face-to-face with him. She hadn't heard him follow.

He moved a little closer to her, not crowding her but not giving her a lot of space, either. “If you'd stayed in my bed,” he said, “I wouldn't have touched you unless you wanted me to. You don't have to be afraid of me.”

“I'm not afraid of you. I'm afraid of
me
. I don't trust myself. I told you that earlier. Last week when you kissed me—here, in this room—if your parents hadn't been here…”

He framed her face with his hands, his touch gentle, and then he kissed her, a long, searching, tender kiss that made her eyes sting and her toes curl. She slid her arms around him, giving in to the demand building inside her. Without her wearing her boots he seemed so much taller, which made her feel feminine, a rarity for her. She wished she was wearing something silky and soft.

He moved his hands down her back, a long, slow drag, ending at her hips, then pulled her against him. She moaned at the feel of him, hard and tempting, pressed into her abdomen. His mouth opened, his tongue sought hers. She met it, welcomed it, welcomed him, as she went up on tiptoe, winding her arms around his neck. His lips were soft and firm, gentle and bold, cautious
and daring. A kiss for the memory book from this stealer of breath and heart.

“Come sleep with me,” he murmured in her ear. “Just sleep.”

“Too tempting.” She hated to say it, hated being sensible and reasonable and mature, but she was looking out for him as much as herself. And yet she couldn't stop touching him, letting her fingers comb through his hair, drift down his neck. She wanted so much to give in to him, to the pleasure, to the joy.

He scooped her into his arms, drawing a shriek from her. “We're going to my room,” he said. “Sleep in my bed. What happens after that is up to you.”

He carried her across the hall and set her on his bed. After a minute she felt him touch her braid.

“I've never seen you with your hair down,” he said. “May I?”

The question required more than an answer—it required a decision. Freeing her hair meant freeing her passion. She didn't doubt that for a minute. What should she do? Anything could happen between them. Should she give in to her need for him because it might be her only opportunity to do so? Or
not
give in to her need because it might be her only opportunity?

Make a memory or not? Now or never?

You only regret the things you don't do.
The words from his parents' note to her came back. Whether or not she bought into the theory, she wanted to believe it was reason enough to make love with him tonight, with no regrets in the morning or the future.

She started to pull off the band from the end of the braid.

“I'll do it,” he said quietly. “Please.”

“Okay.”

She felt him tug the band off her hair, then he unbraided it, slowly, carefully, until her hair lay across her back like a cape. She closed her eyes, enjoying his touch, his attention. She'd watched his hands cradle Danny, stroke his hair, pat his back. Now they worked magic on her instead, both hands tunneling through her hair like gentle combs.

“Beautiful,” he said. “You're beautiful. I don't think you know that about yourself.”

“No—”

“I thought it the first time I saw you.”

She looked over her shoulder at him.

“And fierce,” he added. “Protective. Kind. Brave. Nurturing. Scared.”

“Scared?”

He nodded. “Of commitment. Of the disappointment that so often comes with it.”

“You've learned all that about me in two and a half weeks?”

He sat up, lifted her hair over her shoulders, and massaged her back. “All that and more. My mother pointed something out, though, that made everything click.”

“What was that?”

“That she'd never seen anyone work harder at keeping their distance than you. I started to pay attention then—to how you clench your fists when your eyes say you want to touch. To how you take a step back when the rest of your body seems to be leaning forward. You don't let yourself give in to what comes naturally. Except that you didn't try to keep your distance from Danny.”

He'd summed her up. There was no defense. “No.”
And I'm not keeping my distance from you, even though I should. But, no regrets.

“Heath?”

“Cassie?”

“I'm saying yes.”

S
he said yes.

Heath didn't know if he'd made the wisest or stupidest decision of his life by bringing her into his room, but there was no turning back now. He wanted her with a depth of passion he hadn't known in a very long time.

Everything about her appealed to him in some base way, whether in sex appeal, maternal instinct or job efficiency. A complete package. He knelt beside her on the bed then was surprised to find his hands shaking when he touched her face.

