Wish on the Moon (21 page)

The silence between them was rife with
expectancy as Mitch drove through the capital city to Front Street
along the Susquehanna River. The moon light bounced in a rippling
strip from the horizon to the water's edge. Laura was filled to the
brim with anticipation but wasn't sure what she was
anticipating.

Mitch drove into a parking garage then
escorted Laura to the main door of the apartment building. The
security guard nodded as they walked in the front door. The
elevator took them to the tenth floor and Laura stood to the side
as Mitch unlocked the door, flipped the light switch, and motioned
her ahead of him. He was always a gentleman. He did it without
thinking, and it made her feel special.

The apartment was beautiful--rust and navy
the predominant colors. Deep carpeting in a light shade of rust led
down two steps to a sunken living room. The extra-long quilted sofa
and two black leather wing chairs curved around a white stone
fireplace. Laura could see through an archway where an oak and
bronzed glass table and chairs sat under a Tiffany lamp. She
guessed the kitchen lay beyond.

"Make yourself at home," Mitch suggested as
he crossed to a CD player and flipped it on. Soothing strains of a
jazz saxophone floated out. He disappeared into the dining room.
"I'll be right back."

Laura descended the steps into the living
room, tossed her purse on the end table and sat on the sofa. Mitch
returned with glasses of champagne. The sofa gave with his weight
as his thigh brushed hers.

He handed her a glass and raised his in a
toast. "To success."

"To your success," she corrected.

He clinked his glass against hers and they
took a sip at the same time, their eyes locking.

Mitch slowly set his glass on the coffee
table. "What do you think of my place? Do you like it?"

She took another sip, loving the zip of the
bubbles. "Who wouldn't? It's fabulous. But does it ever looked
lived-in?"

"Lived-in?"

"Newspapers on the floor, sneakers under the
chair, half a mug of coffee on the table."

Mitch's broad shoulders lifted and fell. "I
like order. There wasn't much of it when I was a kid. Mom tried.
But Dad... Any order she managed, he destroyed. He didn't respect
her or our home--" He stopped abruptly. "I don't want to talk about
him. Not tonight."

She set her glass next to his. "Can I ask you
something?"

"You can ask."

He waited, but didn't look guarded as he
sometimes did. "Why wouldn't you dance at the Halloween Party?"

"I did."

"Once. A slow one."

"I'm not Carey," he said almost angrily.

"I would never confuse the two of you."

"Because he knows how to have fun?"

There was so much hurt there. She wished she
understood it and could learn what had caused it. "Because your
eyes are two shades darker than his."

He was taken aback, not expecting that kind
of answer. After a moment, he confessed, "I don't know how to dance
like that. I never learned."

She should have guessed. Nora had told her
Mitch had worked since he could find neighbors or store owners who
needed something done. He hadn't had time for proms, football
games, or learning the latest dance moves.

Laura smiled. "It's never too late."

He scowled. "I've seen men out there looking
like roosters flapping their wings. No thanks." The mellow music
wound about him and a potent darkness gathered in his eyes. "Would
you like to dance now?"

"I'd love to."

His grin was crooked as he took her into his
arms in the middle of the room. When their bodies touched, the grin
vanished. His body tensed and for a second she thought he was going
to put space between them. He seemed to make a decision. Wrapping
his arms around her waist, he pulled her closer.

Laura's arms circled his neck eagerly. He was
tall. She was short. He was strong and wide and encompassing. She
was a reed in his arms.

When he looked down at her, she knew
something was going to happen. Something important. He bent his
head, his lips molded to hers, and she felt as if she'd finally
come home. His tongue teased her lips, urgently, hungrily, as if he
couldn't slow himself down or wait another moment for the intimacy
he'd been avoiding. The taste of champagne on his tongue was heady.
His texture, his heat and his desire became hers until the kiss
exploded with more need than either of them could handle.

Mitch pulled back, his breath as hot as the
steaminess of the kiss when he whispered, "I don't want to fight
this any more. I can't."

