Now and Forever (92 page)

"No one," she whispered, leaning into his touch. "No one in this world or any other."

A strange sensation filled his chest as he remembered the sweetness of her kisses. Was it possible he was the only man to have known them? The thought filled him with a towering sense of joy.

Her hair was soft against his hand, like fine silk. He found himself mesmerized by the gentle curls that entwined themselves about his fingers. He met her eyes.

"You are free to go if you choose." From this point forward they would meet on level ground.

Her eyes glittered with tears. She understood his meaning and she knew there was only one answer.

"I'm not going anywhere," she said, then stepped into his embrace.

For the longest time they stood together in the middle of the room, not kissing or speaking. Her head rested against his chest, the horn buttons of his jacket pressing into her cheek. She loved the smell of wool and soap, loved the sound of his heart beating beneath her ear, loved the fact that sometimes the unexpected happened and your life would never be the same again.

She ran her hands up his arms, relishing the way the wool tickled her palms as she felt the contours of his forearms, his biceps, his shoulders. She let her fingers trace the proud curve of his jaw, the straight nose, the swell of his sensual mouth. The lines that creased his eyes and cut into his cheek, lines to deep and sorrowful that she wondered how it was she hadn't seen them before.
A river of pain,
she thought.
An ocean.

He said nothing as she touched him, but his pulse beat visibly at the base of his throat. That pleased her more than any words possibly could.

She trailed her hands back down over his shoulders, and he reached up and took her hands in his. Looking into her eyes, he raised her hands to his mouth and slowly, deliberately, kissed her wrists, her palms, each finger in turn, until she moaned deep in her throat.

He swept her up into his arms and carried her to the bed. Emotion filled every corner of her mind, it twisted through her rib cage and shot sparks of light from her eyelashes and fingertips and toes.

He laid her down on the mattress and somehow it seemed softer than before, more inviting. Candles flickered on the tabletop behind him, surrounding him in a golden aura. It seemed like a lifetime since she'd been able to see anyone's aura, and the illusion somehow made her feel more sure of herself. More like the woman she had left behind.

"Is this your choice, Dakota?" His voice rolled over her like clover honey warmed by the sun. She'd never liked the sound of her name before, but the way he said it, it was a love song. "Yes," she said softly. "Oh, yes…"

He stripped off his coat and shirt with swift, sure motions, then sat on the edge of the bed to pull off his boots. His back was smoothly muscled, like the back of Michelangelo's
David.
A thing of unutterable beauty. Was this desire, then? She wondered. This sense of hunger and worship, this longing to both surrender and conquer?

He rose from the bed and looked down upon her. His breeches hugged his narrow hips and strong legs. Smiling, she glanced away, secretly delighted that she hadn't imagined his desire for her.

"Madam?" His voice was husky, urgent. He extended his hand toward her and she reached for it, then rose to her feet.

Puzzled, she frowned. "I thought--?"

"In due course, madam." His hands found the top buttons of her bodice. "First this." He kissed the base of her throat, then undid the first two buttons. "Then this." His lips moved down her breastbone. Two more buttons "So sweet you are, madam. So finely made."

He trailed a line of fire between her breasts. Heat gathered low in her belly and it occurred to her that if she died right then, at that very moment, she would have known more than her share of pleasure.

"You tremble," he said as he unfastened the final button and easd the bodice over her shoulders. "You have nothing to fear."

She knew he spoke the truth, but the enormity of what she was about to do overwhelmed her. This was the man she'd dreamed about, the one who had captured her heart. She hadn't been looking for him. How could she, when she hadn't even believed he existed? He was hardheaded and difficult, complicated and more than likely dangerous, yet giving herself to him seemed the wisest decision she'd ever made.

Whatever happened, wherever the future led, she would always have this memory, and if it wasn't enough, it was more than she'd dreamed.

"I'm not afraid," she said, cupping his face with her hands. "I just don't know what's expected of me."

"Nothing is expected of you." He dipped his head toward her. "It is enough that you are here."

He nipped the side of her neck and she shivered with delight. His enormous workman's hands clasped her by the waist and she felt both fragile and powerful, exultantly, wildly female. Everything she'd thought possible for other women but never for her.

He kissed her collarbone, tracing his tongue across to her right shoulder. She was hallucinating. She had to be. Didn't he know she was just an out-of-work librarian from Princeton, New Jersey? The kind of woman men forgot the moment they met. The kind of woman name tags were invented for.

"Dakota Wylie." He kissed her shoulder, and the heat in her belly grew more demanding. "You are unlike anyone I have ever known."

She moaned as his hands cupped her breasts. "You told me that once before," she murmured. "I didn't think it was a compliment."

He hooked a finger under the strap of her bra. "A strange device. A new invention, perhaps?"

"It's from Paris," she managed to say. "You'll be seeing a lot more of them in the future."

"And this?" he asked, his mouth against her tattoo. "'Tis a strange sight upon a woman's body."

She wanted to tell him it was a birthmark but couldn't manage the lie. "Are you offended?" she asked.

"Nay, madam." He worked the hooks on the bra easily. Apparently some men just had the knack. "I am intrigued."

"Not everyone likes tattoos," she went on, trying to pretend he wasn't unfastening her skirt. "Some people say they're—ohh." Her breath left her body in a sibilant rush of air. She was naked except for a pair of white cotton panties she'd washed and dried by the fire the night before.

