Parker And The Gypsy (18 page)

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Authors: Susan Carroll

BOOK: Parker And The Gypsy
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“My turn, now,” he murmured against her lips. “Let's see if I can make a little magic for you.”
He sought and found her breast, possessing it in the callused warmth of his palm, molding, teasing, gently abrading her nipple in a way that sent heat singing through her veins. Sara thought her body had been responsive to Mike's touch before, but as his fingers began a slow languid exploration of all her curves, her most intimate places, she fast realized how naive she had been.
He kissed the madly pounding pulse at her throat, his breath coming hot and quick between the valley of her breasts, moments before his lips fastened upon the bud of one nipple, enveloping that most sensitive point with the heat of his tongue.
Her whole body shuddered at the unexpected pleasure of this contact. She'd never given much thought to the mysteries of her own body. But Mike was unfolding those mysteries one by one, his hand skimming over the smooth curve of her stomach, delving lower still. Her muscles clenched in involuntary anticipation as his hand insinuated itself between her thighs, seeking out the tender spot from which all the fire, all the need seemed to radiate.
The spark of pleasure was so intense, Sara bucked upward bringing herself in full contact with Mike's questing fingers. And she had imagined she could show this man anything about setting off fireworks. He'd probably been lighting the matches ever since puberty.
“Oh—oh, my,” she gasped. “You—you have very gifted hands, Michael.”
She immediately felt foolish, but Mike chuckled.
“Yeah, I had a music teacher once who said I should take up the violin, but I was too busy learning other things.”
He demonstrated by setting up a rhythmic stroking, his fingers moving lightly, deftly over the sensitive nub. A low moan escaped Sara and she dug her hands into the mattress.
Mike had never realized a man could find such pleasure just watching the face of the woman he was making love to. The flush of passion bloomed along the delicate arch of Sara's cheeks, burned bright in her eyes.
“Oh, Michael,” she panted. “I—I want—”
“What do you want, Sara?” he whispered.
“I—I want you. I want you to be part of me.”
“I already am.” Mike wasn't sure whose husky voice had breathed such wildly romantic nonsense. He was startled to realize it was his, equally startled to discover he almost believed it was true. That he
was
linked to Sara in some undefinable way, and would have been even if they'd never kissed or touched. If only their eyes had met across a room.
Crazy thoughts, he told himself, when the only sort of joining he really understood was the kind his body cried out for now. She buried her fingers in his hair, breathing out his name in a ragged plea he could no longer deny, the urgency too like his own. He answered her with a kiss, drawing her tight into his embrace, filling his hands with her softness, his heart with the beauty that was Sara.
Levering himself above her, he parted her thighs gently, preparing to ease himself inside. She was moist and ready for him, but he'd never known any woman to be so tight. A vague suspicion filtered through his head. Could it be possible that she was still—
The thought was gone the next instant as she clamped her hands tight around his hips, arcing upward, making their union complete.
Sara stifled her cry against Mike's shoulder. The brief moment of pain she'd experienced at his entry ebbed, leaving her lost to the sensation of Mike filling her with his pulsing heat. Strange, wonderful.
It felt so right, so natural that their bodies should become one, no more barriers between them, two halves of the same whole. As Mike began to move inside her, the initial pain gave way to a throb of pleasure. Sara writhed beneath him, eyes half-closed, Mike's face flashing before her, his eyes dark, storm-ridden.
Mike tried to go slow, be gentle, but Sara wouldn't let him. She matched each powerful thrust of his body, pleading, urging him on, her kisses hot, feverish, demanding he hold nothing back—not just the rhythms of his body, but of his very heart and soul.
Every sense she possessed was attuned to him so it didn't surprise her when her world exploded in a flash of light. But there were no terrifying psychic images this time, only a single revelation crystal clear.
Love... She loved Mike Parker, would love him forever.
With a muffled sob of joy, Sara clung to Mike tightly as her passion reached its peak, shattering inside of her, leaving her trembling.
It was impossible, Mike knew that, but he could swear that he realized the exact moment when Sara found her release. It was the same moment his own pleasure intensified to the point of pain. The feeling was too strong to resist, and he had to surrender, the sweetest surrender he'd ever known. His entire body shuddered as he spilled his seed deep inside her.
Panting, he collapsed back to the mattress, the two of them still clutching each other like people who had just survived a storm. As he struggled to catch his breath, he almost felt that he had.
He could hardly believe what had just taken place between him and Sara. Sex was usually a hit-and-miss affair. No two people ever got it so right on the first try... so perfect. It was like they'd done it together dozens of times, knew each other's bodies better than they did their own.
You couldn't even call it sex. It was—hell, he didn't know what it was. Magic. Fireworks. He could swear to God he'd seen fireworks and—
And he could also swear if he believed that, then he'd lost his mind at last. But at the moment, with Sara cradled close in his arms, he didn't even miss it.
Her head burrowed deep against his shoulder, he could feel the mad race of her heart, slow to beat in a more steady rhythm along with his own. All was silent except for the soft stir of her breathing and the continued tap of the rain against the windows.
He pressed a kiss into her hair, his heart so curiously full, he felt he ought to say something, but damned if he knew what.
“The power's back on,” he murmured at last, noticing the alarm clock light blinking. He almost groaned aloud. Another great romantic one-liner from Mike Parker.
