Caprice (22 page)

She found that she was clinging to him, knees shaking, weeping into

his shirt as she tried to say coherently, 'But I never wanted to hurt

you. I never wanted to hurt anyone.'

His hand fondled the back of her head, warm fingers, gentle touch.

'There's no reason to hurt anyone, or to be hurt, sweetheart. Just tell

me how you feel. Let me into that heart and mind of yours so that I

can understand you a little better! Can't you see that this is vitally

important? I know you must care for me to some extent, I can sense

that much.'

'You're moving too fast,' she whispered, shaking her head. 'You're

pushing too hard!'

He went very still. Then his voice sounded in her ear, harsh, almost

savage with the force of feeling behind it. 'I should have forced the

issue last Saturday. I should have pushed then, but thought I should

try to hold back for your sake.' He drew back, and forced her to meet

his eyes. She saw grim hardness in his. 'At least I know one way to

get to you.'

The tension in his body snapped. He came to a decision, she could

feel it. In one swift movement, he bent and picked her up. Sheer

shock held her immobile as he carried her into the hall and to the

stairs.

'Pierce,' she strangled out, but he was unrelenting and his grip too

tight for her to wriggle out of. 'My God!'

The next several seconds were a blurred rush,, as she arched her body

in frightened, stunned protest and he raced up the stairs with no

apparent lessening of his stride when burdened with her weight. They

passed into a room, he kicked the door shut behind him, and then he

strode forward and threw her on to a bed.

Her body gave a bounce, but before she could thrust herself off the

mattress, he fell on her. She held herself rigid and straight in blind

fear, and then he took her head between his large hands and began to

kiss her. He stroked her body in long, jerky strokes, cupping her

breast through the material of her dress. His mouth was everywhere,

black head moving urgently as he put his mouth on her neck, her

forehead, her trembling jaw, chin, lips, anything he could reach.

Gradually realisation dawned, and she felt herself relax. He hadn't

even tried to force his way past her lips. This was a man who knew

very well how she was stirred physically by him. This was a man

pleading with her, with everything in his body and soul. This was a

man who was telling her he wanted her past pride and reservation,

and he was letting her know it in any way he could.

She felt heat wash over her, and she groaned. Along with it came a

severe bout of trembling. 'Oh, Pierce,' she whispered, and cupped his

head with both hands.

He rose from pressing his lips to her collar bone and bare shoulder,

and he came down to her mouth with a single-minded hungriness.

Once she weakly opened her mouth to his, he plunged in deep. She

made a whimpering sound, and thrust her fingers into his silken hair.

He drew back, stared down at her with dark eyes that glittered hotly

through the dusky shadow, and he whispered, 'Let me undress you.'

She drew in an unsteady breath, looking up at him. His hair fell on

his brow, and she wasn't even aware when she reached up to smooth

it back. 'I'm scared.'

The alien, bone-clenched expression on his face faded somewhat, and

he took her hands to bring them gently to his chest, half lying on her

heavily, half off, propped on one elbow. 'Don't think. Don't doubt. I

love you. You want this. Put your hands on me. Help me take my

clothes off.'

He was determined to pull her into full participation. He was making

her a partner, forcing her to succumb to the rising, driving response

they both knew was inside her. When he was completely naked, he

made her touch every part of his hot, tight body, and she was shaking

so that she could barely move her heavy limbs by that time. She was

in such a feverish welter of desire that she twisted her body to him

and whispered, achingly, 'Why aren't you taking my clothes off and

touching me, too?'

He was tight, so tight, so hard and big and masculine, with a light

sheen of salty sweat on his skin. Then the rigidity broke, and he

began to tremble, too. He gently pushed her back against » the

pillows and looked deeply into her immense eyes, his own dilated.

His cheeks held a dark flush. 'I love you, I want to make love with

you, I want to touch you all over and bury myself so deep in you, I'll

never find my way out again,' he said, quick and hot and low. 'But

most of all, Caprice—most of all, I want and need to hear you say

that you love me, and know that you have the courage to admit it.

Otherwise,' he shook everywhere, that strong, poised, contained man;

'otherwise this means nothing. I need it.' His head lowered, until he

was whispering the words, lips touching lips. 'Tell me. Say it.'

