She dropped her head into the fitted crook beneath his jaw, inhaling deeply of the scent that was uniquely maleâuniquely Sloane. “It's been such a long time,” she whispered, closing her eyes and savoring the moment with every bit of appreciation that the wait had inspired. “I missed you.”
A low groan slipped from Sloane's lips the instant before he tightened his arms about her, pressing her closely against his length. “There was a problem in Atlanta,” he explained with sucked-in breath, as though he had to force himself to talk of business or lose total control of his senses. “I was in Arizona for no more than two hours when I had to turn around and fly back. Then, when I finally managed to examine the Tucson project, there were unexpected problems. At some points, I wondered just when I
would
be able to get back.”
“I received the gifts, Sloane”âshe looked up at himâ“the candy, the wine, and the rose. Thank you. They helped me along the way there.”
“They were the least I could do. I didn't dare call ⦔
The reasoning behind that last seemed totally irrelevant now. Justine could only revel in the delight of his return. “Are you back for a while?”
“I hope so.” He nodded emphatically, his dark eyes searing her intently.
“Hey, whatâoh, excuse me, Ms. O'Neill!” The voice at the door brought both faces around in a flash. Justine instantly recognized the court officer, who had unwittingly walked into her own private and uncharacteristically intimate conference. Sloane let her go, stepping back with amusement at her struggle to regain her composure.
“That'sâahâperfectly all right.” She blushed, smoothing an imaginary wrinkle from her skirt. “Was there some problem, Sergeant?”
“No, ma'am,” the short and stocky man replied with a wry smile. “Just wanted to find a free room for a meeting. I'll keep lookingâ”
“Please, Sergeant,” Sloane spoke up deeply, “be our guest.” He gestured toward the table with his hand. “Ms. O'Neill and I have to be leaving.”
“Must you go?” she asked softly when they reached the hall. Sloane took her elbow and began to walk slowly.
“My plane landed just about an hour ago. I came straight from the airport. I still have to stop at the officeâand face whatever goodies may have piled up there during my absence.” He paused, turning her toward him again. “Are you free for dinner?”
Justine grinned coyly. “I think I can manage to be.”
“Eight o'clock?”
“Fine.”
His soft-murmured “See you then” was punctuated by a firm squeeze of her arm an instant before he turned and walked down the hall, then rounded the corner toward the elevator. Had Justine not been in this place at this time for the very serious business of justice, she would have stood on the nearest bench, spread her arms wide and up, and let loose the most earth-shattering cry of exhilaration imaginable. Was this really the sedate and poised Justine O'Neill, who now battled to control such irresponsible impulses? A grin curved her lips as she hugged herself in
excitement, then headed for the cafeteria and a lunch she somehow knew she would barely touch.
Her light-headedness carried her through the afternoon's court session, back to the office, then home at last. She was ready and waiting when Sloane buzzed from the lobby. With a final glance at her flushed image in the mirror, she headed for the door. Her outfit was new, one she had bought on impulse the week before. The evening pants were of fine black silk, gathered in at the waist and ankle, fuller in between. She wore a white blouse of matching style, with a fullness at arms and bodice tucked in neatly at the wrists, neck, and waist. Her cummerbund was of pale pink, her shoes open sandals of black patent leather. For the sake of comfort, she had caught her curls up in bright gold clasps above either ear, leaving only a few wispy tendrils to brush her cheeks.
And
, recalling the fox's keen sense of smell, she had quite deliberately dabbed her pulsepoints with Flora Danica.
Sloane was instantly appreciative of the pains she had taken to look her most attractive for him. His smile was white and gleaming, his eyes, devouring every one of her five feet eight inches before he finally breathed a husky “hello.” As ever, he was devastatingly handsome himself, dressed in an immaculately tailored linen suit of navy blue, a white shirt, and a dark maroon and navy rep tie.
“Hello, yourself.” She smiled self-consciously. Then, she caught a strange twinkle in his eye and frowned in puzzlement.
“Unfortunately ⦠not exactly ⦠myself,” he murmured with an air of mild guilt as he glanced down the hall. Leaning just beyond her threshold, Justine watched the approach of two other men, both tall as was Sloane, and each with a definite similarity of feature.
“Tom and Chad ⦔ she whispered in a moment of intuitive realization.
