Heartbreaker (10 page)

"Like a baby." He brushed her mouth
with his, a brief, warm caress; then his arms slid behind her neck and under
her thighs. She gasped as he lifted her, grabbing him around the neck as he'd
instructed. It was still raining, but his coat kept most of the dampness from
her as he closed the car door and carried her swiftly through the darkness.

"I'm awake now; I could've walked,"
she protested, her heart beginning a slow, heavy thumping as she responded to
his nearness. He carried her so easily, leaping up the steps to the porch as if
she weighed no more than a child.

"I know," he murmured, lifting her
a little so he could bury his face in the curve of her neck. Gently he nuzzled
her jaw, drinking in the sweet, warm fragrance of her skin. "Mmmm, you
smell good. Are you clear from the wine yet?"

The caress was so tender that it completely
failed to alarm her. Rather, she felt coddled, and the feeling of utter safety
persisted. He shifted her in his arms to open the door, then turned sideways to
carry her through. Had he thought she was drunk? "I was just sleepy, not
tipsy," she clarified.

"Good," he whispered, pushing the
door closed and blocking out the sound of die light rain, enveloping them in
the dark silence of the house. She couldn't see anything, but he was warm and
solid against her, and it didn't matter that she couldn't see. Then his mouth
was on hers, greedy and demanding, convincing her lips to open and accept the
shape of his, accept the inward thrust of his tongue. He kissed her with
burning male hunger, as if he wanted to draw all the sweetness and breath out
of her to make it his own, as if the need was riding him so hard that he
couldn't get close enough. She couldn't help responding to that need, clinging
to him and kissing him back with a sudden wildness, because the very rawness of
his male hunger called out to everything in her that was female and ignited her
own fires.

He hit the light switch with his elbow,
throwing on the foyer light and illuminating the stairs to the right. He lifted
his mouth briefly, and she stared up at him in the dim light, her senses
jolting at the hard, grim expression on his face, the way his skin had
tightened across his cheekbones. "I'm staying here tonight," he
muttered harshly, starting up the stairs with her still in his arms. "This
has been put off long enough."

He wasn't going to stop; she could see it in
his face. She didn't want him to stop. Every pore in her body cried out for
him, drowning out the small voice of caution that warned against getting
involved with a heartbreaker like John Rafferty. Maybe it had been a useless
struggle anyway; it had always been between them, this burning hunger that now
flared out of control.

His mouth caught hers again as he carried her
up the stairs, his muscle-corded arms holding her weight easily. Michelle
yielded to the kiss, sinking against him. Her blood was singing through her
veins, heating her, making her breasts harden with the need for his touch. An
empty ache made her whimper, because it was an ache that only he could fill.

He'd been in the house a lot over the years,
so the location of her room was no mystery to him. He carried her inside and
laid her on the bed, following her down to press her into the mattress with his
full weight. Michelle almost cried out from the intense pleasure of feeling him
cover her with his body. His arm stretched over her head, and he snapped on one
of the bedside lamps; he looked at her, and his black eyes filled with
masculine satisfaction as he saw the glaze of passion in her slumberous eyes,
the trembling of her pouty, kiss-stung lips.

Slowly, deliberately, he levered his knee
between hers and spread her legs, then settled his hips into the cradle formed
by her thighs. She inhaled sharply as she felt his hardness through the layers
of their clothing. Their eyes met, and she knew he'd known before the day even
began that he would end it in her bed. He was tired of waiting, and he was
going to have her. He'd been patient all day, gentling her by letting her get
accustomed to his presence, but now his patience was at an end, and he knew she
had no resistance left to offer him. All she had was need.

"You're mine." He stated his
possession baldly, his voice rough and low. He raised his weight on one elbow,
and with his free hand unbuttoned the two buttons at her waist, spreading the
dress open with the deliberate air of a man unwrapping a gift he'd wanted for a
long time. The silk caught at her hips, pinned by his own weight. He lifted his
hips and pushed the edges of the dress open, baring her legs, then re-settled
himself against her.

