CHAPTER EIGHT
S
HE was dreaming again, dark, lonely disturbing images that brought the salt, scalding taste of tears into her throat. She was running from hands that snatched at her, wading through deep streams where weeds twined round her, dragging her down into their treacherous depths. Making her moan in fear and negation.
She reached out—somewhere—somehow—in silent appeal, and found her hands taken, her body enfolded in sudden strength and comfort. Her cheek pillowed against the warm humanity of muscle and bone.
She tried to open heavy eyelids. ‘Adam?’
‘I’m here.’ His voice was quiet and firm. ‘Don’t cry any more, darling. You’re safe now. I’ve got you.’
She whispered his name again, and sank down on to a quiet ocean of complete peace.
Then woke quietly and contentedly to the first gleam of dawn and early birdsong. For a moment she lay still, savouring her new inner calm, then began slowly to change position, attempting to stretch sleep-languid muscles, only to find she couldn’t move. That an iron weight seemed to be pinning her to the bed.
She looked over her shoulder, swallowing a gasp. Because part of last night’s dream had become reality. Adam was there, lying asleep behind her, his arm tucked round her, holding her warmly and intimately into the curve of his body.
She’d never slept with a man like this before. Never been held so close, she realised with drowsy wonder, or woken in his arms. Even after sex Jack had always turned away, seeking his own space.
Common sense told her that she should do the same, and quickly. That sleeping with Adam might be one thing, but waking with him was another and more dangerous proposition.
She tried to release herself gently from his encircling arm, only to feel it tighten. A murmur of sleepy expostulation reached her ears. His lips brushed her hair, and she felt the warmth of his breath against her skin as he nuzzled the nape of her neck. Then, almost immediately, he was deeply asleep once more.
I’ll wait a little while, thought Tara. Then I’ll try again. Sighing, she closed her eyes, and drifted pleasurably away.
It was considerably later when she woke again, with hazy sunlight filtering through the curtains. And she was alone.
Tara sat up slowly, trying to fight down a ridiculous sense of disappointment
Adam had left, presumably to spare her embarrassment, and she ought to be feeling grateful, not wistful, she told herself firmly.
She slid out of bed and went along the passage, only to be halted at the bathroom door by the sight of Adam, his hair damp from the shower, a towel draped round his hips, standing at the basin shaving.
He paused, and smiled at her. ‘Good morning. Did you sleep well?’
‘Er—yes.’ She could feel the slow tide of colour rising from the soles of her feet to her hairline. She lifted her chin, determined to deal with the situation. ‘I’m sorry about last night. About getting so scared. I’m not usually such a wimp.’
‘I’ve never thought of you in such terms.’ He was using the razor with long, clean strokes. She could, she realised with dismay, have watched him all day. ‘But last night wasn’t a one-off,’ he went on conversationally. ‘There’s been fear in your eyes since the first time I saw you.’
Tara tried a scornful laugh. ‘That’s nonsense. What have I had to be afraid of—up to now?’
‘That’s what I mean to find out.’ He rinsed his razor, then reapplied himself. ‘But, at a guess, I’d say life,’ he added almost casually.
‘Indeed.’ Tara straightened her shoulders. ‘Well, I have to tell you that I have a terrific life—work I love, a supportive family, and my own home.’
‘Every blessing,’ he murmured.
‘Exactly,’ she said with emphasis. ‘Last night, the combination of the storm and the possibility I was being—stalked threw me off balance, that’s all.’ She paused. ‘So, I—I’m sorry for disturbing you.’
He shot her a swift, enigmatic glance. ‘I think it’s a little late to apologise for that—don’t you?’
Her heart hammered against the cage of her chest. Nervously, she tightened the sash of her robe, a gesture clearly not lost on her companion, who raised an amused eyebrow.
‘Is the power back on?’ God, she sounded like a prim schoolgirl.
‘Not yet.’ He was grinning openly now, as if he’d read her thought, and she felt her body warm again self-consciously.
I really do need to be somewhere else, and fast, she told herself.
She said brightly, ‘Well, I’ll just go and let Melusine out.’
‘I’ve already done so—and she’s had some milk.’ Adam razed the last of the soap from his chin, and splashed his face with water.
‘Oh.’ She paused. ‘Then I’ll make some coffee.’
He was drying his face and hands on another towel, taking his time, his blue eyes conducting a leisurely inspection of her—almost as if, she thought faintly, he was committing her to memory.
‘No,’ he said casually. ‘I don’t think so.’
Tara heard herself swallow. ‘Tea, then?’ she ventured.
He shook his head, smiling a little. ‘No tea—no cranberry juice, apple juice or freshly squeezed orange either.’ He flipped the handtowel back on the rail and came towards her, halting a matter of inches away.
Tara stared up at him, her eyes dilating, her throat tightening with something that should have been panic, yet somehow wasn’t...
She said, striving for normality, ‘Nothing, then.’
His smile widened. ‘On the contrary.’ He reached down and undid the sash of her robe. ‘I meant to shave and be back in bed before you woke,’ he said softly. ‘But maybe it’s better this way.’
She felt the robe slip from her shoulders and pool at her feet. And she let it happen, as if she were mesmerised.
Her voice was almost a croak. ‘That’s—silly. You—don’t shave before you go to bed.’
‘You do if you care about your lady’s skin.’ His fingers stroked her cheek, light as thistledown, then teased their way down her throat to the delicate cleft between her breasts. ‘And I mean to be—infinitely careful.’
He slipped his hands under the thin straps of her nightgown, using them to pull her gently forward, and she came unresistingly, lifting her mouth to his as he bent towards her.
His lips were cool and fresh, exploring hers with a kind of exquisite, lingering deliberation. As he kissed her his hands moved, manipulating her nightgown straps so that the silken cups tautened over her breasts, tantalising them with the lightest of friction, bringing the rosy peaks to aching, delicious life.
