Think About Love (21 page)

"Easy," he murmured, sliding out of her. She heard a sound, her sound. Tried to cut it off, couldn't.

He pressed her head against his shoulder and held her, stroked her with long, slow caresses from his hands. She felt the shudders ease, felt her body curve to the motion of his hands.

"Cal, I can't—"

"Hush." He took her mouth with his and she felt something release deep inside, taking the kiss deeper, further into her.

Heaven. His mouth on hers, their tongues stroking in long slow caresses. She felt so completely relaxed, so loose, as if her muscles had simply released everything. She let her hands trace the ripple of muscles across his chest, the hard breadth of his shoulders. Then she put one hand on either side of his face and gave herself up to his kiss.

No one had ever kissed her like this... or she'd never kissed like this. As if it would simply go on forever, as if the only pleasure she needed was simply to have his mouth to explore forever.

She shifted to reach his cheek with her mouth, then his ear. Earlier, he'd taken her earlobe in his mouth, and she'd....

She felt the hard pressure of his erection against her hip.

"Cal? You didn't...? I—"

"Easy," he murmured. "Kiss me again."

She opened her mouth and breathed in his scent. Her hands on his naked chest, his mouth, her breasts throbbing, tingling from the memory of his mouth.

His mouth....

As if he could feel the sensations deep inside her body, he placed his hand over her breast and she felt the air drain out of her lungs in a long sigh.

"Samantha?"

She covered his hand with hers and closed her eyes to hold the sensation tight. "Cal, I want your mouth on me. Kiss my breasts again."

This time, she gave herself entirely to the sensation of his mouth on her nipple.

"What do you want?" he asked against her soft flesh.

"You... everything."

Then, somehow, he was on his back, sitting against the end of the bed with Samantha facing him, astride his hips, the pressure of his sex throbbing through her panties.

She wasn't sure when, how, but then they were naked and he was hard against her, little shudders running through her body as he moved. He lifted her breasts and slowly licked the peaks, sending spasms of sensation to her center.

"I can feel you," he breathed against her hot flesh.

"When I'm inside you, I'll feel everything." He licked her nipple again and she moaned and twisted against him.

He took her hips in his hands and her head fell back and she felt him, flesh to flesh, against her entrance. He held her hips and slowly lowered her onto him.

She couldn't breathe... couldn't... he filled her, pressing hot places inside. She felt Cal, deep inside her, so hot, her thighs gripping as he thrust deeper and her body arched and stretched to accept him.

She held tight, his mouth... she could die from the pleasure of his mouth suckling her breast as he thrust and she tightened to pull him even deeper, pressure building unbearably. She heard words, her voice, begging him, and he thrust deeper, driving her wild and high, higher, until she couldn't bear it... couldn't stop... would die if he stopped... and deep, deep inside, she shattered and screamed, a long driven scream as she convulsed around him.

The waves of sensation went on and on, drowning her, as if they would never stop, clutching her body around his hard, hot sex in waves that tore small sounds from her as she felt him grow, filling her beyond full, harsh breath tearing through his lungs. Her body clenched, and he spilled himself into her with a harsh groan of release.

Afterward, he drew her to his chest and she lay on him, her body drained, her breath coming in uncontrollable shudders. She closed her eyes and felt his heart hammer deep harsh heartbeats that eased only slowly.

It seemed as if their breathing took her away to a place where time ceased and the only reality was their bodies damply clinging together, hearts beating in tune as the air slowly cooled around them.

She took his heartbeat with her into her dreams.

Sometime in the night, she half woke to the sound of his voice gentle in her ear as he moved her. Then she was lying on her side with Cal spooned against her back, his arms wrapped around her and the blankets covering them.

Much later, when she woke again, the moon had left the sky. She lay in his arms, his breath soft on her shoulder, her body naked in his arms. Then his breathing stilled and she knew he too was awake.

His hand slid down, over her hip, and she turned in his arms.

Slower this time, with a deep, aching sweetness that took her up gently until there was only the high cliff and Cal drawing sensation from her body in deep, shattering waves. When he took her, his slow thrusts drove sanity from her. Then faster, harder, more urgently, and he led her past the edge. When she climaxed she felt herself trembling, falling through empty space with only Cal's arms to keep her safe.

She fell asleep with him still inside her, his arms holding her as if he would never let her go, his breath slowing in the aftermath of their loving.

The sun woke her, uncomfortably hot through the blankets.

She turned away from the light, the heat, buried her face in the pillow. She felt stiff, so drowsy she could almost have been drugged. She had to get up and see to Kippy. Change her diaper, get a bottle ready.

Cal.

Her eyes flew open.

She lay alone in the bed, the blankets on
his
side tossed back. Where was he? She pushed herself up and the blankets fell away. Her breasts felt sensitive, tingling with the memory of his touch, his mouth.

Deep inside, another memory pulsed. Last night.

She shoved back her hair—it was a wild tangle, as if she'd spent the night thrashing her head against the pillow.

Where was he? The bathroom? If he walked out and into this room, found her here—

She wasn't ready. She needed... time. Time and a shower, maybe a long walk.

Had he gone to get his jacket from the beach?

