Total Package (8 page)

He intended to take her someplace quiet, where he could soothe and cool the throbbing heat between them. He feared
for her embarrassment, for any repercussions from her business associates, and he needed to take her to safety.

Inside the display room for Stepanov Furniture, Danya locked the door behind them. “Sidney—”

She pressed close to him, backing him against the door, her lips open against his, her tongue flicking, sucking, her hips moving against him. “Danya….”

The sound of his name, the feminine ache curling around it, the heat of her body, the incredible scent of her arousal sent him over the edge. He had to be in her, with her, moving, flowing, taking….

Sidney had pushed away momentarily, and in the shadowy display room, her body was outlined in front of the massive windows as she quickly eased the dress down and away. She was nude and pale and—

“You’re not wearing anything under that?” he asked in a strangled voice, because if he had known earlier—

“Bare skin. The models said that panty lines ruin the effect and I don’t have any of their thong type. Am I okay?”

Her body was perfect, all curves and softness and fragrant smooth skin. He traced the roundness of her breasts, the darkness of her nipples, the curve of her body into that tiny waist, the flare of her hips, the dark triangle between her thighs.

Then all the blood in his body had seemed to boil and to lodge low in his body. He had to have just a taste, no more, Danya promised himself as he tugged her close to him.

He had to taste her, to feel her body move against his, to cup her breasts. Once his lips were on her breasts, Sidney seemed to explode in a heated storm….

Suddenly her hands were tearing at his jacket, his shirt and tie, and his belt. Once her hand touched him through his slacks, enfolded him, Danya shook, fighting his desire. “I want to wait,” he managed unevenly even as his hand skimmed over her body.

“For what? Why not now? Oh, right there, touch me there,” Sidney whispered as his fingers found dampness and heat.

“Say my name.” He had to know that she wanted only him.

“Danya….” came in a soft quiet cry that tossed away all doubt—

Sidney watched Danya strip away the rest of his clothing and pull back the coverlet and the top black satin sheet. He was hot and taut and shaking and perfect as he lowered her to the cool sheet. His primitive expression told her that he wanted her; his hands flowing over her, heating her.

She moved against him, desperate for him, but she was frightened, too…because Danya was too intense, his hands firm and possessive, his eyes slitted as he looked down the length of her body. He touched and caressed her body as if he were claiming her forever, making her a part of him, of his life that would never change. He bent over her, kissed her lightly, sweetly, and nuzzled her cheek with his own. “Who am I?” he asked huskily again. “Say my name.”

Sidney trembled in anticipation and in fear and ached for him to take her. His lips prowled her ears, her temples, her cheeks and returned to her lips. Against them, he asked again, “Who am I?”

She’d had sex with Ben, welcomed the brief joining, the light but unsatisfying bliss that followed. But Danya was taking his time, and he wanted more—he wanted possession; he wanted everything and she knew she’d never forget him, that the imprint of his lips, his hands, the taste of his lips would stay with her forever.

But then, she didn’t want him to forget her, either. “You first. Say my name.”

“You’re the only woman in my arms now.”

“I can’t be someone else,” she whispered unevenly; she wouldn’t substitute for his wife.

His tone held arrogance and pleasure: “Of course, Sidney.”

She couldn’t resist touching his face, smoothing the hard lines, that sharp ridge of his cheekbone, his hard jaw, those
sensuous lips that kissed her fingertips. “This is taking a lot of time, Danya.”

“It is good, is it not?” he asked as his head descended to rest upon her breasts, to tempt them with soft open kisses.

“I can’t think now,” she managed as his lips moved upon her nipples, tongue and teeth tormenting them. She dug her fingers into his shoulders. “But you’re not going anywhere.”

His smile curved upon her stomach and Sidney sucked in her breath. “You’re getting a little familiar there, partner.”

Danya eased back up her body and reached for his slacks; she recognized the brief movement in which he prepared himself before moving over her, bracing his weight away. He looked down to where her breasts met his chest, and moved sensuously against her. “You’re very small, Sidney. I’m afraid to hurt you.”