Sloane had time only for a wry-spoken, “How
could
you guess,” before the others reached her door.
“Sorry, brother,” the darker of the two began, “but the doorman showed up sooner than we expected.”
It was the blond-haired one, the youngest of the three, who offered his hand in introduction. “I'm Chad, Justine. You have no idea what a pleasure it is to meet you!” Justine had taken several steps back into her apartment and the two followed her, leaving Sloane to watch with amusement from the door. “This is my brother, Tom.” Chad gestured toward the other. “And, you have met Sloane, I believe.”
Justine sent a helpless plea toward the door as she laughed spontaneously. “You believe correctly. I'm pleased to meet both of you. When did you arrive?”
“Didn't Sloane tell you?” Tom asked, more soft-spoken and gentle by nature than the others. “We fixed it so that his plane returned from Tucson via Atlantaâwe needed a lift, since he was the one who arranged this move in the first place.” To Justine's relief there was no hint of resentmentâonly good-humored ribbing.
It was but a sampling of what she was in for for the evening. Sloane had declared that, in honor of his brothers' arrival in New York, only the best would do. They dined in luxury at La Côte Basque, where she quickly learned that these were not two inexperienced young men seeing the big city for the first time. Both spoke fluent French, as they readily proceeded to demonstrate to the delight of the waiter and the maître d', and each had a thorough knowledge of fine wines and superb French dishes.
“We've all spent time abroad,” Sloane explained at a point when the brothers were engaged in intent discussion of the exquisite stretch of muraled wall. “My parents believed in every aspect of educationânot only formal schooling but the less formal experiences of visiting different
places, different countries, and living with different degrees of comfort. Our own home is on the near side of luxury, but we've each spent time roughing it in the wilds. I spent several summers as a canoe guide in upper Minnesotaâit's deserted country up there!”
“I believe it,” she answered with barely concealed admiration. “Obviously, your brothers have been to New York before.”
“Many times.” He grinned. “But this is the first time they're attempting to live here.”
“Have you got an apartment?” she asked of Chad, whose attention had come back to rest with them.
The apologetic look this youngest brother cast toward Sloane did not escape her. “I'm afraid we'll be shacking up with Sloane until we find something.”
“You've got the whole weekend to look,” Sloane informed him, indulgent yet firm, “and then I want you
out
! I've lived alone for too many years to be suddenly sharing a place with two guys. Besides”âhe grinned at Tomâ“you had no trouble arranging for that cute little BMW to be here waiting for you. An apartment shouldn't be too difficult for you to manage.”
“Enough! Enough!” Tom's mocking desperation stilled the humor-filled diatribe. “We get the point! So you're really going to take off for the weekend ⦠desert us in our hour of need?”
Justine looked from Tom to Sloane, holding the latter's gaze questioningly. When a large hand sidled over hers beneath cover of the tablecloth and proceeded to squeeze it reassuringly, she understood that Sloane would explain later. When that same hand continued to hold hers, “later” took on other connotations, each of which sent ripples of excitement through her.
“Later” was, unfortunately, a relatively public affairâa few moments of slow dancing in the dim light of a lounge at the Plaza while Chad and Tom nursed nightcaps at the
bar. “Sorry, Justine, but this is the best I could do for tonight,” he apologized softly, as he held her close and rocked her to the sweet sound of a melancholy keyboard. But the music was incidental to her enjoyment. What pleased her most was the strength of the long, lean body against which he held her firmly, the caressive warmth of his voice as he sought to explain.
“I had expected to have been back for at least a week before they arrived. With the delay between Atlanta and Tucson, things got pretty messed up. Mmmmmm, do you smell good!” he interrupted his thought endearingly, then went on. “My brothers can be overpowering when they get going as a twosome.”
“You're all very close,” she commented appreciatively. “I envy you that.” His hand pressed hers against the lapel of his jacket, flattening it against his heart. His fresh-shaven cheek was smooth and snug by her temple.
“You have no sisters or brothers?”
It was no simple question. Tony was her half brother, born out of wedlock to her father's mistress when Justine was six. As a child she had never even known of Tony's existence. In a way, therefore, she spoke the truth. “I grew up an only child. One of a kind, so to speak,” she quipped, though she regretted the evasion. Once having discovered and accepted each other, Tony and she had grown close, in spite of the fact that she and her father had never been reconciled.
