mirror and half
smiled. "You're the one who wanted to share a room, honey," he
reminded her. "Too late for embarrassment now."
"I suppose so," she murmured. She
studied him, thinking how attractive he was, how masculine. "You never
told me how your bull was?"
"The vet said he'll live." He turned,
studying the brass bed with its huge, spacious mattress. "Which side do
you want?"
"I like the one I'm on, if you don't
mind," she said, putting aside the magazine.
"As it happens, that's the side I don't sleep
on,"he answered. He sat down on his side of the bed, yawned, and fell back
onto the pillows. "God, I'm tired. The days get longer, or I get
older."
"Twenty-eight isn't old," she
remarked. She studied his lean, dark face. He'd shaved, and his smooth brown
cheek tempted her lips, but she liked the idea of making haste slowly.
"Sleep well."
"You, too, honey." He rolled onto his
side, studying her with those dark, probing eyes. "You look pretty in a
nightgown, Mrs. Whitehall," he added, with a smile.
She lowered her eyes to his thin mouth.
"I'm glad you think so." She wished she were more experienced, that
she knew what to do next. If she moved closer, would he interpret it as a plea
to be made love to? Would he like that.. .or would it put another wall between
them?
Beside her, Cole was just as uncertain. He
didn't want to rush her. She'd only just come back. And he meant it, about
wanting something more than a physical relationship. He almost laughed at the
irony of that thought. He'd fought this intimacy of being together; he was also
too uncertain of what she'd do if she should find out. She was a tenderhearted
woman, but he didn't want her pity. He wanted... more than that. He remembered,
too, that she'd fought him at the last, the one time they'd been in bed
together, and that she'd cried piteously. It didn't help his pride or his
self-confidence to realize that the experience must have been as unsatisfying
for her as it had been for him.
"Do you suppose you might kiss me good
night?" Lacy asked hesitantly. "Just that. I'm not asking you
to..."
"As if you could, after the last
time," he said quietly. "We're married, Lacy," he said gently.
"And I don't find kissing you any kind of penance. Come here."
She moved closer. The darkness was intimate,
even with the little bedlight burning above them on the brass rail. She looked
straight into his eyes as his mouth moved just over hers, poised there for a
second, and then covered her lips warmly, briefly.
"You taste of coffee," he whispered.
"You taste of tobacco," she whispered
back.
He kissed her again, liking the soft, trembling
warmth of her mouth under the slow, easy movement of his. He felt himself going
rigid. Odd, how quickly it happened with her. His eyes closed and one lean hand
went to her neck, tilting her face to give him better access to her mouth.
"Lacy," he whispered unsteadily,
"open your mouth a little ..."
She did, in shocked pleasure, a tiny gasp at the
unexpectedly ardent command escaping into her mouth.
"Yes.. ."he breathed, and she felt his
tongue slowly probing past her lips, into the dark recesses of her mouth,
finding and teasing her own tongue in a silence hot and heavy with rustling
breath and moist contacts.
Her fingers went up to his lean cheek, touching
it lightly, moving down to feel his mouth locked with hers. Feeling that soft
joining between the excited her, and she moaned.
His mouth lifted suddenly. "Hell, I can't
take much of that," he said unsteadily.
"It's so exciting to kiss," she
whispered back, searching his dark, fiery eyes.
"Yes, and it leads to something you and I
aren't too good at, doesn't it?" he asked, his voice faintly cutting.
She swallowed. "It hurt," she agreed.
"One of my married girlfriends said it usually does.. .at first."
His heart skipped. He'd never talked about it.
He couldn't discuss intimacy, except maybe with Turk. But, then, Turk was a
man.
"You're downplaying it," he said
huskily. "It was bad,
smiled. "You're the one who wanted to share a room, honey," he
reminded her. "Too late for embarrassment now."
"I suppose so," she murmured. She
studied him, thinking how attractive he was, how masculine. "You never
told me how your bull was?"
"The vet said he'll live." He turned,
studying the brass bed with its huge, spacious mattress. "Which side do
you want?"
"I like the one I'm on, if you don't
mind," she said, putting aside the magazine.
"As it happens, that's the side I don't sleep
on,"he answered. He sat down on his side of the bed, yawned, and fell back
onto the pillows. "God, I'm tired. The days get longer, or I get
older."
"Twenty-eight isn't old," she
remarked. She studied his lean, dark face. He'd shaved, and his smooth brown
cheek tempted her lips, but she liked the idea of making haste slowly.
"Sleep well."
"You, too, honey." He rolled onto his
side, studying her with those dark, probing eyes. "You look pretty in a
nightgown, Mrs. Whitehall," he added, with a smile.
She lowered her eyes to his thin mouth.
"I'm glad you think so." She wished she were more experienced, that
she knew what to do next. If she moved closer, would he interpret it as a plea
to be made love to? Would he like that.. .or would it put another wall between
them?
Beside her, Cole was just as uncertain. He
didn't want to rush her. She'd only just come back. And he meant it, about
wanting something more than a physical relationship. He almost laughed at the
irony of that thought. He'd fought this intimacy of being together; he was also
too uncertain of what she'd do if she should find out. She was a tenderhearted
woman, but he didn't want her pity. He wanted... more than that. He remembered,
too, that she'd fought him at the last, the one time they'd been in bed
together, and that she'd cried piteously. It didn't help his pride or his
self-confidence to realize that the experience must have been as unsatisfying
for her as it had been for him.
"Do you suppose you might kiss me good
night?" Lacy asked hesitantly. "Just that. I'm not asking you
to..."
"As if you could, after the last
time," he said quietly. "We're married, Lacy," he said gently.
"And I don't find kissing you any kind of penance. Come here."
She moved closer. The darkness was intimate,
even with the little bedlight burning above them on the brass rail. She looked
straight into his eyes as his mouth moved just over hers, poised there for a
second, and then covered her lips warmly, briefly.
"You taste of coffee," he whispered.
"You taste of tobacco," she whispered
back.
He kissed her again, liking the soft, trembling
warmth of her mouth under the slow, easy movement of his. He felt himself going
rigid. Odd, how quickly it happened with her. His eyes closed and one lean hand
went to her neck, tilting her face to give him better access to her mouth.
"Lacy," he whispered unsteadily,
"open your mouth a little ..."
She did, in shocked pleasure, a tiny gasp at the
unexpectedly ardent command escaping into her mouth.
"Yes.. ."he breathed, and she felt his
tongue slowly probing past her lips, into the dark recesses of her mouth,
finding and teasing her own tongue in a silence hot and heavy with rustling
breath and moist contacts.
Her fingers went up to his lean cheek, touching
it lightly, moving down to feel his mouth locked with hers. Feeling that soft
joining between the excited her, and she moaned.
His mouth lifted suddenly. "Hell, I can't
take much of that," he said unsteadily.
"It's so exciting to kiss," she
whispered back, searching his dark, fiery eyes.
"Yes, and it leads to something you and I
aren't too good at, doesn't it?" he asked, his voice faintly cutting.
She swallowed. "It hurt," she agreed.
"One of my married girlfriends said it usually does.. .at first."
His heart skipped. He'd never talked about it.
He couldn't discuss intimacy, except maybe with Turk. But, then, Turk was a
man.
"You're downplaying it," he said
huskily. "It was bad,
Similar Books