She trembled at the thought of his body entering hers and yet she had to have him, claim him. Arching against Danya, Sidney eased her legs around his, rocking slightly, reaching up to tug his head down to hers. His lips parted upon hers, slanted and fastened until his taste was hers, his breath was hers. “Slowly, Sidney, slowly—” he whispered as she began to tremble, needing him.

The first blunt touch of him caused her to tense, her body reacting tautly to sharing with him even as she ached for completion.

The words he murmured against her ear, soft and low and sweet, were foreign but they curled around her, calmed her as Danya slowly entered her body. “Danya…Danya…Danya….”

They moved together, dreamily, kisses sweet and tender, and then suddenly, she tumbled into a frenzy, drawing him deep and tight, and Danya moved heavier, more forcefully in their fierce, hot battle as she pitted herself against him, the building pressure within herself.

Pulsating with fever, Sidney forgot everything but the fire between them, the claiming of Danya.

The ultimate pleasure seemed to last forever, holding her at the tip, and Danya stilled—“Look at me,” he demanded fiercely.

Inside herself now, fighting herself and the pleasure, Sidney forced her eyes open to Danya’s primitive expression. “Danya—” she whispered as once again pleasure exploded within her.

She floated downward, held securely in his arms and nestled against him; her arms and legs holding him close.

The soft kisses and gentle caresses brought her slowly to the surface, to the scent of him beside her, to the slowing rhythm of his heart. Danya eased the black satin sheet over them and held her closer, as if she were a part of him.

Sidney hadn’t indulged in tasting a man, but now, she had to taste Danya’s muscular throat, to feel his pulse run hot and wild beneath her lips. Still caught by the wonder of what had passed between them—soft and gentle, then hot and wild—she ran her hand over his chest, enjoying the feel of his big body in her arms. “You used protection.”

“Of course. You move fast in everything you do. I wanted to be prepared.”

“People might wonder about us.”

“Let them wonder. The door is locked…the Do Not Enter sign is on it.”

“I want to go.” She was afraid now, afraid that Danya’s lovemaking meant too much, that now she was a part of him—and that would only mean pain later on. She wasn’t meant to be a wife, such as she’d seen in the Stepanov women. She wasn’t meant to stay in one place, become an integral part of a family—“I don’t like this.”

His hands tightened on her for a moment, then Danya jackknifed into sitting, his broad back to her. “Okay. Fine. Let’s go.”

She sensed that she had hurt him somehow, but overwhelmed with his lovemaking, her body aching slightly, she had to reclaim herself.

Danya turned suddenly and placed his open hand flat over her stomach. “Are you okay?”

“You talk too much,” she whispered as she eased away. “We’re done now, you know.”

“Are we? You think we’re done now?…. Ah, of course. You’re nervous of this new phase.”

“That wasn’t sex, Danya. You were doing something else, taking all that time and—you were so into it.”

He lifted a thick eyebrow. “And you weren’t?”

“I want to go home. Everything is just too much. Now, Danya, please, before someone sees—”

“Sees how I have marked you—how flushed and dazed you look, how soft? As if you’ve just made love?”

Sidney lowered her head; she had never blushed and now her face was hot. Danya’s fingertip lifted her chin, his kiss light upon her lips. “Okay, let’s go.”

S

None of what had happened hours before was real—not the dress, the earrings, or the woman she’d been for a few hours.

But Danya’s lovemaking was definitely real, her body aching slightly, her breasts sensitized as she flopped to her stomach and punched her pillow. She could almost feel the glide of the black satin sheet beneath her, the hard rhythm of Danya’s body meeting hers, the heat of him, that last pulsating feverish moment when everything stopped.

The distance of twenty feet stretched between her sleeping bag and his bed, and the man lying upon it—still and awake.

She could still feel him in her, feel the taste of his lips—He’d made love to her, taking his time gently.

