That Special Smile/Whittenburg (15 page)

He was pulling her back against him, willing her to relax.

“Sylvie.” It was the softest of whispers and it floated all the way to her fingertips on a sigh. His hand lifted her hair and a feathery breath warmed the back of her neck, just before she felt the touch of his lips. “You seem shorter,” he whispered against her skin.

“No ... shoes.” She thought she sounded rather casual, despite the ripple of tension closing in on her vocal cords.

But Max was unimpressed. He kept teasing her with tiny, barely-there kisses, from her nape to just below her earlobe and back again to her nape.

“Really, Max,” she murmured. “This isn’t ... necessary.”

“Oh, but it is, Sylvie.” His lips found the hiding place of a dozen delicate shivers and sent them cascading through her senses like a shower of rainbows. “Believe me, it is very necessary.”

He placed one hand at her waist and his other hand kneaded her shoulder with soft intent. Sylvie wondered if she ought to make some form of protest, but what if he believed she meant it?

No, she’d waited too long for this ... although she hadn’t realized
this
was what she’d been waiting for. Arching her neck to give him freer access, she closed her eyes and savored the warm support of his arms, the disastrous incoherence of her logic.

She had to form his name twice on her lips before it became an audible murmur. “Max?”

“Mmmm?”

“You’re ... serious now. Right?”

He was in no hurry to answer. In slow, rhythmic circles his fingers caressed the silky dress fabric that covered her stomach, her breasts. His breath felt immeasurably tantalizing wherever it warmed her skin.

“Not yet, but I’m getting there,” he said, and for countless imaginable reasons heat rushed to every nerve ending in her body.

She made a quarter turn, allowing her hands to explore the rough, muscled texture of his arms, allowing him to explore new territory along her throat. “You’re not … teasing, are you?”

“No. This is definitely not teasing.”

“Seriously?”

“Do you always ask so many questions?”

“Only when someone is trying to take advantage of me.”

The nibbling kisses stopped and Max turned her to face him. Her breasts ached to feel the sensual rub of his chest and her hands went to his shoulders of their own accord. She blinked in an effort to clear her head, but the expression in his eyes took everything out of focus again.

“Is that what you think, Sylvie? That I’m trying to take advantage of you?”

Her lips curved with the growing need to taste his. “I hope you’ll do more than try, Max. Fair is fair and I’m – ”

He took the rest of the words right out of her mouth.

She melted against him. An odd sensation, she thought, melting like that. She’d always supposed it was a descriptive phrase, but now …
now
she knew better. Her thighs, her hips, her breasts, her whole body seemed suddenly to blend into his large and angular symmetry. And his lips. Dear God, she’d never before felt such possessive intimacy, such unarguable promise.

Her hands slid beneath his shirt collar and her fingers tangled in the dark tendrils of hair at his nape. The scent of snow and cold air still filled her senses, but she didn’t know if it clung to Max or was simply a part of the private world they had shared all evening. She should have known this would happen, should have recognized that in his arms was the one place she longed to be. It had happened often throughout her life; what she ultimately wanted turned out to be the thing she’d most denied wanting. And she’d denied wanting Max. He had been right. She’d hardly even admitted liking him, and she’d certainly never entertained thoughts of a relationship.

But here it was, full-grown and aching to be acknowledged. With a deeply satisfying sigh Sylvie parted her lips in concession and moved her hands until her thumbs could stroke the firm line of his jaw. When he released her and started to pull away, she cupped his face with her palms, keeping him close enough for an instant replay.

“You constantly surprise me, Max.”

“I know.” He brushed a kiss on the corner of her mouth. “When are you going to stop being surprised and start being impressed?”

“I don’t know. Probably about the same time you take off your shoes.”

“That soon, huh?”

She brought temptation to his lips with a touch of her finger. “All talk and no action makes me uncomfortable….” A stockinged foot rubbed across her toe and Sylvie glanced down. “How did you do that so fast?”

His smile was lazily sensual. “Never underestimate a man who wears loafers.”

“How do you feel about girls who wear glasses?”

