What Dreams May Come (17 page)

And by the time they stepped into the lamplit quiet of the big master bedroom, she could feel the inner pressure of desire that had been building slowly. She caught her breath when he slipped his arms around her and eased her against his hard body, very aware of his pulsing hunger.

"Oh, Lord, what you do to me," he murmured against her mouth, his hands sliding down over her bottom to hold her even closer. "I can't keep my hands off you."

Kelly's arms curved up around his neck as she melted against him. "You make me feel so ..."

He kissed her deeply, exploring her mouth with a slow intensity until a wordless sound of pleasure purred in the back of her throat. Then he lifted his head and looked down at her dazed eyes. "So . . . what?" he asked.

She concentrated on the need to form a word. "Sexy," she managed to say at last. More words came, husky and unsteady. "I've never felt that way before." She drew in a sharp breath when he moved subtly against her, her eyes widening and then drifting half shut. "I can't control it."

"Do you think I can?" He kissed her again, harder this time, and his intent expression tautened when her legs parted to allow him to be even closer. "It's like a hunger I can never satisfy; an aching that fades but never goes away. I have to be inside you, feel the silky tightness of you around me, so soft and hot and wet I think I'm going out of my mind."

The rough words and slow movements against her sent the last of Kelly's clear thoughts spinning away. When his mouth covered hers she kissed him back wildly, every thudding beat of her heart causing the pressure inside her to build until her entire body seemed to pulse with throbbing need. She almost cried out in disappointment when he eased back away from her, but when he swiftly unbuttoned his shirt and impatiently threw it aside, she reached to get rid of her own clothing. Her hands were shaking so badly that he had to help her unfasten her jeans and push the heavy material down over her hips.
Her panties followed to join the shoes and clothing kicked aside and jumbled on the floor.
And it was Mitch who lifted the thin chain from around her neck and dropped it onto the dresser.

To her vague surprise, Mitch sank down on the edge of the bed and drew her naked body down to straddle his lap, but she forgot her startlement when his mouth slanted hotly over hers. He was holding her tightly, his hands stroking up and
down her spine in a tingling caress, and she could feel the pulsating hardness of him pressed against her belly. Instinctively, she squirmed to be even closer to him, the sensual tension building inside her like pain that surged and ebbed and surged again.

A groan rumbled in his chest as his lips trailed down over her throat. He kept one arm around her waist and bent her back slightly, his other hand sliding up over her rib cage and cupping a swelling breast. Kelly clutched his shoulders and bit her lip as he lifted and kneaded her aching flesh, sharp jolts of pleasure stabbing through her. The rough pad of his thumb brushed her tight nipple rhythmically, making her quiver like a live wire, and his mouth explored the satiny slope of her breast with a wet heat that was driving her mad.

Her back arched and her nails dug into his hard shoulders, a whimper escaping her. She was burning alive, her mind submerged in the fire. His slow caresses had so sensitized her flesh that when his mouth closed over her stiff nipple she didn't know if what she felt was pleasure or agony. Her entire body jerked and a moan tore from her throat. Eyes tightly closed, her head thrown back, she endured the waves of feeling because she had no choice, because it was a terrible pleasure her body craved.

She had no self-control. It was a dim realization, almost instantly swamped by pure need. Her body had a mind of its own, and it wanted only him. To be filled by him, because the emptiness hurt so much. She writhed against him, hardly recognizing the thin sound of her own voice.

"Please . . . Mitch, I can't..."

With another rough sound he lifted his mouth from her aching breasts. His big hands slid beneath her bottom, raising her, and she moaned when she felt the blunt heat of his flesh parting hers and easing inside her.

"Look at me, sweetheart," he whispered, his voice nearly gone.

She forced her eyes open, finding his face blurred at first but then clear and sharp, his features masklike and excitingly primitive, the dark eye burning. He was still holding her so that he was just barely inside her and she could scarcely stand it. She couldn't breathe, her heart was pounding wildly and her body was shuddering, and he was
killing
her—

Then, staring into his intense gaze, she felt him slowly lowering her, pushing deep inside her until he filled the emptiness that craved him.