She felt herself sigh against his mouth, a deep-drawn breath held for an eternity. As she descended into the sweet chaos of pure sensation she told herself, somehow, that she should hold back—walk away. That this was all wrong because Adam belonged to someone else, and it could only lead to heartbreak.
But, dear God, it was so long since she’d known what it was to be a woman. After Jack’s betrayal, she’d believed herself armoured for ever against the seductive craving of the flesh, but it was only a fragile shell, after all, and soon shattered. All it had taken was Adam—
Adam
...
He lifted a hand and twined it in her hair, bending her backwards so his lips could caress her throat and the fragile hollows of her ear.
She could feel the heated hardness of him pressing against her through the thin layers of fabric which divided them, and instinctively her hips moved, thrusting forward in mute offering and acceptance.
‘Wait.’ The word was a teasing breath against her skin.
But there was no patience in her, only a need that had to be satisfied.
His breathing ragged, Adam hooked his thumbs under the narrow straps and eased them off her shoulders, sending her gown to join the robe on the floor.
‘Oh, God,’ he whispered, the blue eyes burning. ‘I’ve dreamed of you like this. You filled my mind since that first evening, sleeping and waking. I even tried to paint you to—exorcise you—get you out of my system—but it was never any good.’
‘I know.’ Her smile was luminous. Gently, proudly she began to touch herself, as she’d done that day in front of the window. He’d seen her then only in his imagination—but he was watching now, his face stark with desire, heat flaring along his cheekbones.
‘Tara.’ Her name was torn hoarsely from his throat. ‘What are you doing to me?’
She shook her head slowly, her gaze holding his, consumed in a mutual flame.
‘I don’t know,’ she murmured. ‘You tell me.’ She reached out and loosened the towel round his hips. ‘You—show me.’
Naked, he was magnificent, as she’d known he would be, and powerfully aroused. She felt her womanhood clench in excitement and anticipation.
Adam kicked the towel away and moved forwards to where she waited for him, lips parted breathlessly, eyes half closed.
He drew her slowly towards him until the tips of her breasts were brushing his chest. He began to feather tiny kisses on her face, while his hands smoothed their way down her back to the swell of her hips, then lower, to her slender flanks.
He lifted her effortlessly up against his body, and Tara slid her arms round his neck, her legs closing fiercely round him. He kissed her mouth hotly and urgently, then entered her with one deep, upward thrust.
Mouths clinging, they began to move together in pagan, instinctive rhythm. Almost at once Tara could feel the first stirrings of her climax beginning to build inside her, as if her body had been made for this moment alone and she was reaching the end of a journey started long ago.
Her hands gripped his damp shoulders. She tried to control her response a little—or it would be over too soon, and she wanted to keep the glory of him within her for a longer time.
‘No,’ he grated against the harshness of his breathing, as if she’d spoken aloud. ‘Come for me, darling. Come now.’
Crying out soundlessly, she obeyed, her body convulsed by one sweet, dizzying contraction after another, wave upon wave of such savage beauty that she found herself laughing for sheer joy through the helpless tears that spilled down her face.
And heard Adam groan, his body shuddering violently as he reached his own culmination.
Spent, they sank, panting, to the tiled floor, and lay there still entwined in each other’s arms.
‘My sweet love,’ Adam said huskily. ‘I did not intend that.’
‘Are you sorry it happened?’ Tara touched the tip of her tongue to the column of his throat, savouring the musky male scent of him.
‘No, witch, and you know that isn’t what I meant.’ He tilted up her face and kissed her softly. ‘I wanted to take it slowly—make it good for you.’ His mouth twisted wryly. ‘Make it—memorable.’
‘Oh, it was good,’ she whispered. ‘And I think I’ll remember.’
‘But I wanted it to be romantic, too. A long, sweet seduction in a comfortable bed. Wine to drink afterwards.’ He bent his head and kissed her breast, circling the nipple with his tongue, making it stand erect, then surveying his handiwork with a murmur of appreciation. ‘I might even have peeled you a grape,’ he added softly.
Tara, tingling from his caress, gave an elaborate sigh. ‘So, I’ve missed out again. The story of my life.’
Adam smiled, and kissed her on the mouth. ‘Not necessarily,’ he whispered.
She had not known it was possible to feel so intensely—or so differently. This time Adam made her wait, bringing her over and over again to the edge of fulfilment and holding her there, in exquisite, erotic torment.
‘Oh, please.’ Her body twisted beneath his, seeking its release. ‘Now—please.’
‘Is this what you want?’ He moved, paused, then moved again. ‘Or—this?’
‘You know.’ Her voice was thick, almost strangled. ‘You know—damn you.’ And gasped as the first heady ripples of pleasure consumed her, lifted her to some undreamed of peak of ecstasy, then let her drift, trembling, down to some peaceful plateau where she could rest.
When she could speak, ‘I never knew,’ she said, her face half buried in his shoulder. ‘I never knew how it could be.’
He stroked her flushed cheek. ‘You weren’t a virgin.’ It was a statement, matter-of-fact, even tender.
‘No.’
He was silent for a moment. ‘Are you ready to talk about it?’
‘About what?’
‘About whoever it was made you look at the world through frightened eyes.’
Tara moved restively. Jack was an intrusion. An irrelevance. She shook her head. ‘There’s no one.’
‘If you say so.’ He lifted her hand to his lips, turned it over and kissed the palm.
‘Do you know?’ he whispered. ‘Have you the least idea, my love, my sweet wanton witch, how lovely you are? How warm and infinitely willing?’
Only with you. She thought the words, but did not say them. Because they might imply she was asking for a commitment from him.