“One of a kind? I'll second that! Listen, about this weekend ⦔ She drew back to look at him, pulse racing wildly. “ ⦠Tomorrow I'll be passing papers on a home in Westport. Would you like to take a ride up? It's empty and unfurnished and I'll have to pick up a few things to make it livable. But I do have a couple of sleeping bags ⦠just in case it gets cool ⦠.”
As the darkness of his eyes reached out to swallow her up, Justine knew what her answer would be. It was in the
smile which mirrored his, in the heart which thudded loudly, in the knees that threatened collapse, in the veins which pulsed desire. “I'd love that, Sloane,” she whispered softly, then felt him relax as he pulled her back against him.
“There seems to be so little time ⦠.”
Had
he
spoken, or had
she
imagined it? His words expressed the urgency that his leisurely dance belied. It was as though he knew something she did not ⦠. and it frightened her. Had she let herself in for more than she could handle?
No,
she decided with conviction. For the first time in her life she had found something worth the risk of entanglement, something powerful enough to merit splurging on. But her eyes were open. She knew what to expect. And she wanted more than anything to spend the weekend with Sloane Harper at his new home in Westport.
As she had promised, Justine left work early on Friday, a simple matter considering her lack both of pressing appointments and of powers of concentration. As he had promised, Sloane picked her up at five. She was waiting eagerly.
“It may take us a little longer at this hour,” he warned, stowing her small overnight bag in the back of his Mazda, “but I'd better discover just
how
long before it becomes a regular thing.”
“Are you planning to give up your place in the city and live full time in Westport?”
He shook his head as he stowed
her
safely in the passenger's seat, then trotted around to slide behind the wheel. “I'll keep the apartment for use when I need to stay in the city. If I have either very early or very late meetings, it might come in handy. Or, I may want to loan it to a visiting client.”
Justine nodded her understanding and agreement, though her thoughts had already begun to wander. “You look great ⦠in jeans,” she blurted out on impulse. “I've only seen you wearing a suit.”
Great
was an understatement. When Sloane paused to grin at her before starting the car, she realized to what extent. He was masculinity personified, from the corded stretch of broad shoulders beneath the khaki cotton twill of his shirt to the leanness of his denim-hugged hips. In motion, his lines were fluid; at rest, as they were now, he exuded strength and assurance.
“You don't look bad yourself,” he countered, underscoring his words with a thorough perusal of her slender length. She also had worn jeans, topped by a light blue
turtleneck of a loose cotton knit, with a change of more seasonal clothes in her bag. Despite the thorough covering of her every curve, she felt suddenly naked. Flags of pink waved softly on her cheeks, blending with the free fall of her strawberry-blond curls. Sloane took pity on her.
“Ah ⦔ he cleared his throat of its huskiness, “we'd better get going if we intend to get anywhere.” His smirk was boyish and endearing, filling her with warm anticipation. A weekend alone with Sloaneânothing could sound more heavenly!
Justine relaxed back in her seat, reassured to know that her appearance pleased him ⦠and disturbed him accordingly. The undercurrent of sexual excitement had always been strong between them, but never more so than at this moment. Once again the confines of the car conspired to heighten sensations that already ran high.
For better than an hour Sloane drove steadily, suffering as did she through the periodically stifling traffic. When at last they cleared the worst and left the parkway to negotiate the more private streets of Westport, the relief was tangible.
“Oh, it's lovely, Sloane,” she exclaimed in response to the greenery which had gradually thickened with their approach. The land undulated gently in lushly alternating waves of maples, birches, beeches, oaks, and evergreens. “It's hard to believe that this country is less than fifty miles from Manhattan!”
“You've never been in Westport before?” The sidelong glance he gave her carried his surprise.
“No! I've been on Long Island many times, and I must have skirted this area during drives toward New England, but I've never had cause to stop. I can see what I've been missing!”
Enthusiasm lit her features as she took it all inâthe richness of the landscape, the wealth of the homes as they
bobbed up at intervals from one another, the cultured state of the streets themselves, and, at last, the Sound.