His tense and yearning body told her more
clearly than words how much he wanted her. "You don't have to."

His hands caressed her bottom, pushing her
closer. Her imagination created pictures of legs intertwined, arms
embracing, lips kissing. She was a teenager again--free of
responsibilities, chains or restriction. His tongue filled her
mouth, emphasizing the emptiness below. She wanted him inside her,
satisfying the need he created so easily. She pushed against him
and he groaned. His forward thrust promised fulfillment. He curled
his tongue in her mouth, sweeping and arousing until she responded
wildly, invading the cavern beyond his teeth. He drew on her until
she thought she'd faint.

Need careened through her like a flash flood
sweeping the land. She couldn't swim against the raging currents of
desire any more than he could. She didn't want to. Should she
analyze the feelings? Should she pretend Mitch was experiencing
more than desire? Passion was one thing. Passion with deep-seated
feelings was another. Could she tell the difference or was she
fooling herself?

An aching need coalesced in her to erase his
sadness, to give him joy. But could she? If they continued this,
would he embrace their passion or regret it? Suddenly, she felt
afraid. What if making love put a barrier between them again? Her
hands tightened on his shoulders.

The throbbing of Mitch's body reminded him
his needs were physical, not emotional. But the tugging on his
heart contradicted logic. He felt Laura's life flowing into him,
her vibrancy, her fiery spirit. And he felt whole. How could he?
Why did he react to her like this?

The shimmering stroke of her tongue on his
lips was like liquid fire. When she sought his heated depths, he
opened his mouth, waiting for more.

But she retreated, hesitated, and he wondered
about her unaccustomed shyness. This was wild, impulsive Laura. Why
was she tentative and...scared?

He opened his eyes and lifted his head.
"What's wrong?"

The cloudy doubts suddenly left her eyes and
she pulled him back down, gliding her tongue across his lips, once,
twice, taunting him. She could make him crazy this way.

"Laura, kiss me again," he murmured, his
voice a raspy caress.

"I am," she said softly. Coming to him a
third time, she slipped the tip of her tongue between his lips.

He dragged in his breath and waited. She
brushed over his teeth then dashed inside recklessly. That broke
his control. He made a sound of satisfaction, of need. To deny her
was to deny himself. He was damn tired of that. He lifted her off
her feet so they fit together perfectly.

She moved, brushing the ridge of his arousal,
making his knees shake. What about this woman made him feel weak
and vulnerable, yet strong and invincible at the same time? The
sensuality of their bodies touching led him to forget questions he
had. Doubts about the future fled. This woman was his...now.
Laura.

If he said her name, it was lost in the kiss.
She was trembling as she strained against him. She kissed like she
did everything else--wholeheartedly. She held nothing back.

He swung her into his arms, amazed that he
needed to feel strong and protective as he carried her to his
bedroom. He laid her gently on the bed, turned on the light and
quickly slipped off his jacket and tie.

"I want to undress you," she said with such
longing he almost ripped off their clothes to rush toward the end
result. But he didn't intend to rush with Laura. He intended to
enjoy.

He sat on the edge of the bed and tried to
remain composed as she started with his shirt. He watched her hands
on him as her fingers created need and more need and he locked his
jaw. By the time she undid his belt buckle and reached for his
zipper, he was shaking.

Her clothes took less time because he
couldn't wait to see her. When she was naked, then he'd move
slowly. But her skin glowed in the mellow lamplight, undermining
his resolve. He lay beside her and tasted her neck first. It wasn't
nearly enough. His hand found her breast. Her first soft moan was
the only one that hit the air. He swallowed the rest in a profound
kiss that broke out sweat all over his body.

Slow it down, Riley. Slow it down.

He tore away and smoothed his palm over her
nipple, his eyes holding hers. She cried out. She was the most
passionate woman he'd ever met.

When she blushed, it surprised him. "Don't
hold back. I want to hear you as much as I want to see and touch
you."