“Girls?” One hand slid from her waist to trace the curve of her hip, adding unnecessary emphasis to his opinion that she could hardly be classified as a girl. “I don’t play with girls. But I made the mistake of underestimating you – a
woman
who wears glasses – and you see how that’s ended.”

“Well, actually, I didn’t even see how it started.” She dropped her gaze to the placket of his shirt and let her finger follow at a slower pace. “Do you think you could ... demonstrate?”

He cupped her chin and raised her eyes to his. “With pleasure.”

A smooth expectancy drifted through her, enhanced by the thudding heartbeat she could feel beneath her palm, amplified by the sudden urgency in his kiss. When Max bent to lift her into his arms, Sylvie released her breath in a rush, as if that would make her lighter, easier for him to carry. But he didn’t seem to expend any great effort in lifting her, and by the time they reached the shadowy bedroom, she was far more breathless than he.

He stopped beside the bed and shifted his supporting arms. She kept her hands on his shoulders, her lips opened to his, and let her body slide the length of his. Her dress anchored around her waist, leaving her legs bare. The textured wool of his trousers tickled her skin and the hardness of his thigh taunted her. Her breasts protested the restraints of clothing with an aching fullness that was not satisfied by a distant touch.

But he would not be hurried. His pulse thrummed with desire, a sweet, wildly reverent desire, to possess her. His caresses were hungry but deliberate, urgent but controlled. Her nearness, the fragrance and feel of her in his arms, her very willingness, made it difficult but imperative to take time. Sylvie needed a slow hand, he’d known that all along. He’d won her acceptance and her trust by degrees; he would win her body the same way.

He drew back, hesitant to rush even so much as a button until he was certain of his own ability to move without haste, to take things step by easy step. His lips curved as he looked at her, observing the rich creamy color of her skin and the moist, rose-tinted outline of her lips. He didn’t think he’d ever before seen her hair so attractively disheveled. He had wondered often how it would look after he’d loved her, its red-gold fire splayed across his pillow. Now he would know. Now.

He shouldn’t think of that yet. The tension was wrapping itself around him, tugging at his reason as the soft hint of doubt in her sea-green eyes tugged at his heart.

Sylvie, ever confident, always self-assured, lay trembling in his arms. He didn’t believe she was even aware of it, but he felt it and knew her doubt was for her own ability to respond, to please.

As his hand touched her cheek in reassurance, the need for tenderness became paramount in his mind.

He took the frame of her glasses between his fingers, wanting to remove the symbol of sophistication. “Do you need these?” he asked quietly.

“Only if you want me to see.”

“Don’t you know braille?”

“I’m nearsighted. Not blind.”

He lifted the glasses from her face and set them on the bedside table. “Then I’ll be careful to stay close. Very, very close.”

A purring consent vibrated in her throat, and then her arms were pulling him closer, her lips were seeking his, her tongue was issuing invitations he simply couldn’t refuse. Desire ricocheted into heady and wondrous sensations and he let it build to a strong and steady demand. By turns he stroked her with passion and then soothed her with a gentling massage. Her dress was unneeded and distracting and was soon discarded along with his shirt.

He delighted in the play of shadows across her satiny skin. His fingertip traced the moon-laced patterns from her shoulder all the way to the tiny flower applique between her breasts, but he grew impatient and unhooked the bra to cup her warm flesh in his palm. She was silken to the touch and conformed to the fit of his hand as easily as porcelain slip conformed to the mold. But Max knew, as he lowered his mouth to her breast, that he wouldn’t want Sylvie Anne to conform in any way. She wasn’t his to shape and sculpt, to mold into some subjective design. She was his, for the moment, to please and to find pleasure in, to give to and to take from. He wanted her surrender and knew the price would be more than he’d bargained for, but he also knew it was worth the cost.

Sylvie melted a little deeper into his embrace when his tongue circled and teased her breast. She was absorbing the riotous sensations he created, the rough-soft texture of his bare chest and shoulders. She hadn’t realized how good his touch could be, how right he would feel in her arms. It was astonishing, really, to be taken by surprise like this. He’d always treated her gently, but now he caressed her as if she were as fragile as porcelain and as valuable as a Ming vase. No one before had ever touched her with such tender devotion to detail. No one before had ever made her feel quite so special. And no one before had ever evoked such dramatic and passionate emotions in her.