"So beautiful," he said in that cracked, hoarse whisper.
"So beautiful like this, wanting me."
His hands guided her in slow movements as his mouth brushed her trembling lips again and again, always lifting his head after each teasing nibble to watch her face. She could feel the waves inside her quickening, rushing,
the
sound of them leaving her in whimpers she was helpless to hold back. Her body found its own rhythm, wild with need, and she could dimly hear the sounds she made, some wordless and some only his name, tearing free of her.

She was almost sobbing when Mitch stood up and tumbled her limp body back onto the bed, and he couldn't hold back any longer. He'd managed to until then only because he'd been so intent on watching and feeling her pleasure, totally fascinated by the way her eyes went unfocused
and her face became a beautiful mask of passion, by the way her body rippled and pulsed as it held him tightly inside her. But now he was wild for her, his own need taking over as he slid his hands beneath her and lifted her for each deep thrust. He caught her pleasure before it could ebb, and sensual tension built rapidly in her again as she matched his passionate rhythm.

Every harsh breath he drew was fire in his lungs; it was like some mad race he had to win or die trying. And she was so soft and hot around him, her legs lifting to cradle him, a tiny heartbeat throbbing violently under the silken skin of her neck when he pressed his mouth there. He felt the first electric tremors near the base of his spine, and heard her cry out as he buried himself in her writhing body.

It was a long time before his ragged breathing steadied, and even then Mitch didn't think he had the strength to move. He knew damned well he didn't have the strength to leave her. He wanted to stay right where he was, still inside her, where the soft, ebbing ripples of satisfaction caressed him gently. He felt her move slightly as she lifted her head from the pillow to kiss his shoulder, and made himself raise his own head and then ease himself up on his elbows.

Her delicate face was pale with the totally drained look of sensual exhaustion, a glowing pallor. Lips that were faintly swollen from his kisses were curved in a slight smile, and her purple eyes were solemn.

"I need a thesaurus," she murmured.

"What?" His mind scrambled to figure that out. "Why?"

"There must," she said, still solemn, "
be
better
words than
magnificent
and
stupendous.
Because, if there aren't—I'm going to invent a few."

He had to laugh a little, even as he kissed her gently. "I love you, honey."

For the first time, that endearment awoke no memories of how another man had dirtied it. She felt a dim shock, but only because he'd said that he loved her.
Her.
Not the girl he had loved years before, but the woman she was now. She had felt his love, seen it in his gaze, his smile, but she hadn't really let herself believe that he could fall in love with her twice.

She swallowed hard. "Was—was it only this morning that I said everything had happened too fast?" she murmured.

Mitch kissed her again. "I had to say it." His voice roughened suddenly. "It's what I've been feeling all along. Changing and growing because I didn't know you enough at first, but always there. Kelly, I'm not bitter that you walked away from me. I can't blame you for that, and I don't. I can even be glad about it now, because if you hadn't, I might never have known what an incredible woman you could become."

"You forgive me?"

"There's nothing to forgive. I mean that, sweetheart. I'm so damned grateful I got another chance with you; that's all that matters now."

Kelly wanted to tell him that she loved him, but the words wouldn't emerge. Brad was still out there, still casting a shadow over her future, and that had to be finished.

She didn't know what Mitch saw in her face, but whatever it was, it made his own expression soften.

"It's all right, honey."

"Is it?" she whispered, her arms tightening around his neck. "I want it to be, Mitch. Oh, Lord, I want it to be."

He kissed her gently, then with a slowly deepening force. Heat washed over her in waves, and she forgot about being weary, about being unable to tell him she loved him. She forgot about everything except him.

She woke very early the next morning to find his arms wrapped around her. Not painfully, but she knew she wouldn't be able to pull away without waking him. She lifted her head from his shoulder, reluctant to disturb him. He hadn't slept well, she knew. He hadn't gotten out of bed or moved restlessly, but several times she had been dimly aware that he had jerked awake. Each time, only half awake
herself
, she had instinctively pressed closer to him and had felt his arms tighten around her as he relaxed.

