The Glass Shoe (13 page)

"Amanda?"

What, she wondered, did he want from her? Did he want her in Boston so that they could spend an occasional night or weekend together?
A nice, sensible, adult arrangement, with no ties or promises on either side?

Her mind shied violently at that. Maybe she could manage to be casual about this, not to cling to him, but she doubted her control if they became weekend lovers. But she couldn't tell him that without confessing her love, and she couldn't do that. He hadn't asked for her love, and it was still too new and vulnerable to be offered up carelessly.

She saw his eyes narrow at the long silence, and managed a slight smile. "Do we have to decide this right away? You aren't leaving tomorrow."

Ryder gazed down at her, conscious that his own feelings didn't make sense. She was his, she belonged to him, and he fully intended to make her accept that. Yet he didn't want to ask himself why, and he didn't want to look beyond that fact. He wanted her with him.
Period.

His need for her to be at his side was as strong as the sexual desire still was, consuming him until he couldn't think past it. He slid one hand over her soft stomach,
then
moved it up slowly until his fingers closed gently over her full breast. He watched her face, seeing her eyes widen. He let his thumb brush very gently over her hardening nipple, and watched color bloom in her cheeks.

She cleared her throat. "Um... are we having the same conversation?"

"Uh-huh," he murmured, enjoying the feel of her warm flesh in his hand and very aware of his instant response to touching her. "Why do you think I want you with me? I can't keep my hands off you. The next week or so isn't going to be enough. Not nearly enough."

Amanda tried to think of something light and flippant to say, but her mind was moving sluggishly. Her body had forgotten exhaustion, responding instantly to his touch, and a feverish wave of desire swept over her.

"Ryder, you're not being fair."

"Who cares about fair," he muttered, pushing the covers down so that she was bare to the waist. He bent his head, his mouth seeking the warm curve of her breast.

She felt herself reaching for him, probing the muscles of his shoulders and back with her fingers. Her nerves were on fire already, her senses swimming with desire. She felt herself sinking into a swirling rush of hunger, and abandoned herself to it mindlessly.

It was very early when Amanda slipped from the bed the next morning. Even though the room was very bright because of the snow outside, a glance at the clock on her nightstand told her it was only a little after six. She was careful not to wake Ryder, although he was sleeping deeply and it didn't seem likely he'd be easily awakened.

Not after last night.

Their clothing lay tangled on the floor near the bed, a jumble of material. She picked up his things and left them on the bed, then put her own things aside. She got clean underwear from the drawer of her dresser and went into the bathroom, closing the door softly behind her.

She didn't let herself think very much until she stood under the shower, and even then her thoughts were disjointed. She felt so different. Her muscles were a little sore, and with every movement she was unnervingly conscious of a faint tenderness deep inside her. It had been a long time for her, and even though Ryder had been very gentle the first time, their subsequent joinings had proven to be considerably more... abandoned.

He hadn't hurt her at any time, but Amanda still felt dimly astonished that his need had been so potent—and that hers had matched his. Something so fiery, she thought numbly, had to burn out eventually. Didn't it? But it hadn't, at least not last night. Every time he had touched her, every time she'd met his darkening gaze, desire had flared between them like something alive and hungry.

Whoever had stated so firmly that male sexuality peaked in the late teens or early twenties, she thought, ought to have included Ryder in the study.

The thought was worrying, and she let herself worry about it. Her own desire sprang from love, but what about Ryder's? According to rumor, he'd had women chasing him for years; why did he want her so intensely? She knew she was attractive, but she was certainly no seductress and wasn't at all accustomed to inspiring violent passions in a man.

Granted, he could well be an extremely virile man with strong sexual appetites, she thought. That would explain his passion. And maybe it had been some time since his last... affair.

Having convinced herself of the likely source of Ryder's desire for her, she felt depressed. But before she could dwell on the painful thoughts, she felt a draft of cool air and turned hastily to find that Ryder had joined her in the shower.