She needed to get herself together before she saw him. Right now she felt raw, open, vulnerable.

He wasn't in the bathroom. She grabbed jeans and another silk shirt—why hadn't she brought any damned sweatshirts?—and locked herself in the bathroom. She scrubbed her hair with shampoo and rinsed the tangles out, washed her body with soap, trying not to remember how his hands had felt on her.

She damned well wasn't going to stand in this shower, fantasizing him in here with her, his hands caressing her as he slowly washed her with foamy soap. He would smooth the suds over her breasts, stare down at them as the water rinsed the suds away. Then he would soap her midriff, her belly, and his hands would slip inside—

Get control of yourself!

She rinsed off roughly and fled the shower, toweled herself half dry and wrapped her hair in a towel. Then she pulled clothes over her damp body, cursing her jeans when they clung. She yanked the towel off her head and raked her fingers through it to release the last of the tangles. Once it was dry, she would come back in here and wrap it securely in a roll at the back of her head.

She left the bathroom and started yanking the bed into order. They'd had sex. That's all it was. Sex, and now it was morning. This was a business marriage, and she wasn't wandering around in a sex-hazed cloud. Last night had been... last night Cal had been—

We'll both lose control.

He was a man and probably felt a masculine need to know that she wanted it, too, that she was as carried away as he had been.

That's all. Nothing more, and she....

She'd never felt so undone, so out of control... filled with deep hunger that wouldn't be denied. She hadn't known... hadn't dreamed she had that inside her.

And she wasn't comfortable with the knowledge now that she did know.

She found his note as she stood in front of the bureau and brushed her hair.

I didn't want to wake you, you were sleeping so peacefully.

I'm in the dining room. I'll bring back coffee. Yours, Cal.

She smoothed the note and replaced it on the bureau. She wanted a long walk on the beach alone, but that was a luxury she couldn't count on this weekend. They were together, alone, without computers, in the enforced intimacy of their honeymoon. She was going to have to face him soon, and the dining room seemed a much more controlled atmosphere for their morning-after meeting than... well, than the bedroom.

Cal was enjoying his second cup of coffee and allowing himself a pleasurable fantasy of returning to the room to wake Samantha. He would put the coffee beside the bed, on that end table. Then he'd bend down and touch her sleeping lips with his mouth. Her mouth would cling to his before her eyes opened, and under the morning sun awareness would dawn in her eyes as her cheeks flooded with the flush of memory.

The image shattered when Sam walked into the dining room. She wore jeans and a peach-colored blouse, her hair smoothly contained as if she were heading for work. The waitress met her three steps inside the door. Their brief conversation resulted in the waitress leading Sam to Cal's table.

"Good morning, Cal." Her voice was cool, friendly, the greeting he'd heard hundreds of times. First encounter of the morning. Efficient, the controlled woman he'd once thought was her true self.

Last night's Samantha was gone, buried deep inside. This was Sam, businesslike, efficient, wearing a mask.

She sat and the waitress bustled with coffee and a menu. Sam ordered toast and orange juice, picked up her coffee. Black coffee. He wondered if she'd ever taken it with sugar or cream, wondered if it was discipline that dictated it be black and bitter, her need to keep control.

She wasn't looking at him.

"Take your hair down, Sam."

She looked up at him then, eyes cool. "No."

He stared at her until he saw her face stain with the memory of last night, but her expression didn't change, nor her eyes. She'd warned him, last night, that she wouldn't lose control. Then she had, in his arms, but she had it back now.

"Do you intend to leave your hair up forever?" he asked, keeping his own voice steady, and harsh enough to mask his desire to reach across and shake her until she turned real again.

Her eyes skittered away from his, but he saw her force them back, saw her swallow, the only sign of her discomfort. "I always take my hair down before I go to bed."

The waitress brought toast and orange juice, and Sam busied herself spreading marmalade on a triangular piece of toast.

"Is that how you want it, Sam? Ice in the daylight, fire after dark?"

He saw her hand tremble, but she recovered and spread the yellow preserve evenly over the toast. She put down the knife, but didn't pick up the toast.

"We made a business deal," she said finally.

"And last night was business?"

"No." She shook her head. "It was—"

"Sex?"

"Yes." She couldn't quite manage to keep the coolness in her voice, and her face stained with color.

"There's something you need to know, Samantha."

She met his eyes. Hers were mostly under control now. "I'd rather you called me Sam."

"Sam's okay for business, but it's Samantha I made love to last night."

She shook her head and picked up her coffee.

"I understand you're afraid—"

"I'm not afraid!"

"—of losing control. Have you ever done that before, Samantha? Lost control in a man's arms?"

Her face was deeply flushed, but her voice was steady, husky and low. "No."

"It will happen again," he said, and he wasn't sure if he meant the words as a promise, a threat, or as an affirmation because he was afraid she would get up and walk right out of his life and he'd never hold her again.

"Is that what you wanted me to know? If so, I'd rather we changed the subject. We're not far from the Horne Lake caves. Since we don't have computers, e-mail, business, I thought we could spend some of the day exploring caves."

She had a firm grip on her coffee and if he touched her he figured she might bolt.

"Samantha, you may as well know. I'm in love with you."