As he had when leaving the cabin, Danya had carried her up the steps and into it, placing her gently upon her feet.

“Scared?” he’d asked gently when she’d placed the ear
rings into his hand, returning the mark of his possession, a physical notation that she belonged to him.

“I don’t want to talk now. This whole night isn’t real.”

“But it is.”

She hadn’t wanted to look up at him, to feel feminine and soft and small. Those emotions were unfamiliar and terrifying. “I had the feeling that you were—that you were doing something else than sex—I mean more than the physical, which was pretty good, by the way.”

His “Thanks” had seemed to be wrapped in humor. Danya’s fingertip had run around her ear. “What did you think was happening—other than the obvious?”

“It was weird.” Those were comfortable, but inappropriate words. Lovemaking with Danya had seemed magical, overwhelming, gentle, fierce, passionate.

She’d never seen herself as a passionate woman—except as passionate about her work, the details, the composition of light and shadow. Yet she’d demanded as much from Danya as he had from her.

At his touch, she had trembled, and knew that her body recognized his, wanting more, and she’d walked into the bathroom to give herself space, to recover from whatever was happening to her. In the bald light, her reflection in the mirror had been stark—her face pale, eyes huge and dark and mysterious, and her lips had been soft and swollen, the face of a woman who had been thoroughly loved. In their passion, she’d cried out his name, and then the other sounds so unlike her, deep in her throat, primitive noises. The tears she’d held spilled down her cheeks and she didn’t know why.

Those tears were still inside her, the uncertainty of who she was, the fear of what had happened—no light passing sexual encounter, but a deep primitive bonding.

Who was she? Was she tough, capable Sid Blakely who never stayed in one place longer than her work demanded? Who never failed at anything she wanted to do? Or was she this other woman, who cried and ached to be held? Who was
this woman who hadn’t just had quick sex, but who had made fierce, shocking love to a man? Who had returned his touch, just as hungrily, who had met that fiery heat, demanding her own fulfillment?

Sidney turned to look at Danya, lying on his bed. In the shadows, his eyes were slits of silver, watching her.

She felt herself in motion, following the call of his body and the need to be close to him, and then she was standing beside his bed.

Danya simply lifted his hand, and, taking it, she slid in beside him, into his arms. Nestled against him and exhausted by her emotions, Sidney listened to the slow strong beat of his heart and gave herself to sleep.

Danya lay still, feeling Sidney ease from him.

He’d been awake through the night, cherishing her body close to his, wondering how she would react in the morning. He could only wait for Sidney to work through her conflicts, but it wouldn’t be easy for him, not after he’d tasted her body, felt it tremble and accept his own. He’d planned for a growing relationship, but Sidney’s response had swept them into a passionate storm.

In the morning shadows, Sidney dressed quickly, rolled her sleeping bag, and then paused to smooth her gown which rested upon the back of a chair. She ran her fingertip over the earrings left on the table, and then she walked back to stand beside him.

Danya pretended to be asleep as her fingers traveled lightly over his face, and forced himself not to return the light kiss she gave him.

Sidney slid silently from the cabin and Danya watched the door close before he was on his feet. He couldn’t let her leave without something to remind her of him. He grabbed the earrings, jerked open the door and went down the steps, catching her on the beach. “Sidney, you forgot something.”

In the light of dawn, she stared down at the earrings in his hand. “I can’t take those.”

“Please.”

“You’re standing naked on the beach, you know. Someone will notice.”

Then her gaze took him in, all of him, and she quivered slightly. “Cold?” he asked gently, when he knew what she wanted—the same as he.

“You’re not going inside until I take those earrings, are you?”

He smiled at that and shook his head. “See? You know me so well already. I have no mystery left.”

“Well, right now, with you naked and…” Her eyes had lowered, tracing his body and in the pink tinge rising up her cheeks wasn’t from the dawn.

Once he folded the earrings into her hand, Danya brought her fingers to his lips. “Here’s something you forgot.”

