He stepped inside, closing and locking
the door behind him. She took a step back in one last attempt to
save herself from doing something really stupid. He reached for
her, and without saying a word, folded her into his arms. He held
onto her like a drowning man would a life vest, as if his survival
depended on her. No one had ever needed her as much as Hank needed
her right this minute. She’d never been anyone’s
lifeline.
She wrapped her arms around his waist,
flattening her palms against the solid strength of his back. She
pressed her cheek against his chest. His shirt had lost some of its
starch in his travels, but it still smelled fresh and felt cool
against her skin. Instinctually, she moved her hands over the tight
muscles in his back, and slowly he relaxed in her
embrace.
“What’s wrong, Hank? What happened in
New York?”
Everything.
Holding her, he could almost believe everything
would be all right. He never wanted to let her go, but it was too
soon to tell her, so he kept his thoughts to himself. Her gentle
caress began to melt the solid block of ice at his core, and the
scattered pieces of his sanity slowly slipped into place. Loosening
his hold, he gently let her go.
“Nothing. It was just business. The
usual.” He ran his hands along her arms from shoulder to elbow,
loving that he could touch her again. “Thanks for letting me come
over. I just needed to see you. Two days was too long to be away
from you.”
Her eyes held so much compassion and
understanding, and she didn’t have a clue what had him so worked
up. He was lost, beyond saving. Sir Jonathan was right—he was in
love with her.
“I missed you, too,” she said, her
words just a whisper. The compassion he had seen in her eyes
vanished, replaced by something he knew well. Desire.
He pulled her to him, one hand at her
waist, while the other swooped to her nape. He threaded his fingers
through her hair. When their lips met, she rose to her toes and
wrapped her arms around his neck, urging him closer. Her lips
parted, allowing his tongue to swoop in. She tasted of sweet wine,
and when he thrust his tongue deep, she parried and pressed her
breasts against his chest.
He groaned and moved his hand lower to
caress her bottom. He ground his hips against her belly, making his
desire for her clear. She caught his bottom lip between her teeth
and wiggled her lower half against his erection.
Without breaking the kiss, he lifted
her into his arms and carried her down the hallway leading to the
bedrooms. Stopping just inside the first door he came to, he tore
his lips from hers. God. He couldn’t wait to get his hands on her,
assure himself she was okay.
“The next one,” she said.
“Huh?”
“This isn’t my bedroom,” she said. He
followed her gaze, taking in the small room outfitted with a desk
and little else. He groaned. “You were heading to my bedroom,
weren’t you?”
“Yes, ma’am, I was.”
She tilted her head. “That
way.”
He wasted no time moving down the hall
to the last open door. He paused on the threshold. “Are you
sure?”
“I’m sure.”
He found the correct room, kicked the
door closed behind them, and crossed to the bed.
Somewhere in the back of her mind, Mel
understood the catastrophic mistake she was about to make, but Hank
needed her tonight, and if she was truthful, she needed him, too.
Ever since the first moment when she’d walked into the room in his
father’s house and saw him sitting there, she had wanted
him.
He eased her to her feet and stepped
back slightly. He slipped a couple of buttons loose on his shirt
then paused. “If you don’t want me to make love to you, tell me to
stop. I’ll go, if you want me to.” His voice sounded like it had
been dragged across sharp gravel. A muscle ticked in his jaw and
she wanted to place her lips there and make the tension go
away.
She stared at the sliver of skin
showing through the gap in his shirt placket and her mouth watered.
It would be wise to end it here but her body had already made the
decision for her. She locked eyes with him and reached out. She
popped another button free. “Don’t go.”
The rest of their clothes came off in
a blur of stretched buttonholes and rasping zippers. Hank’s
talented hands learned every inch of her body, driving any
lingering doubts about whether being with him was right or wrong
completely out of her head. He knew where to be gentle and where a
firmer touch was needed. When he added his lips and tongue to his
explorations, Mel lost the ability to think at all.
He reduced her world to touch and
sensation…and pleasure. So much pleasure.
Her body responded to each caress with
a plea for another and Hank answered every one with a slow
thoroughness that robbed the air from her lungs.
When he had worked her to a mindless
state of desperation, he took her breast into his mouth and
simultaneously pressed two fingers into her. Mel lifted her hips
and arched her back in blatant invitation. “Please.”
He released her breast and nibbled his
way up to her clavicle and along the vein pulsing erratically in
her throat. “God, you’re hot and tight, sweetheart.” His fingers
worked in and out of her body in a constant beat that matched her
internal rhythm. He caught her earlobe between his teeth and
tugged. She groaned and ground her pelvis against the heel of his
hand seeking the glorious something glowing on the
horizon.
“That’s it, darlin’. Let go. Come
apart for me.”
She didn’t want it to end, but the
coil wound tighter with each stroke of his fingers and she was
helpless to stop the wave of sensation that ripped through her body
when the coil snapped and unwound. She bucked against his arm
stretched across her stomach, anchoring her to the mattress. He
continued touching her, using every resource at his disposal to
prolong her pleasure.
Her world slowly righted. She opened
her eyes to find Hank staring intently at her. “I’ve got to have
you,” he said.
“Yes,” was the only word her lips
would form. He’d just given her the most intense orgasm of her
life, but it wasn’t enough. She wanted more. She needed him inside
her. She needed to wind that spring again, with him.
“Hang on, sweetheart.” He rolled away,
and she shivered at the loss of his heat. A moment later, he was
back, covering her, spreading her legs, seeking entrance. He nudged
her core. “Wider.”
Mel brought her knees up and dropped
them to the mattress, at the same time, tilting her hips up to
receive him. He filled her in one smooth stroke, forcing the air
from her lungs and sending shock waves of pleasure all the way to
her fingertips and toes.