She smiled and raised her brows, even though
her cheeks were still flaming.

He grinned and admitted huskily, "Almost as
much."

Her understanding washed over him. "I don't
want you to hold back either. Pretend you're designing.
Pretend--"

"I don't have to pretend anything, Laura.
Because when I touch you, when you touch me, there's no armor left.
You penetrate it all too easily." As soon as he said it, he knew he
shouldn't have. Now she had power over him. He'd live to regret
it.

But regret wasn't on his mind as her hands
caressed his face, then his shoulders. Every touch peeled away more
of his layer of self-protection. As her nails scraped lightly
through his chest hair, he made a low sound of pleasure from her
touch, but it was mixed with pain--pain from feelings that crashed
against each other without him knowing what they were. Laura buried
resolve, rules, reality. There were only her soft hands, her sweet
taste, his arousal--hard, hot, demanding.

He cupped the weight of her breast in his
hand and his thumb circled slowly. "So soft." When he rimmed the
rosy circle and she moaned, he murmured, "Fragile and unique." At
last his thumb went up one side of her hardened nipple and down the
other. "So ready." His eyes bored into hers. "Are you ready for me,
Laura?"

Laura tried to break out of the passionate
haze. But staring at his incredibly male shoulders, broad chest and
powerful arousal made it almost impossible. She knew he'd be
beautiful. But not this beautiful. She had to forget his physical
attributes because his immediate question demanded more than a
blurry, careless answer. What would their coupling mean? Was she
ready to accept the complications, the consequences, especially if
he never came to love her?

The answer was simple really. She loved him.
Nothing else mattered. "I'm ready."

The surge of need on his face startled her,
but he didn't try to hide it and she was glad. She wanted to tell
him he could trust her with his heart, but she never got the
chance.

His eyes were alive with passion. She loved
the thought she could incite it. Her body pulsed with feminine
life. He reached for her and she reached for him.

He touched her everywhere but where she
wanted to be touched most. It was the most exquisite form of
torture, an extraordinarily exciting way to bring her to full
arousal. She quivered as the keening yearning between her legs
swept through every limb to each nerve and became a pulsing need.
Unable to keep still, to try and assuage the emptiness, she threw
her leg over his hip and moved against him.

He marveled, "You are so passionate...so
responsive. I can't wait."

She lovingly enclosed him in her hand and he
growled a primal sound. "Don't wait. I want you now."

Quickly, he slipped on protection and rose
above her, his passion evident in his tight muscles, his slick
body, his expression. She knew he tried to restrain himself but
with the first touch of her accepting him, he entered her with
masterful strength.

She arched to take all of him and the
spiraling began, one circle after another as he thrust again...and
again. All she could do was hold on for dear life. He set a
frenzied pace that conveyed how much he wanted her, how badly he
needed her. She hugged him with her thighs, scraped her nails
across his back, and gloried in the love she felt for him.

She began a steep ascent to another plane.
Colors swam in front of her eyes, iridescent colors--colors like
jewels flung against the sun--fiery ruby, explosive diamond,
shimmering sapphire, brilliant emerald. She was suspended in the
sky until all the colors combined into an eye shattering,
resplendent star. The beauty was so overwhelming she cried out with
wonder and awe.

Seconds after, Mitch shuddered and collapsed
on top of her.

He slid to his side a few minutes later and
held her. But when she turned to look at him, he wasn't
smiling.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Shattering. That's the only word that filled
Mitch's mind. He felt as if he'd given Laura his life's blood. What
was worse was that he wanted to do it again...needed to do it
again.

But he wouldn't. Feelings he couldn't sort
were bursting inside him.

"Mitch?"

Her eyes were luminescent, her face flushed.
He remembered exactly how she'd looked as he aroused her and
brought her to climax. But he didn't know what she expected now. He
didn't know what he expected. Only one thought kept running through
his head like a computer print-out that wouldn't quit.

He voiced it. "You're leaving in three
weeks."

"What does that have to do with tonight?" she
asked.