Sloane had turned in at a hidden drive and now followed the curving pavement through archway after archway of leafy green splendor until they reached the house. At first glance through the windshield it was beautiful. At second glance, when Justine stepped from the car and smiled in delight, it was magnificent.
“What do you think?” The deep voice came from immediately behind, drawing her head around in token recognition of his presence before she turned to study the house again.
“I think it's absolutely fantastic! I love it!” And she did! A distinctly contemporary structure, it was built of glass and fieldstone, with a shingled roof, large brown oak door and shutters, and a flagstone walk which beckoned irresistibly. Succumbing to its lead, she approached, breathlessly admiring the shrubbery with its patterned greens, whites, pinks, and purples, all flourishing under the skies of spring. “How did you ever manage to find this place?”
Sloane was close beside her, more intent on her reaction than on the sights she so admired. “It belonged to an authorâhe just wrote a best seller I'm sure you've heard about ⦠.” He laughed mischievously. “At any rate, he's off to Hollywood to do screenwriting for television. His lossâour gain.”
Justine's eyes shone brilliant emerald when she looked up at him.
Our
gain, he had saidâhow natural it sounded! Had it been merely a slip of the tongue ⦠or a figure of speech?
“Come on, let's go inside,” he murmured softly, unlocking the door, then taking her hand firmly in his. For Justine it was as though she were in a dreamâbeing led by a silver-crowned vision of a man through the house of her fondest imaginings.
The foyer they entered was circular and open, giving access to a dining room and kitchen in one quadrant, a living room in another, the bedroom area in a third. Every room was spacious and modern, miraculously clean and freshly painted white. There were neither furnishings nor carpets; as they wandered slowly from room to room, their footsteps echoed in the emptiness.
“The best is yet to come,” Sloane spoke warmly by her ear. “Those stairs”âhe pointed to a stairway leading downâ“why don't you go take a look while I start unloading the car. I'll meet you down there.”
How anything could be better than what she had already seen she wasn't quite sure. Skeptically she followed his suggestion, however, slowly descending into the first floor of the house. Wordlessly she stopped, mouth agape, as she understood. Before her was a large, open room with a wall of solid glass which looked out upon the medley of early evening color that was Long Island Sound. Yellows and oranges skittered over the waves in long, rippling shards of light, blending with the gray of the water, the amber-hued stone and sand of the beach, and the darkening blue of the sky. It was a breathtakingly private moment for Justine, made even more precious by Sloane's silent arrival.
His arms slid around her gently as he joined her survey of the peaceful panorama. “Like it?” he murmured.
“Mmmmm:” Words seemed inadequate. Her hand moved up to cover his, holding it against her waist.
“I'm glad.”
For an eternity of silent appreciation they stood watching and absorbing the glory of the seascape. Justine felt a sense of serenity flow through her, a sense of contentment she had never known. If preservation of the moment in all its heartfelt beauty had been in any way or form possible, she would have fought for it. But serenity was fleetingâas
it would always be. Contentment was relativeâas it too would always be.
Only the present was a fact. And the fact was the need she had to be totally one with Sloane. If she'd deprived herself in the past, she'd had good reason. Now that reason eluded her as her body strained toward fulfillment. Silent yearnings sparked then flamed, fed by the solid mass of lean and muscled masculinity which braced her back, her hips, her thighs.
Simultaneously Sloane felt the change. Turning her in his arms, he lowered his lips to kiss her softly. “I thought of you all the while I was awayâpicturing you here, wanting to hold you just like this. I need you, Justine. Iâ” The thought went unspoken as his attention was totally absorbed by her features, soft and open and overwhelmingly feminine in invitation.
She was a gentle spring flower, tall and slender, brandy-budded and ready to bloom. Sloane was her sun. It had been his riveting command which had sparked her growth, this sense of unfolding deep within, this sense of awakening. Now nothing less than his total possession would see it to fruition. He was the catalyst, the most moving force to have ever entered her life. For him alone was she willing to put aside past vows and bask in the moment's glory.
His kiss drew her inexorably closer to him. His sensual appeal was an intoxicant, pushing all other thought from mind. As he held her back for a long moment, his hands explored her curves, exhausting their outer limits before moving inward. He inspired total submission with his knowing touch, exacting helpless sighs from her as his fingers caressed the fullness of her breasts, made even firmer by his stimulation. Intuitively seductive, Justine strained against him, her arms velvet petals stretching up to cling to his neck. Whatever Sloane did to her she wanted;
she wanted whatever he could give. Her life at that moment was Sloane; her being needed his for completion.