"Good morning," he said, and pulled her wet body into his arms.

When Amanda woke for the second time that morning, it was to the smell of coffee and the somewhat muzzy thought in her mind that studies of male sexuality had no validity whatsoever. She was lying on her stomach, sprawled, actually, and she decided that somebody was going to have to build a fire under her to get her out of the bed.

"Have some coffee," Ryder's voice invited her.

With a concentrated effort she managed to roll onto her side and then her back. Once moving, it was somewhat easier to sit up against the pillows and pull the covers up to her breasts. She pushed her hair out of her eyes. There was a blur sitting on the edge of the bed. Automatically she brought her fingers to her eyes and rubbed gently, easing the morning dryness of her contact lenses.

"Have I given you a headache?" he asked.

"No.
Contacts.
They're dry in the morning." She brought her hands down and blinked owlishly several times, until the blur became him sitting on the bed. He had coffee. She accepted a cup gratefully. "Thank you."

"It's after nine," he offered.

"I'm not surprised." She wouldn't have been surprised if it had been after noon. Or even the next day. What did surprise her was that she had been carried into this room less than twelve hours earlier. She sipped the hot coffee and studied him with the detachment that comes of being just marginally awake. He had shaved, she saw, and was more or less dressed in jeans and an unbuttoned shirt. His mouth twitched suddenly, and she studied that with faint interest.

"You look beautiful in the morning," he said gravely.

Amanda didn't believe the gravity, because she'd seen the twitch. She half lifted her coffee cup in a vague salute. "Thanks awfully."

"You don't believe me?"

"I don't have to look into a mirror," she said, "to see what I look like. My hair was wet when I fell asleep, so I'm willing to bet it's a tangled mess. I'm always pale in the morning, and my eyes don't want to focus until the contacts stop being dry. And dammit, Ryder, stop smiling."

He couldn't help it. The "tangled mess" she'd referred to tumbled around her small face in waves of fire, more brightly red than usual against her creamy skin. And maybe she was a bit pale, but her skin was almost translucent. As for her eyes, they were huge and greener than they could possibly
be, heartbreaking eyes—unfocused
or not.

But instead of debating her beliefs, he said, "You were much more awake a few hours ago."

"My shower got invaded. I remember it distinctly.'

"I told you I couldn't keep my hands off you." he reminded her solemnly.

Still not entirely awake, she said in an aggrieved tone, "Yes, but you were asleep. And I thought you'd sleep for a long time. You should have."

"I woke up, and you were gone. I just went looking for you. Is it my fault that I found you in the shower, all naked and slippery?"

Amanda blinked. She took a careful sip of her coffee, trying to wake up. "I'm curious about something," she said. "Are you this—well, intense—about all your bedmates?"

He leaned over to rest an elbow on the bed near her knees, as if he were fully prepared to stay awhile. "Are you asking about the women in my past?" he inquired politely.

"No." She reflected,
then
added, "Not specifically. I'm just wondering if it's a habit with you to be so—um—passionate." Her voice rose somewhat on the last word, as if it weren't quite the one she wanted.

"Does it bother you?" he asked softly.

Amanda looked at him and, finally, woke up. "No. How could it? You make me feel very wanted. I guess I'm just wondering why, that's all."

"Take another look in that mirror." She didn't, he realized, quite believe him. But she accepted it, half smiling and dropping her gaze to the cup in her slender hand. He didn't quite believe it himself.

Yes, she was certainly beautiful. He found himself realizing that often. She was beautiful, and he enjoyed watching her. But a hunger for surface beauty was a fleeting thing, so he knew his need for her didn't come from that. He knew her better after these last few days, and liked the quickness of her mind and the music of her laugh.

But a hunger as intense as the one he felt for her couldn't be triggered by a quick mind or a laugh. It was deeper than that.
Primitive.
It was a wordless thing inside him, a compulsive thing without knowledge.

Suddenly driven by that thing, he said, "No, Amanda, it isn't a habit with me."