With that, he tugged her into his arms and kissed her with all the passion brewing in him—anger, fear for her, for himself and the love he already felt, tenderness and a deep need to bond with her on that primitive level again….

Because he feared his stark emotions, Danya thrust her away and turned to walk back to the cabin.

He left her standing dazed upon the sandy beach, his earrings in her hand and his kiss upon her lips.

Either she’d remember him or not, he decided grimly as he rubbed the ache in his chest, his heart. Either she would come back, or she wouldn’t.

The decision was hers.

In the small New York City studio apartment she had leased for a home base, Sidney pulled a candy bar from her cargo pants and watched streaks of June rain slide down the window. The candle she’d placed in an unused ashtray flickered slightly, casting shadows upon the barren walls. It was the first candle Sidney had purchased in her lifetime—because it reminded her of the dinner Danya had cooked for her.

Now that was truly strange, she reflected, that a man would cook for her. Correction: that he would cook expressly for her.

In the three days that Sidney had been in New York, she’d wrapped up her job with Marvelous Calendar Company. Jonesy had been pleased with her work and the photos were being cropped and processed for the calendar. Marvelous Calendar had given her a nice bonus. Several offers had come through via e-mail, but she hadn’t accepted them. She’d created a nice little sturdy professional niche and word had gotten around that she was reliable good quality. That equated to jobs. Career-wise, things couldn’t be better.

The models had sent the customary thank-yous with a twist this time: they were friendly and warm, adding tidbits about their private lives, inviting her to their homes, and adding that they wanted to be put on her wedding invitation list. Somehow, they’d gotten the wrong impression; marriage wasn’t on Sidney’s to-do list.

The let’s-be-friends-for-Ben’s sake/come-see-us letter that Fluffy had written was among the stack of mail on the coffee table. “Yeah, right, Fluffy.”

The ache to see Ben was there, her longtime friend with whom she had shared so much of her career. Pregnant now, Fluffy wanted Sidney to be a godmother to their child.

“No thanks, Fluffy.” Sidney looked out at the night and the rain. She had never thought of herself as a wife, or as a mother and she couldn’t explain the ache that Fluffy’s news had begun.

Was a career all she had? Sidney asked herself as she munched on a chocolate bar. There was Bulldog, Stretch and Junior, of course, and they connected by e-mail, telephone and came together at times when convenient or when various dangers happened to each other.

Stretch and Junior had already called, somehow sensing Sidney’s uneasiness. Their questions were sly, well-packaged but underlined with concern for her. How could she tell them that she felt as if her whole world was coming apart? That little pieces of her were uncertain?

The telephone rang and when the message machine started
to record Bulldog’s gruff, clipped tones, Sidney picked up. “Hi, Bulldog.”

In typical fashion, he wasted no time in getting to the reason he had called. “Stretch and Junior are worried about you. What’s up? If it’s that damn Ben again, I’ll take care of him pronto.”

Her father could be irritating and his manners were abrupt, but he cared deeply about her. Sidney took another bite of her chocolate bar and the other end of the line seemed to explode: “What’s that I hear? Candy-bar paper? You know that stuff isn’t healthy and you’ve got to be careful of what you eat. Now, I know you’re upset. Your mother always did the same thing—made a beeline for chocolate the minute she got upset. And you’re upset, aren’t you? You’re not crying, are you?” her father demanded. “A Blakely never cries, Sid.”

Sidney swallowed the bite of candy and wiped a tear from the corner of her eye; for some reason, she felt weepy and soft as a sponge filled with water. Bulldog proceeded to pinpoint her problem. “I don’t like this candy bar business and I want to get to the bottom of this now…. Okay, your last assignment was for a calendar. What the hell are you doing wasting your talent on some light-brained job like that? You ought to be out in the middle of some earthquake, a forest fire or something.”

“The pay is good, Bulldog. The ground is steady beneath my feet for good shots and I’m not having to raise my camera up high while wading through a swamp filled with alligators. Not a leech in sight.”