“Sweet Jesus,” he exclaimed. “You feel
so damned good, woman.”
If she could have spoken she would
have returned the compliment, but she was lost in a world where
there was nothing but exquisite bliss. He pulled almost all the way
out and slid his turgid length back in. She had nothing to compare
the sensation to. She’d managed a couple of hook-ups in college,
but none of them had been anything like being with Hank. Having
Hank inside her was rockets exploding into space. It was
Heaven.
Hank moved with confidence. No
tentative questing for the right spot, the perfect tempo. She moved
with him, gasping with each delicious stroke. She ran her hands
over his body and reveled in the steel strength of his limbs and
the solid block of his torso. Where she was soft, he was hard, and
every part of him was the perfect match for every part of
her.
Every thrust brought her closer to the
perfect moment when there was no past and the future was measured
in throbbing heartbeats.
Much later, lying awake with Melody
cradled against his chest, “Melody” came to him. He hummed softly
so as not to wake her. He knew how he would write it, the slight
changes of inflection, the nuances of the notes to alter the song
from a father’s expression of love, his lullaby to a daughter, to a
song between lovers. He wondered if Hamilton Ravenswood had ever
imagined the metamorphosis when he wrote the words. Surely, he’d
seen the dual meanings of paternal love and musical passion. But,
had he foreseen the song from a lover’s viewpoint as
well?
She stirred beside him in
the early dawn light. One word summed up the way he’d felt when he
sank into her for the first time. Mine. Watching her sleep, he knew
there wasn’t another woman in the world he wanted or would ever
want. Only her. And thoughts of another man touching her, making
love to her, sent shards of ice through his system. No way, no
how.
She’s mine.
He reached for the last foil wrapped
condom, glad he’d had the presence of mind to grab a couple and jam
them in his pocket before he’d driven to her house the night
before—not that he’d had any hope she felt the same way he did, but
he’d prayed she would. He sheathed his morning erection and rolled
on top of her sleeping form. He entered her slowly, stretching her
tight passage to take him fully. Her hips moved, responding to his
invasion. He watched her face as she awoke, her eyes going from
slumberous to aroused. He moved inside her to an ancient rhythm,
slowly pulling out and, with torturous patience, pushing his staff
to her core.
Braced on his forearms above her, his
palms cradled her face while his thumbs traced a line along her
cheekbones down her jaw. His lips followed the same path, leaving
tiny kisses in his wake. Her body reacted, heating until she melted
for him. She wrapped her legs around his hips, urging him to
increase the tempo. He buried deep within and stilled. He pushed to
one elbow and brought her nipple to his mouth. His lips closed over
the tight bud, startling a gasp from her.
There was no sweeter music than the
way her body sang when he touched her. He rolled across her and
gave the other one the same attention.
Soon, her body tensed, poised on the
brink of shattering.
“That’s it,” he crooned in her ear.
“Come for me, baby.”
Her inner muscles clenched around his
shaft. “Hank,” she breathed.
Lord, he loved to make her come. Loved
the way his name sounded on her lips and the way she held onto him
like he was her anchor in a storm. He pressed her into the mattress
and sought his own release. He buried his hands and face in her
hair and increased his tempo to match the beat pounding through his
brain. The rhythm built to a crescendo, pounded in his system, and
claimed his control. The music they made together seared itself on
his mind, to be put on paper another time.
He held her close to his sated body.
He wondered if she knew, if she could tell by the way he made love
to her how deep his feelings ran. Lying in bed with her, her legs
tangled with his, his hand on her naked hip keeping her nestled
against his sex, he closed his eyes and let the music wash through
him. Every note came to him, a reflection of his love for her. It
had become part of him, and committing it to paper, a mere
formality.
She slipped into a deep slumber, and
he held her until the sun bathed the room in a warm golden glow,
mirroring the light within. He slid out of bed, moving carefully so
he wouldn’t wake her.
Life didn’t get any better than waking
up in Mel’s bed, Hank thought as he flipped another pancake. Last
night he’d felt as if nothing would ever be right again, then she
walked into his arms and everything fell into place. She was his.
He loved her and if she didn’t love him, she was damned close to
it.
He hummed the new note structure that
had popped into his head in the wee hours of the morning while he
held her in his arms. It was perfect—better than anything he’d ever
written in his life, and as soon as he got home, he would put it
down on paper. He wasn’t in a rush to leave—the tune wasn’t going
anywhere. Once he had it in his head, it was there to stay, so he
could hang around here as long as she would let him.
Chapter Ten
Mel woke to a sun-filled room. She
stretched and rolled over to check the clock on the opposite
nightstand. Over-worked muscles reminded her of the night before,
and the morning, too. Even if she wanted to forget, and she didn’t,
the heavy scent of heated bodies and sex hung in the air and clung
to the tangled sheets. The delicious smell of bacon cooking wafted
through her open bedroom door. She’d never had a man cook her
breakfast before. Hank was, and it was enough to make her stop and
think about what she’d done. She clutched the sheet in tight fists,
remembering. She’d never felt anything as perfect as having Hank
inside her. And the way he touched her and cared for
her…
Her lips stretched into a smile.
Hank’s shirt lay discarded on the floor, and her inner thighs
protested as she bent to pick it up. She slipped the shirt over her
nakedness, loving the feel of it as the hem skimmed across her
legs. A vision of him wearing nothing but his open shirt, her
clinging to him, her legs wrapped around him, taking him inside
herself, heated her skin. Embarrassed by her wicked thoughts and
the flush creeping over her body, she tiptoed across the hall to
the bathroom and splashed cold water on her face.