She looked at him quickly, hearing the seriousness in his voice but wondering why he was frowning. Amanda felt as if he and she were swimming in something with undertows ready to pull them into dangerous depths. She wondered with a leap of hope if he might love her just a little.

Mildly she said, "I'm glad. A woman likes to know she's—unique.
At least as long as it lasts."

His eyes narrowed. "You don't think it will."

Amanda kept her voice casual. "I don't believe in expectations, remember?"

Ryder stared at her for a long moment. Then in a rough voice he said, "Live with me."

Amanda kept her gaze on her coffee, wondering how many other women had heard that... what?
Invitation?
Command?
Whatever his past relationships, he had managed to keep them out of the gossip columns. Not that it mattered, not really. Her heart was urging her to accept whatever he offered, and living together was more than she had expected.

No, she thought fiercely, she hadn't expected anything. Not anything at all.

"Amanda?"

She looked at him and smiled slightly. "We can talk about it later, can't we?"

"Why can't we talk about it now?"

She shook her head. "Ryder, this has all happened very suddenly. Maybe that isn't unusual for you, I don't know, but it is for me. I just need a little time to get used to it, all right?"

The slight frown remained on his face, but he nodded slowly.
"All right.
For the record, though, it is unusual for me. And I've never asked a woman to live with me before."

He hadn't, and he'd always thought the reason was basically
a resentment
about personal demands. He'd always been adept at compartmentalizing his life, and while the social compartment had certainly held women, he had never felt tempted to share his personal life with any one of them.

Now...
He looked hard at Amanda. He knew he wanted her in his house, a constant part of his life. She returned his gaze, her feelings not showing on her face.

"I'll keep that in mind," she said lightly.

He wished he knew what she was thinking. Wished he knew why even now, she was holding him off just enough so that he was conscious of a distance between them. Trying to bridge that distance, he reached out his free hand and placed it gently over her stomach. His fingers probed almost obsessively to find the yielding firmness of her through the blankets.

"There is something we should talk about, though. A little late, maybe, but... I haven't been thinking very clearly since we met. I'm sorry."

Amanda glanced down at the big hand covering her stomach possessively.
"Birth control?
It's all right. I'm on the pill.
Medical reasons."
She wasn't sure why she added the explanation, except perhaps that she didn't want him to believe she'd been prepared to acquire a lover.

His eyes darkened with quick concern. "Medical? Is there something wrong?"

"No, not really.
I have a very slight hormonal imbalance. A temporary thing, the doctor said. He'll probably want to take me off the pill in another few months. For that reason, I mean."

After a moment Ryder said, "If he does want to take you off them, we'll do something else."

"Sure," she said agreeably, still determined to expect nothing. He clearly believed they'd still be lovers some months from now, but Amanda refused to look past that day. Still, it bothered her that he kept referring—directly or indirectly—to a future for them. It was an oddly possessive attitude for a man who didn't strike her as the possessive kind.

He'd said he wasn't usually this intense in his relationships, yet he had pursued her with single-minded determination since the day he'd arrived. He had made love to her hungrily for the better part of their first night and morning together, and looked at her now with the intentness of desire still in his eyes. He had asked her to live with him when, he said, he had never asked a woman to do so before.

His every action seemed to indicate a desire for some kind of commitment between them, and yet not one word of caring had passed his lips. He was watching her now with that odd absorption, the same way he had kissed her, made love to her, the intensity of him overwhelming.

"Penny says breakfast is ready," he murmured.

Amanda looked at him for a moment, trying half-consciously to keep some part of
herself
untouched by him, unaffected. "I suppose she knows?"

He smiled. "When I went down looking for coffee, she handed me two cups. Why?" he added abruptly, the smile fading. "Does it bother you that she knows?"

Now, why, she wondered with vague surprise, did he sound defensive about it? She kept her own voice mild. "Why should it? We're all over twenty-one, Ryder."