Sara shifted enough to look, then nestled back against him. “So it is. But I don't care,” she said in a voice of muzzy contentment. “I still prefer my candle.”
Strangely enough, so did he. He'd never noticed before what candlelight could do for even the simplest of rooms. Transform it into a place of romance or sinister shadow. Sara's candle seemed to do a little of both, giving him the feeling of being lost with her in some intimate glowing circle while holding a very dark world at bay.
He wanted to thank her for giving him one night of peace away from his blasted nightmares, from the horrible implications of the note crushed in his coat pocket. But when a heavy sigh escaped her, he wondered if it had been quite as good for her as for him.
“You okay, doll?” he asked. “I mean, was
it
okay for you? I mean....” He faltered, tied up into knots by his own blasted clumsy tongue.
She smiled mistily up at him. “Oh, yes,
it
was wonderful. I was only thinking something...silly.”
“Tell me,” he insisted, giving her shoulders a gentle squeeze.
“I was just wishing that it could have been as special for you as for me. That it was your first time, too.”
“First time for what?”
“N-nothing.” Looking as though she already regretted her words, Sara nuzzled her face back in his shoulder.
Still hazy from their recent lovemaking, it took a moment for his brain to focus. Then it did so with dawning horror.
“You—you're not trying to tell me it was your first time for—That you were still a—”
He shifted, trying to peer into her face. Sara shrank deeper against his chest.
“Sara! You were! You were still a virgin!”
“Was it illegal?” she asked.
But Mike couldn't even begin to joke about it. He sat up so abruptly, Sara's head plunked down on the mattress. Dragging his hands back through his hair, he muttered, “There was a moment when I almost suspected, but I thought, nah, impossible. You've got to be almost...”
“Twenty-five years old.” Sara winced. “I told you I've always been a little different.”
“So what the heck were you doing? Saving yourself for the right man.”
“Something like that.”
“Then, boy, did you make a wrong turn, sister.”
“I don't think so.” Sara tugged gently at him, until he shifted to lie uneasily back down beside her. “It's no big deal, Michael,” she said. “Though I guess now I will have to give up on ever catching that unicorn.”
She was teasing of course, but Mike squirmed, feeling as if he had cheated her out of something. He didn't know quite what. Maybe just that her first time should have been more romantic. Moonlight and roses. A guy spiffed up in his best suit and smelling of expensive cologne. The
right
guy. Mr. Prince Charming himself.
No matter how incredible a job Sara did of kissing Mike Parker, in the morning he was still going to be a toad.
“You should have told me,” he grumbled.
“But then you might have stopped,” she said.
“No.” Mike knew himself better than that. He couldn't have been that self-sacrificing. Toads seldom were.
“But I could have been more careful, tried to make it better for you.”
“It couldn't have been any better,” she said, rubbing her fingers lovingly over the expanse of his chest.
His male ego should have been flattered. He should have made some snappy comeback and just let it go. But somehow being Sara's first lover seemed to carry such an awesome weight of responsibility and he wasn't sure he could handle it.
When he fell silent, staring up at the ceiling, Sara pressed closer, coaxing him anxiously. “Come on, Michael. I can't be the first woman you've ever known that was—er—inexperienced.”
“I don't usually get my dates fresh out of the convent, Sara. Most women I've known I picked up in strip joints or bars.”
After a brief hesitation, Sara asked, “Is that where you met your ex-wife?”
“No, I found her in a cake.”
He almost laughed at Sara's look of confusion. “I was at this wild bachelor party and Darcy was the exotic dancer who popped out of the cake. I must have been drunk, but I took one look at her and felt like I got hit with a ton of bricks. After a whirlwind weekend together, we ended up married.”
“It sounds terribly romantic,” Sara said wistfully.
“I don't know about that. We were a lot alike. Darcy had had a pretty rough childhood, too. Both of us were smart street kids. I guess we understood each other. We had a lot of laughs. Until the cake ran out.”
Until Xavier Storm had come along. But the thought didn't carry its usual sting tonight. In fact, lying here with Sara, none of what had happened with Darcy seemed important at all.
Sara hugged a pillow to her breast, looking pensive, and Mike cursed himself, wondering how much more of a dope he could be tonight. Going on about his ex-wife to the woman he'd just made love to.
Tugging the pillow away from her, Mike pulled Sara back where he liked her best, tucked all safe and warm in his arms.
“And what about you, angel?” he asked. “You gonna tell me there wasn't ever any guy who tempted you to part with your virtue before I came along?”
He felt her smile against his shoulder. “I suppose there might have been one. I came close once with a bank officer I worked with. Wallace Hatcher.”
“Sara, no woman could come close with a guy named Wallace Hatcher.”
“He was a very good man, Michael. A perfect gentleman, something rare in this day and age. Very steady and kind.”
Neither of which could be applied to Mike Parker. He was annoyed to discover he felt a surge of jealousy over this bozo.
“So what happened?” he growled. “Why didn't you end up marrying Mr. Perfect?”
“We were almost engaged, but well, that's when I had my big revelation and I decided to come out of closet, psychically speaking. Poor Wallace didn't quite know how to handle it.”
“So the creep dumped you?”
“No, I let him go.” She levered herself up a little to look at him, her eyes sweet and serious. “You see, Michael, I already have to deal with so much skepticism. I couldn't possibly marry a man who didn't believe in the things I do, accept me for what I am.”
“But still, no matter what he believed, this Wallace jerk wouldn't have let you send him away if you two had really been in love with each other.”
“But I thought you don't believe in love, Michael. Do you?” she added softly.

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