He felt as if his entire body would explode
as he looked at her. She had worn neither bra nor slip; the silk dress was
lined, biding from him all day the fact that the only things she had on beneath
that wisp of fabric were her panty hose and a minute scrap of lace masquerading
as panties. If he'd known that her breasts were bare under her dress, there was
no way he could have kept himself from pulling those lapels apart and touching,
tasting, nor could he stop himself now. Her breasts were high and round, the
skin satiny, her coral-colored nipples small and already tightly beaded. With a
rough sound he bent his head and sucked strongly at her, drawing her nipple
into his mouth and molding his lips to that creamy, satiny flesh. He cupped her
other breast in his hand, gently kneading it and rubbing the nipple with his
thumb. A high, gasping cry tore from her throat, and she arched against his
mouth, her hands digging into his dark hair to press his head into her. Her
breasts were so firm they were almost hard, and the firmness excited him even
more. He had to taste the other one, surround himself with the sweet headiness
of her scent and skin.

Slowly Michelle twisted beneath him, plucking
now at the back of his shirt in an effort to get rid of the fabric between
them. She needed to feel the heat and power of his bare skin under her hands,
against her body, but his mouth on her breasts was driving her mad with
pleasure, and she couldn't control herself enough to strip the shirt away.
Every stroke of his tongue sent wildfire running along her nerves, from her
nipples to her loins, and she was helpless to do anything but feel.

Then he left her, rising up on his knees to
tear at his shirt and throw it aside. His shoes, socks, pants and underwear
followed, flung blindly away from the bed, and he knelt naked between her
spread thighs. He stripped her panty hose and panties away, leaving her open
and vulnerable to his penetration.

For the first time, she felt fear. It had
been so long for her, and sex hadn't been good in her marriage anyway. John
leaned over her, spreading her legs further, and she felt the first shock of
his naked flesh as he positioned himself for entry. He was so big, his muscled
body dominating her smaller, softer one completely. She knew from harsh
experience how helpless a woman was against a man's much greater strength; John
was stronger than most, bigger than most, and he was intent on the sexual act
as males have been from the beginning of time. He was quintessentially male,
the sum and substance of masculine aggression and sexuality. Panic welled in
her, and her slim, delicate hand pressed against him, her fingers sliding into
the curling dark hair that covered his chest The black edges of fear were coming
closer.

Her voice was thready, begging for
reassurance. "John? Don't hurt me, please."

He froze, braced over her on the threshold of
entry. Her warm, sweet body beckoned him, moistly ready for him, but her eyes
were pleading. Did she expect pain? Good God, who could have hurt her? The
seeds of fury formed deep in his mind, shunted aside for now by the screaming
urges of his body. For now, he had to have her. "No, baby," he said
gently, his dark voice so warm with tenderness that the fear in her eyes faded.
"I won't hurt you."

He slid one arm under her, leaning on that
elbow and raising her so her nipples were buried in the hair on his chest.
Again he heard that small intake of breath from her, an unconscious sound of
pleasure. Their eyes locked, hers misty and soft, his like black fire, as he
tightened his buttocks and very slowly, very carefully, began to enter her.

Michelle shuddered as great ripples of
pleasure washed through her, and her legs climbed his to wrap around his hips.
A soft, wild cry tore from her throat, and she shoved her hand against her
mouth to stifle the sound. Still his black eyes burned down at her.
"No," he whispered. "Take your hand away. I want to hear you,
baby. Let me hear how good it feels to you."

Still there was that slow, burning push deep
into her, her flesh quivering as she tried to accommodate him. Panic seized her
again. "Stop! John, please, no more! You're… I can't…"

"Shh, shh," he soothed, kissing her
mouth, her eyes, nibbling at the velvety lobes of her ears. "It's okay,
baby, don't worry. I won't hurt you." He continued soothing her with
kisses and soft murmurs, and though every instinct in him screamed to bury
himself in her to the hilt, he clamped down on those urges with iron control.
There was no way he was going to hurt her, not with the fear he'd seen in the
misty green depths of her eyes. She was so delicate and silky, and so tight
around him that he could feel the gentle pulsations of adjustment. His eyes
closed as pure pleasure shuddered through him.