“Yeah, well,” he grumbled. “Something sure as hell is wrong with you. Did you just sniff? Dammit, Sid, crying never solves anything. It’s action that counts—”

She’d had action—of the lovemaking kind with Danya, slow, thorough, fierce…

“It’s the fourth week of June, you know. And I have a summer cold,” she lied. When aroused, fearing for her, Bulldog, Stretch and Junior would all rush to her rescue. She’d had to play down her disappointment with Ben to stop Bulldog from
entering a full-out war. “I’m having a cough drop. That was the paper you heard rattling.”

That pacified Bulldog momentarily. Then he said, “Stretch and Junior say you aren’t yourself. Either you tell me, or I’m flying to New York—wait a minute, if you had trouble, it might have been in that town on the Pacific. Amoteh, wasn’t it? It won’t take long to fly from here in Maine over there and—”

That terrified her. Everyone in Amoteh knew she had stayed with Danya for a few days, that she’d dressed in a gown, and had danced with him. Bulldog would be on Danya within minutes of landing in Amoteh.

She stroked the delicate earring in her ear. Louise Stepanov’s beautiful earrings were delicate and feminine and didn’t match Sidney’s T-shirt, cargo pants and boots, but she couldn’t bear to take them off. She only wore them when she was inside the apartment though, fearing she would lose one.

Why would Danya want her to take something so precious to his family, earrings that had belonged to his mother?
“I would be honored,” he’d said.

Sidney flipped to the orchid corsage she’d pressed, remembering how intent Danya had been as he fastened it to her gown…. She had to stop her father from confronting Danya. The only way to take a firm stand against Bulldog was to hit him between the eyes with good solid truth, or else he’d take over “Look, Bulldog, I know you care. But you mess in my life right now, and I won’t be happy. I’m feeling pretty bad because I failed with Ben, and I’m working things out.”

On the other end of the line, her father sputtered and cleared his throat. “Half pint, that is no way to speak to your old man.”

“Just making my orders clear, sir.”

“Good enough. Call me if you need backup.”

Because he was her father and she loved him, Sidney asked a question that had been bothering her since Fluffy’s pregnancy-announcement/godmother-request letter: “So, Bulldog, have you ever wanted to be a grandfather?”

The silence at the other end of the line told Sidney that her father was stunned and trying to recover. “Are you pregnant, Sid?” he asked cautiously. “How the hell did that happen?”

“I’m not, but I guess it might happen the usual way—if I were, that is. I’m a woman, you know.”

“Oh, damn. You always were fast on the move. You don’t have one of those devilish, female biological urges do you? Now, Sid, think twice. You weren’t cut out for wife and mother duty.”

“That’s not in my life plan at all. You know I love traveling and my work. It’s exciting and I’m good at it—and by the way, Bulldog, your wife was mother material.”

“Sara was…special. I just wish she could have lived long enough to see you all doing so well.” Bulldog’s voice had softened. “But you girls were always more like me—on the move, busy with your careers, in the middle of everything. Sure, Sara had moods sometimes that I didn’t understand, and so do you girls, but you know you can count on me, Sid.”

“I’m just going through some things, Dad. I’m fine,” Sidney stated carefully.

“When you call me ‘Dad,’ I know it’s serious. Keep me posted, or I’ll break that cease-and-desist order,” her father ordered before abruptly ending the call.

Sidney finished her candy bar and reached into her cargo pocket for another. With Ben settled in a farm in Wisconsin, raising ducks and immersing himself in fatherhood and Fluffy, she wouldn’t have to worry about meeting him in some jungle camp where the inevitable was—inevitable. She hadn’t told him off yet, and she just had to finish that job. In close proximity, she was certain to attack him, verbally, and just maybe toss him a few times. The thought that Fluffy and Ben wanted her as a godmother for their baby caused her to frown. “When hell freezes over, chum.”