Her breasts glowed in creamy sheen when he slid the sweater over her head, then released the catch of her bra and discarded it quickly. The warmth of his hands sent quakes of desire through her, heightening a need which only he could fill.
But submission was not what he wanted. Taking her hand in his, he put it to his chest in silent command, urging her to touch him as he touched her. Instinct guided her fingers over and around the buttons of his shirt as, one by one, each was released. She gasped in wonder when the shirt fell to the floor, for it revealed a chest bronzed and broad, matted lightly with a T of gray-spiced curls that tapered to a narrow thread, then disappeared beneath the snap of his jeans.
“Go on,” he urged softly, his urgency barely held in check. She touched him, timidly at first, then steadily thrilling to the glory of his body. Her fingertips traced a route from the leanness of his ribcage, made even leaner by his sharply sucked-in breath, to the dual swells of muscle which spanned his chest, then up and over the firmness of his well-padded shoulders. She moved in closer against him, reveling in the feel of her breasts, her nipples alive and taut, against the warm texture of him.
Again he spoke. “Wait here, sweetheart.” She felt robbed of life when he moved away to crouch down on the floor and deftly spread the sleeping bags one on top of the other. “Our mattress.” He smiled up at her, then held his hand out for her to take it.
In a moment of intruding reality, Justine realized the extent of what was about to take place. Her insides began to tremble, her limbs to quiver weakly. But she wanted Sloane. She needed him. His appeal to her feminine drive crushed all thought of future torment. There was fear and uncertaintyâbut only that she might not please him.
Above all there was excitement and anticipation, the awareness that she was on the threshold of something new and wonderful. Her eyes held his, then dropped to the strong hand that reached for hers. Irrevocably she took it.
“Sloane,” she whispered, sinking down onto her knees before him, “I've never ⦠I haven't done this ⦠I'm ⦔ The words seemed all wrong and out of place, totally irrelevant amid the torrent of emotion which surrounded them. But she needed to tell him. Her green eyes were open and beseeching, her voice barely audible. “I've never been ⦠with a man before ⦠.”
Her pulse faltered, then raced ahead. It had been said. Would he laugh? Scowl? Think any less of her? He had no way of knowing why she had lived as chaste a life. He couldn't know of the hurt she'd suffered as a child and her resultant fear of an involvement to which sex was a potential stepping-stone. Now all that seemed secondary. But would he understand?
As she watched intently, his face took on a softer set than she had ever seen. His eyes, dark with desire, glowed with pleasure as well. He stared at her, seemingly unable to believe what she'd told him. When she shook her head slowly to reinforce the confession, he reached up and wound his fingers through her amber waves. Fierceness was tempered by wonder as he spoke low and husky. “Then I'm the first ⦠to â¦?”
She nodded silently, reasoning in part to herself. “Perhaps I shouldn't have said anything but ⦠I thought you should know ⦠.”
“My God, Justine! You're damned right I should know! It's not every day that a woman gives her virginity to a man.” He paused, his thumbs caressing the corners of her quivering lips. “Are you sure, absolutely
sure,
that you want this?”
Her nod was slow and deliberate. “I want you, Sloane. Is it totally wanton of me to say that? I've never wanted
anything as badly before. But I want you ⦠I need you now.” With growing confidence, she slid her hands across the flesh of his middle and around to his back, pulling herself closer to him. “Please, Sloane,” she whispered softly, as a surge of intense desire seared her insides, “please make love to me.”
He lowered his arms to imprison her in rapture, pressing against the small of her back such that she knew his desire was as great as hers. But he was slow and unhurried in his move to undress her, masterfully building her need, and his own, to a frenzied crescendo before finally laying her back and tugging off first hers, then his own jeans. His hand rubbed over the silken fabric of her panties, caressing her thighs, her stomach, all the searing hot contours between. Step by step, he led her, round and round the spiral of desire, ever higher, ever higher. When at last they lay, side by side, flesh against flesh, she felt aflame and about to burst. “Now ⦠now, Sloane,” she begged him shamelessly.