“I'm glad,” she said softly, making eye contact.

“About what?”

She wrapped her hands around his. “That you're as excited as I am. My heart is thundering so much I can hardly hear anything.”

“You are the sexiest woman I've ever known,” he said.

“What?”

“You are the—” He stopped when her eyes sparkled at her joke, then the sparkle turned to brilliance as she slid her hands down his chest, stopping at his waistband. She slipped a hand under his T-shirt and touched skin. He sucked in a breath as her fingernails scraped his flesh.

“I take it you're not sleepy,” he said.

“My little nap was enough to keep me awake for hours.”

“Hours?”

“Can't rise to the occasion?” She smiled seductively.

He didn't know what to make of the playful Cassie, except to enjoy her.

“You've already gotten a rise out of me,” he said, untying the sash of her robe.

“I noticed.”

“Are you on the Pill?” he asked as she slipped out of her robe and tossed it aside.

“Yes.”

He knew she wouldn't lie to him. She was well aware of what Eva had done, and Cassie wouldn't do the same. “Anything else I should know?”

She shook her head. “You?”

“No.”

“Twenty-first century reality sure pours ice water on romance, doesn't it?” she asked, suddenly looking hesitant.

Time to change the tone. Time to let her know how much he wanted her. He peeled his T-shirt over his head and dropped it. Before he could reach for her, she leaned close and kissed his chest.

“Do you have any idea how long I've wanted to do
that?” she asked, her tongue making swirls, leaving cool, damp trails that chilled and excited, teased and tormented.

“Not as long as I've wanted to do the same to you,” he said, moving her back, stopping her. He liked her assertiveness, liked that she wasn't afraid to show she wanted him. But his control was going to last about half a minute if she kept doing that. “Let me show you,” he said.

She sat quietly as he unbuttoned her top and pushed it over her shoulders. He whispered her name as her breasts were bared, then resisted the temptation to touch, making her wait, making her want. He grabbed the waistband of her bottoms and tugged them down and off.

“Exquisite,” he said as he slid his bottoms off, too. “Perfect.”

She dragged her hands down his chest, wrapped her fingers around him, her fingertips like fire. “Not sure that's a good idea,” he said, struggling against the need threatening to burst.

“I need to touch you.”

He moved her hands, held them by the wrists and sat back on his heels. “Later.”

Her body was amazing—lean and muscled, yet curved and soft. He kissed her hard, unable to keep things slow a second longer. Her tongue met his thrust for thrust as he pressed her into the mattress and stretched out on top of her. Her legs opened, welcoming him, but he wanted more first. More of her mouth. More of her breasts. The taste of her nipples, hot and hard. The feel of her skin, damp and smooth. The temptation of the sublime femaleness of her body as he
moved down her, savoring and appreciating and arousing. She arched high, moaned low, begged softly. He dragged his fingers up her thigh, stopping at the apex to stroke her lightly, learning her, appreciating her, going deeper with each touch.

“I can't,” she said. “I—”

“Can't what?”

“Wait. Wait. I can't—”

“Then don't wait.”

“Together,” she said, the word gritty. “I want it to be together.”

“In a minute.” He caressed her, teased her, found the places that made her gasp, settled his mouth there.

She grabbed hold of his hair as if to stop him even as she tipped her pelvis toward him, then she exploded with sound and motion, pleasing him, exciting him. Before she could come down, he moved up her body and drove into her, her welcome tight and hot. He'd barely begun to move when she came again, louder, more violently, the sounds dragging on and on, her legs wrapping tighter around him. Then he was lost, too, in the pleasure, in the heat, in the beauty, in the wonder.
There's no place like home.
He wanted it to last forever, be forever, take forever….

When reality touched him again and he was spent, he lay sprawled on her, not wanting to give up possession. “Can you breathe?” he asked after a while.

Silence.

“Cassie?”

Still nothing.