She was aroused, but not enough. He set about
exciting her with all the sensual skill he possessed, holding her mouth with
deep kisses while his hands gently stroked her, and he began moving slowly
inside her. So slow, holding himself back, keeping his strokes shallow even
though every movement wrung new degrees of ecstasy from him. He wanted her
mindless with need.

Michelle felt her control slipping away by
degrees, and she didn't care. Control didn't matter, nothing mattered but the
heat that was consuming her body and mind, building until all sense of self was
gone and she was nothing but a female body, twisting and surging beneath the
overpowering male. A powerful tension had her in its grip, tightening,
combining with the heat as it swept her inexorably along. She was burning
alive, writhing helplessly, wild little pleading sobs welling up and escaping.
John took them into his own mouth, then put his hand between their bodies,
stroking her. She trembled for a moment on the crest of a great wave; then she
was submerged in exploding sensation. He held her safely, her heaving body
locked in his arms while he thrust deeply, giving her all the pleasure he
could.

When it was over she was limp and sobbing,
drenched with both her sweat and his. "I didn't know," she said brokenly,
and tears tracked down her face. He murmured to her, holding her tightly for a
moment, but he was deep inside her now, and he couldn't hold back any longer.
Sliding his hands beneath her hips, he lifted her up to receive his deep,
powerful thrusts.

Now it was she who held him, cradling him in
her body and with her arms tight around him; he cried out, a deep, hoarse
sound, blind and insensible to everything but the great, flooding force of his
pleasure.

It was quiet for a long time afterward. John
lay on top of her, so sated and relaxed that he couldn't tolerate the idea of
moving, of separating his flesh from hers. It wasn't until she stirred, gasping
a little for breath, that he raised himself on his elbows and looked down at
her.

Intense satisfaction, mingled with both
gentleness and a certain male arrogance, was written on his face as he leaned
above her. He smoothed her tangled hair back from her face, stroking her cheeks
with his fingers. She looked pale and exhausted, but it was the sensuous exhaustion
of a woman who has been thoroughly satisfied by her lover. He traced the shape
of her elegant cheekbones with his lips, his tongue dipping out to sneak tastes
that sent little ripples of arousal through him again.

Then he lifted his head again, curiosity
burning in his eyes. "You've never enjoyed it before, have you?"

A quick flush burned her cheeks, and she
turned her head on the pillow, staring fixedly at the lamp. "I suppose
that does wonders for your ego."

She was withdrawing from him, and that was
the last thing he wanted. He decided to drop the subject for the time being,
but there were still a lot of questions that he intended to have answered.
Right now she was in his arms, warm and weak from his love-making, just the way
he was going to keep her until she became used to his possession and accepted
it as fact.

She was his now.

He'd take care of her, even spoil her. Why
not? She was made to be pampered and indulged, at least up to a point. She'd
been putting up a good fight to work this ranch, and he liked her guts, but she
wasn't cut out for that type of life. Once she realized that she didn't have to
fight anymore, that he was going to take care of her, she'd settle down and
accept it as the natural order of things.

He didn't have money to waste on fancy trips,
or to drape her in jewels, but he could keep her in comfort and security. Not
only that, he could guarantee that the sheets on their bed would stay hot. Even
now, so soon after having her, he felt the hunger and need returning.

Without a word he began again, drawing her
down with him into a dark whirlpool of desire and satisfaction. Michelle's eyes
drifted shut, her body arching in his arms. She had known instinctively, years
ago, that it would be like this, that even her identity would be swamped with
the force of his passion. In his arms she lost herself and became only his
woman.