Now, looking at his peaceful and unaware face, she wondered if he could ever trust sleep again. Awake, he could fight his innate possessiveness, but in sleep he could not. Sleep had stolen too much from him already.

Kelly felt that she could somehow help heal him, but only when she was healed herself.
When she could love him without reservation.
And she wouldn't be able to do that until Brad was out of her life for good.

Mitch stiffened suddenly as he woke, his arms tightening almost painfully around her, and she felt her heart turn over at the brief flash of dread she saw in his eye. Then he looked at her, and his arms slowly relaxed.

"I'm sorry," he said huskily. "I didn't mean to hold you so tightly."

"I don't mind being held in the night," she whispered. "Maybe we both need that . . . that feeling of security."

One of his hands slid up her spine to the nape of her neck, and he drew her forward so that he could kiss her. After a few moments he murmured, "It isn't security I'm feeling now."

Kelly knew what he was feeling, and there was a deep sense of wonder in her both for his desire and her own instant response. When he had finally turned out the lamp the night before, she'd been convinced that she would never be able to move again. She'd been so sated and exhausted that even opening her eyes had required too much strength. But now the soreness in her muscles vanished, and strength flowed into them.

It was a wonderful way to greet a new day.

When she slipped carefully from the bed an hour later, Mitch was sleeping deeply. She'd finally worn him out, poor baby. Kelly grinned to herself at the thought; it was both strange and marvelous to enjoy the feelings he aroused in her, and she was delighted by that sensual pleasure. He had not only taught her to enjoy lovemaking, but made her feel utterly comfortable with her own body.

A body which, as she straightened beside the bed, twinged faintly in several areas.
Knowing that a hot shower would take most of the soreness out of her muscles, she went into the bathroom and eased the door shut so that she wouldn't wake Mitch. She put her hair up and took a shower, luxuriating in the feeling of hot water flowing down over her body.

She felt alive.
Vividly, starkly alive.

Maybe that was why, after she'd gotten out of the stall and dried off, she opened the bottom drawer of the bureau. In here were the more "adventurous" items of lingerie she owned, all bought after her marriage, when she'd discovered a liking for silk and lace against her skin. She pulled on a sheer black silk camisole and matching panties, wondering if the outfit was the kind of thing that had inspired Mitch's fantasies in front of the store window, and hoping it was.

He was still asleep when she slipped cautiously back into the bedroom. Swiftly but quietly, she dressed in jeans and a midnight-blue blouse, deliberately leaving the first two buttons of the blouse unfastened so that a hint of black silk was visible. She took her hair down and brushed it, and then found her shoes in the jumble still lying on the floor.

She went to the bed and sat down on the edge, gazing at him. The tumbled covers had fallen to his waist, leaving his broad, hard chest bare, and she had to resist an impulse to throw off her clothes and climb back into bed with him. Instead, she leaned over and kissed him.

Even before he was fully awake, Mitch was responding, his arms reaching for her. She straightened before he could get hold of her, and smiled down at him. "Good morning."

He looked at her. "You're dressed." It was an accusation.

"I'm in a weakened condition again," she explained, "and I need to be fed. I was hoping I could persuade you to fix a batch of those delicious waffles."

"I suppose. . . . What are you wearing under that blouse?" he demanded suddenly.

Kelly got to her feet and stretched languidly.
"Something adventurous.
I think."

For a moment his expression was—peculiar.
Somewhere between bemused and fiercely male.

Casually, she said, "I'm going to go down and start the coffee. It should be ready by the time you shave and get dressed."

Mitch cleared his throat. "You're an evil woman."

Kelly got her coffee, but the waffles were a bit delayed. By the time Mitch joined her in the conservatory nearly an hour later, he wasn't in the mood to cook.

"Such a pretty sight."

The voice was deep and pleasant, but Kelly felt her blood turn to ice at the sound of it. The fear she had lived with for so long awoke and crawled inside her, tearing at her will, her self-respect, reducing her to a cornered animal. She wanted to fold in on herself, to hide.