He pulled back. She drew a long, sucking, gasping breath that turned into a laugh.

“Brat,” he said then he dropped onto his side, leaving a hand on her abdomen.

Her smile was so tender and sweet he almost couldn't associate it with her. Another fascinating side of the complex Ms. Miranda.

“Was it good for you?” he asked, hiding his grin.

She shoved him.

“Is that a yes?”

“You know it was,” she countered.

“Yeah, I heard it loud and clear.”

Her cheeks pinkened. He was amazed. Tough girl Cassie was embarrassed that she enjoyed sex in a way no one could doubt.

“Stay with me,” he said seriously. “Sleep with me.”

“You're just looking to get lucky again.”

No, he wasn't. But he would play along with her. “What if I am?”

“Then I'll definitely stay.” She laid a hand along his face. “Can you sleep with the light on?”

“Anything you need.”

Her eyes took on a little sheen. She raised up enough to kiss him, then he gathered the blankets around them and pulled her close. When he felt her relax he said, “Why are you afraid of the dark?”

“I don't want to talk about it.”

“Why not?”

“Because it sounds stupid.”

“Fears often are, but that doesn't make them any less real.”

She didn't respond. After a few minutes he closed his eyes.

“My angel can't find me in the dark,” she said quietly.

He tucked her closer. “Tell me about your angel.”

“When I first was sent to my grandfather after my mother died, I couldn't sleep at night. My mother died during the night, and I guess I figured my grandfather might, too, if I fell asleep. Who knows what goes through the mind of a five-year-old? Anyway, he put a night-light in my room so that my angel—the one specifically assigned to me—could find me and kiss me good-night, then I could sleep.”

Her voice had gotten small, as if she was five again. He pressed his lips to her head.

“You're the first person I've told. I've never spent the night with anyone before, because I didn't want them to know.”

“Thank you for your faith in me.”

She shifted a little, not moving away from him, but seeming to get closer. She slipped a leg between his. “When he died, when I was nine, I took the night-light with me to my foster home. The kids I shared the room with complained that they couldn't sleep. They took the night-light away. I screamed and cried and begged. Finally they let me sleep in the bathtub so I could keep the night-light in there with me. They got rid of me pretty fast.”

A hundred curses ran through his mind. She was just a little girl. A child who had lost her mother, an addict who probably hadn't been the greatest mother in the world to begin with, but the only one Cassie knew, then she'd lost her grandfather, who sounded like a hell of a guy.

“Of course, I had a knife, too, that I wouldn't give up,” she said, changing the tone.

“What kind of knife?”

“A good one. Grandpa whittled and carved. He taught me. It was the only thing of his I kept when he died, that and some of his carvings. They took the knife
away, but I found it and hid it. After that I made sure no one knew I had it, although the social workers speculated in their reports that I still did. They just didn't know how stealthy I could be.” She smiled. “You probably think I'm crazy.”

“I think you're brave.” No wonder she championed children.

“Just a survivor.”

“Much more than that.”

She yawned and nestled. “I'm tired.”

“Sleep,” he said softly. “Your angel will come.”

He felt her smile against his chest.

“Thank you, Gabriel.”

A minute later she was asleep. He thought about the life she'd lived. Thought about how quickly she'd loved Danny and how she was probably going to have to give him up, another loss among many. Thought about Kyle and his short, sweet life. How he would be alive today if not for Heath's ego and arrogance.

Danny's I'm-hungry cry came over the monitor. Cassie didn't budge when he slipped out of the bed and hurried to shut it off before it woke her. He found his pajamas and T-shirt in opposite corners of the room, then started out the door.

“I'm coming, too,” she said, sitting up, still naked, looking bewildered, and sexy as hell.

“Sleep, Cassie. You can take the next turn.”

She got out of bed, gathered her pajamas. “I'm coming,” she repeated, coming up beside him.

He closed his eyes and nodded, then he waited for her to dress. Together they held hands and went to take care of their baby.