She wanted Max, needed him with an intensity she usually reserved for debates about vital issues. But he had somehow become vital to her well-being. He had somehow become as necessary to her as the air she breathed, and her inner debate centered on when, not why. Why didn’t matter. In fact, nothing seemed to matter except getting him to release her long enough to shed all semblance of clothing and inhibitions, just long enough to pull him onto the bed with her.

It took time, Sylvie discovered, but she accomplished the goal and finally Max was stretched naked beside her, exploring every curve and secret of her body just as she was exploring his. Their lips met, clung and trailed fiery kisses as each sought new territory, new vistas of pleasure.

But when he reached the uncharted smoothness of her stomach, he lingered only long enough to claim it for his own before returning again to her lips, and Sylvie found she was dissatisfied to be too long without the sustenance of his kiss.

A wild desire banked, flared and burned itself into emotions she didn’t recognize. Her heart pounded madly, subsided to an uneven, but easier, rhythm, then raced like a Thoroughbred fresh out of the gate. And when, at last, he moved to fulfill the promise of building passions, she knew she’d been touched by his magic.

Nothing in her life would ever again be quite the same. And she knew she would be comfortable in this new relationship.

Her hands tracked the muscular ridges of his back and settled on the lean slope of his hips. There she could encourage him, guide him through the maze of wondrous sensations that were even now chasing through her veins. Her eyes closed with the sweet pain of surrender and then she moved against him, arching her body to his, accepting, stroking, and releasing him, only to repeat the seduction again and again and again.

“Sylvie,” he whispered with the hoarse, throaty sound of intense pleasure ... or pain ... or both. Pressing her lips to his, she met the thrust of his tongue and a rush of untamed needs whipped and whirled inside her, rising and spiraling and finally exploding in splendor.

There was magic in the world, she realized as passion ebbed and drifted into sweet languor.

Max had shown her.

He had shared it with her.

She’d never expected to experience a grand and glorious passion; she’d certainly never suspected she might experience it with him.

Luckily, she thought in drowsy contentment, fate had listened to her heart, not the thousand and one reasons given by her practical nature.

* * * *

In the cool, silvery light of morning Sylvie made her way to the kitchen and as quietly as possible started the coffee brewing. The aroma soon trickled through her hazy thoughts, awakening memories of the night before. With the softest smile her lips had ever known, she walked to the window and looked out. From this vantage point she could see little more than rooftops and eaves of the town below. Eureka Springs was nestled into the Ozark hills, a patchwork of Victorian color on a field of white. Only a week into December and already winter had settled in. The snow sparkled everywhere, like fairy dust on a gingerbread village.

Fairy dust? Only one night with Max and already she was losing her ability to think rationally. Sylvie wrapped her arms across her chest, snuggled her hands into the folds of Max’s flannel shirt, and turned away from the view.

She felt
wonderful
.

How had he done that?

A humming sigh eased past her lips as she hugged herself along with the remembrance of all that he had done. Her smile curved just for her own pleasure, and she wondered if being in love felt anything like this. If it did, then she’d spent far too much time on practice runs. Why hadn’t Juliette told her what real loving was like?

Simple, she realized. Juliette didn’t know.

No one else could possibly know.

She, Sylvie Anne, was the only woman in the world who felt this way. She was poised on the edge of discovery. Almost, but not quite, in love.

And he wasn’t even her type.

How amazing. How completely amazing.

Maybe she was dreaming. Sylvie hugged herself a little tighter and walked toward the workshop. To be on the safe side, she decided she just wouldn’t wake up.

She followed an impulse through the doorway and into Max’s private room. His workshop, an important part of Max, and yet, it didn’t seem to jibe with the man she knew. Or thought she knew. Of course she realized she knew little about his work, even less about its importance in his life. A major miscalculation on her part, she thought. She needed to know, wanted to learn, what was important to him and why. And examining the clues in his workshop was the first step toward finding that out.