He knelt before her and slid his hand beneath the waistband. "From Paris?" he asked, a devilish gleam in his dark blue eyes.

Actually they were from the U.S. of A. via Macy's, but she didn't suppose he wanted that level of detail. He was on his knees before her, hands clasping her buttocks, his face dangerously close to where every degree of heat in the universe was gathering at the juncture of her thighs. His gaze never left hers as he slid her panties over her hips and down her thighs. She stepped out of them, thankful she didn't fall over. The way her legs were shaking anything was possible. Instinctively her hands went to cover herself, but he shook his head.

Tears of embarrassment welled up. "I'm too fat," she said, wishing they were lying on the bed. Or that she had a bathrobe. Or that the candle would extinguish itself. "I've been meaning to lose those last fifteen pounds but—"

"'Tis something I do not understand, Dakota." He rose to his feet and gathered her against his chest. "Is it possible you do not know the effect you have upon my person?"

"If you want to stop, it's okay," she babbled on, feeling more gauche and uncertain by the second. "I've waited twenty-six years for this. It won't kill me to wait another twenty-six."

He took her hand and placed it flat against his groin.

"For you," he said simply, "and for you alone."

It was the greatest gift anyone had ever given her. With those words he erased the last of her fears and freed her to give in to the dazzling sway of sensuality that had lain dormant inside her for so long. Twentieth-century worries about cellulite and single-digit dress sizes didn't matter any longer. This was about reveling in the feel of someone's body against yours, about skin against skin, about the fact that he was laying her down on the bed and stripping off his breeches.

About the fact that she'd never guessed, never imagined, never dreamed that it could be like this, that two people could ignite sparks more beautiful than a Fourth of July fireworks display.

He found her mouth with his and she opened for him. Their tongues met and she tasted the faint sweetness of rum. He kissed her as if kissing was an end in itself, as if he wanted nothing more than this from her, but his heart-stopping erection told her otherwise. Fate had dealt him a generous hand.

It didn't seem possible, what they were about to do, but she knew that it was. Still, the logistics of the whole thing boggled the mind. She wondered if it was like this for ever woman, her body responding wildly to sensation while her mind offered color commentary like one of those guys on Monday Night Football.

And then he found the center of her being with his gentle fingers and she finally understood what heaven was all about.

#

Patrick had never seen a woman more lovely than Dakota Wylie as she lay with him on the narrow bed. The fire crackled in the grate and the play of light against her smooth white skin was more beautiful than the most wondrous sunset. Her skin was the purest marble, so exquisitely perfect that he could be content to feast his soul upon it for the rest of his life.

The soft dark curls that covered her mound beckoned to him, and he found her with his hand. She arched against his palm, whimpering softly low in her throat, and he knew a moment of exultation that not even paradise could match. No other man had heard that sound. No other man had separated her petaled lips. No other man had felt the honeyed walls of her sheath close around his fingers as he made her ready for him.

But it was more than the simple fact of her virginity that excited Patrick: it was her self. Whatever mysterious forces that had come together to create such an uncommon woman. Her strength. Her loyalty. The sweetness of her person, the graceful line of her limbs. Her sharp intelligence and the wit that she wielded as a shield for her vulnerable heart.

She had said there had been no other man, not in this world or any other, and it occurred to Patrick that he could say the same thing. There was but one Dakota Wylie on this earth and he held her in his arms.

#

Dakota rode wave after wave of sensation, climbing to the top of a swell then sailing down the other side only to buoyed up again by the fierce power of the sea. He had the hands of a magician, amazing, wonderful hands that found beauty wherever they touched. Her breasts turned golden when he cupped them. Rainbows arced above her hips. The rapid sound of their breathing was a love song.

She gasped when he positioned himself between her thighs, then thought she would die when he bent forward and curled his tongue around her moist, pink bud of flesh. Pleasure and pain were indistinguishable as intense shafts of sensation tore away her last hold on sanity. She cried out, as much from longing as fear, as he sought entrance, his incredible erection sliding between her slick folds.

He didn't move at first and she began to relax, feeling her body mold itself to his in a most amazing fashion. A restlessness began to grow deep inside in a place she'd never known existed, a yawning emptiness that cried out to be filled. It was so simple, so elemental, that tears spilled down her cheeks at the wonder of it all.

He saw the tears and felt as if a dagger had been plunged deep inside his soul. "I have no wish to hurt you," he managed to say, even as his own body cried out for release. She was so small, so tight, that he knew pain to be inevitable.

"You'll only hurt me if you stop."

Her words lifted him above the bed, above the house, above the clouds. Reining in his power, he angled his hips then swiftly broke the sweet band of flesh and felt the warmth of her blood on his member.

"No more pain," he whispered against the fullness of her mouth. "Never again."

He began to move slowly at first, then faster, and nearly growled with pleasure when she moved with him. The thrust and parry of their bodies, locked in a primal rhythm, carried him closer and closer to the edge of madness, that place where life and death met and became one.

#

Dakota was sure she'd died because nothing else could explain the way she felt. Bright lights exploded behind her eyelids. Pinwheels of fire and sparks of heat danced across her skin. The ocean roared in her ears, while the smell of a forest after a rainstorm filled her head. Only death or madness could explain the barrage of sensations that rippled from her head to her feet then back again. . . and always, always centering deep in the pit of her belly.