A Lasting Love (8 page)

"Here, let me help you..."

Before she knew what was happening, she sat
astride Reid's well-knit frame, laughing, enjoying, responding to
his touch again. He was back
. No more
dreams.

"Ah Loren,
mi querida,
you are
perfección.
"

He pulled her to him so his fingers could traced her
already sensitive breasts. He tantalized her soothed her, and with
an exclamation of pure pleasure, he trailed kisses along the valley
between her breasts.

His male admiration of her soft feminine body sent
torrents of desire shooting through her, and Loren had difficulty
sitting still. She placed her hands on his ribs, bracing herself
anxiously. "Reid—"

"Easy... easy ... not yet," he admonished. His thumbs
and forefingers gently twisted the dusky rose tips, and they pouted
immediately. His guttural chuckle was full of undisguised masculine
satisfaction. "I love to see that. To see you respond to me, and
only—" He halted and didn't finish the obvious statement. His
dark-fire eyes sought hers, the passion obvious, the unasked
question smoldering behind tight lips.

As if in answer, Loren leaned back against
Reid's propped-up legs. Her smile was one of extreme pleasure and
untapped desire. Should she tell him that he was the only one who
excited her with his touch
. . . the only one, not
even Mark.

"Reid, I love you to touch me like that. You make me
feel so ... so wanted."

"Ah,
mi amor,
you
are
wanted. So much, you'll
never know . . ."

His hands traveled down her silken skin, tantalizing
and manipulating her soft femininity, exciting and thrilling her.
Reid loved her as she had not been loved for six years. Loren
closed her eyes in ecstasy, glowing in the shock waves of passion
that fired her veins.

Time became endless as hot currents charged her
limbs, engulfing Loren's senses beyond control. Reid commanded and
dominated her body, and she followed his authority and mastery
eagerly and willingly. It had always been t
his way.
He, and only he, knew how to gauge her re
sponses and
charge her to the height of her yearning.
Reid's dark
image had even invaded her dreams, holding
and
exciting her, just like this. And she would awake in
a
heat to find herself alone.

Maybe this was a dream too. She had to know, to
wake
up before
...
"Reid . .
. Reid . . ." She reached
for him, scraping her
fingernails over his crisp yet velvety
chest hairs,
grasping the tiny, hard buttons she found
there. In
her half-drugged state she squeezed sharply. Was
he
real ... or still a dream?

"Ow!" Reid's very real, loud yelp penetrated
Loren's
erotic dreams. "Devil-woman! What the
hell!"

Loren jolted awake, shocked at his loud
expulsion dis
turbing her dreamlike mood. Then she was
embarrassed
by her own roughness. "Oh-oh, sorry. I
wanted to see
if you were real," she muttered inanely.
"I've dreamed
about you for so long, Reid. I guess I
can't believe you're
real."

"Come here, devil-woman," he chuckled, pulling
her
to him.

Eagerly Loren pressed her taut nipples against
his hard chest, weaving erotically to enhance the sensations of
her
smooth skin gliding on his. The aroused pebbly
tips grated
over his irregular torso, so muscular and
hard beneath her
silken softness. She relished his
touch, and dug her fingers
into his shoulders to brace
herself.

His broad hands caressed her back, trailing
downward to stroke the curve of her buttocks. A wild hunger,
unsatisfied for years, intensified Loren's passion. She
bent
her head to tease his button-hard nipples with
her tongue, then allowed the moist taunting to thread its way over
his
most sensitive places.

"Loren—" The sound was rather strident from
his
throat. He buried his hands in her tawny hair that
lay
tousled against his tanned skin. "Stay right
here—"

It was exactly what she had been seeking. His
response
to her was vigorous and impelling. This was
no dream. Reid was real. "Touch me, Reid. I want you to . . ."
she
rasped against his ear.

His hands obeyed her commands, teasing and
stroking
until she was fully ready for him. Then, with
a low groan,
he gathered her in his arms, rolling her
under him. His
breath was hot and uneven. "
Loren,
mi amor,
see if I'm
real now. This is no dream—" He slid
between her legs,
pausing maddeningly to brace his arms
on either side
of her.

In that frenzied moment Loren reached for him,
arch
ing impatiently to satiate her burning hunger.
"Reid,
Reid—" His name sizzled in the morning as his
lips cov
ered hers. He filled her with his throbbing
passion and
they were one again, lost from the real
world for timeless,
ecstasy filled minutes, longing
never to return.

Their bodies came together with the same furor
as their
kisses, all-consuming and fierce. His tongue
eased past her
open, willing lips to plunder her
honeyed depths.

Reid's heated force was met with Loren's eager
yearn
ing, the two as one in their blazing frenzy. A
volcano of
fire spiraled within her as Loren felt his
hands dig under
her hips, pressing them even closer.
The waves of Loren's
desire rose higher and higher,
mounting with the deep thrusting rhythm that encompassed them both.
An eterni
ty of ecstasy . . . never-ending
fervor
...
the feverish crest
of passion
...
an explosion of
precise timing as they
reached a climax together . . .
and Loren knew she was
Reid's forever. Their love had
lasted in spite of separation and
time. She would
always love him. Always be his to love.

They returned to the real, sunlit world,
drenched in the
sweet moisture of love. Reid shifted,
brushing her tumbled
hair back, lightly kissing her
eyelids. Loving words rum
bled from deep within his
chest.

"Reid, oh, Reid," Loren moaned when she could
finally
catch her breath. "It's so good to have you
back. So good
..."
Once again, sensual
pleasure and complete satisfac
tion were a part of her
existence. There was no denying
that need, but it was
one only Reid could fill.

When Reid's passion was spent and he slumped
against
her, Loren collapsed in a tirade of tears.
They were silent streams, tears of emotional joy. Of relief. But
when they
fell damp against Reid's shoulder, he raised
his head,
alarmed.

"Loren,
preciosa,
what's wrong? Did I hurt
you?" He
kissed her entire face tenderly and placed
his forearms on
either side of her, bracing himself
over her.

Loren shook her head as Reid's lips continued
to kiss,
to lick, the tears away. She smiled up at
him, the remain
ing mist glistening in her blue eyes.
"No, of course not. I'm
just so happy to have you back
with me. The only time you
hurt me was when you
left."

The grim reminder sent a shudder through him.
"Ah,
Loren,
mi amor,
my beautiful blue eyes. Never again will
I leave
you."

"Never? Oh, Reid, never?" Her eyes opened wide.

He kissed her again, lightly caressing her
smooth skin.
"I would have to be a fool, wouldn't
I?"

She smiled wryly. "It happened before. . . ."

"Okay, I was a fool once. But not twice. This .
. . you are too wonderful. Our love will conquer whatever
the
future holds." And his lips sealed his promise
with tender
passion.

Loren listened and believed him, wanting with
all her
heart for his words to be true.

After sharing the shower they dressed quietly,
each lost
in personal thoughts. Loren ran a quick comb
through her hair, and applied
a dab of lip gloss.
Glowing with love and contentment, she crossed the room as Reid's
low voice sang a disjointed medley of
tunes they
loved. She paused by the door, her hand
gripping the
wooden facing. Remembrances flooded her.
How many
times had they lain together, arms and legs
entwined,
listening to these sweet sounds? Or
argued good
naturedly about which album was
best. They had taken
favorites songs along
on a picnic to Valley Forge one
time.
Oh, Reid, that was
so long
ago.
And yet he still sang their love songs.
How
could he? Unless, in his mind, things were
unchanged.
Was it possible?

Loren swallowed the heavy lump rising in her
throat
and padded down the steep, curved stairs, deep
in remembrance of their once wonderful love. Could it be that
way
again? By the time Reid joined her in the kitchen,
coffee was brewed, and she was thawing a frozen coffeecake
in
the microwave.

"What a wonderful morning." he crowed.
"Wow,
you're absolutely beautiful today, Loren. That
sweater almost matches your eyes. Course, I like you in nothing!"
His
hands embraced her from behind, and he planted a
succu
lent kiss on her nape.

"Morning," she purred. "Coffee?"

"Sure. I love to follow my morning exercise
with hot
coffee," he teased, kissing her earlobe from
behind.

"Reid," she protested, turning with the
intention of
pushing him away. But her arms snaked
around his neck,
and she found herself resting against
him. "Always? Do
you
always
follow your morning workout with coffee?"
She
grabbed his ears threateningly.

But he laughed and claimed,
"Mi amor,
I haven't had
a morning
workout like that in six years. Not since you,
Loren,
and you know it." He kissed her sweet, smiling lips
securely, convincingly, and she wanted to believe
him.

Abruptly she tore her lips away from his.
"Ooow, prickly
beast this morning, aren't
you?"

"That's the way it is with us hairy men.
Twenty-four
hours without shaving and I have the
beginnings of a
beard. You don't happen to have a
razor stashed away, do
you?"

She grinned and scraped the stubble of his dark
beard. Funny, she hadn't noticed his prickly chin earlier that
morning when they made love. Loren
combed her fingers
gently over the marvelous sable mus
tache.

He kissed her again, and she
experienced the soft sensations of his mustache above
her
lips in contrast with the sharp pricks of his
overnight
growth of beard. But she didn't mind at all.
It just added
to the proof that he was not a
dream.

"Reid," she finally mumbled, pushing gently
against his
firm chest. "Our coffee's getting
cold."

He shifted obligingly, and Loren turned to
retrieve the
cup. She dumped the cold liquid into the
sink and fixed
him another, this time steaming.
"Black?"

He nodded. "You remembered."

She grinned. "It wasn't very complicated."

Reid walked around the cozy yellow kitchen with
his
coffee. "Things are still remarkably the same
around here. I believe the
microwave's new." He bent
to gaze out the window into
the precise, symmetrical
garden. "New tree. What kind is
it?"

"Cherry. The blossoms were beautiful this
spring."
Loren relaxed at the small round table,
pleasantly content
to have him poking around her home
again.

"Who—" He halted, not looking at her, not
finishing
his partly verbalized thought.

"Who helped me plant it?" Loren asked with a
wry smile. "Mark." It was an impulsive statement. Perhaps
that wasn't what he was thinking at all. Maybe he
didn't
really care who helped her. Why in hell had she
even said
it? She could have bitten her
tongue.