He had made himself totally accessible and vulnerable. He had bared

himself to her, and showed his own desire without shame. He had

taken the plunge alone, through the strength of his emotion, to make

her see that though love was an unseen, unplundered depth,

frightening and life-changing, it could also be a wealth of comfort

and sensation and total sharing. Something in her loosened. She was

made to believe in the force of his conviction. She said the words and

then she couldn't say them enough, as he gently slipped her dress

from her body and touched her then with hands and mouth, for the

love inside her welled up, stronger and deeper with every heartfelt

caress from him. She stroked him then, in excited, wondering

acknowledgment.

They gave in to physical sensation and body movement and a mutual,

rhythmic desire, his hard body over hers, his low, muttered voice

saying in her ear, 'Love me. Don't stop. Love me.'

Then she was curled into an exhausted ball, eyes closed, breathing

deep, while she clasped his hand close to her breast. His arm was

curled around her waist, and he was against her, chest to back, and

slowly, languidly kissing the nape of her neck. She sighed, throaty

and low, and raised her arm to touch her fingers to his face.

'How are you?' he asked gently.

'Mm, just fine. How are you?'

She felt his smile against her skin. 'A little tired.'

That brought a quiet laugh out of her. 'I love you,' she said, and he

buried his face in her hair.

'Then marry me.' She tensed involuntarily, and knew he had to feel it.

He went up on one elbow. 'Live with me, love me, light up my

mornings with your smile and your kiss. Is it so hard, sweetheart?

Don't you see that it's just a lifetime of every day, and a moment to

moment sharing?'

He made it sound so good and sweet. 'I—don't -' she started, and

began to shake all over again.

He dragged her around to face him and said urgently, 'Don't close up

on me now.' There was fear in that voice.

She reached out and took hold of his naked shoulder with her free

hand, fingers clinging. 'Try your best to understand me,' she

whispered. 'I am still afraid. I'm afraid of you, of myself, of our

differences and the strange life we would be starting. I—want to say

yes, but something always holds me back. What would happen ten

years, twenty years later? Would we end up like my parents,

tolerating each other but never being happy? Would you be like my

father and lose all respect for me while I live through my days, going

to parties and luncheons and feeling lonely?'

'Caprice, you are not your mother,' Pierce said patiently. 'Don't you

see the qualities you have that come from both your parents? Irene is

a very likeable, shallow woman, and you're not shallow at all. And

I'm not your father. I'm not reticent. I need and desire your lightness,

your jokes and laughter and inconsistencies. I want your soft

understanding, and quick retorts. If I wanted someone like myself, I

could have found a woman and married her in New York. We would

have
lived a very serious, very quiet life, and I would have been left

wondering what was missing. And in turn, I can offer you a

steadiness and emotional security, because I'm not so careless as to

let my affection and love for you fade. We're different from each

other, nobody disputes that. It isn't bad to be different. It means we'll

argue. It means that sometimes we won't understand each other. It

means that we'll live a richer, fuller life together than we would apart.

You're such a special person. Don't leave my life out of fear.'

Though he couldn't see her expression that well, she buried her face

against his chest and said next to his skin, 'You're very persuasive.'

Underneath the light tone, the depth of her feeling throbbed.

He relaxed and pressed a kiss to her hair. 'I make it a point to be, with

things that are important.'

'OK,' she said, a bare thread of sound, and he quit breathing.

'What did you say? I didn't quite catch that.'

She squirmed closer as if she would burrow right under his skin. 'I

said OK! But—just one thing. Please don't tell my mother yet.'

'For God's sake,' he said, and began to laugh. 'Why?'

'Do you know what a fuss she'll make? Let's have peace and quiet

while we can, please!'

His fingers dragged through her hair to pull her head back. 'On one

condition,' he said sternly. 'You don't decide to change your mind just

because of your uncertainties. You come to me, and we'll talk about

it.'

She snuggled her face into his warm neck, knowing they would soon

have to get up, savouring each fleeting moment. She pressed a kiss to

the pulse beating strongly under his jaw. 'Who do I have the feeling

that we'll be running up quite a long-distance phone bill?' she

murmured.

He hugged her tight. 'Not if we have a quick wedding, we won't.

What do you say? Are you set on having a large, fussy white one?'

A large one would be nice, she thought, smiling in the shadows of the

quiet room. But it would take so long, and a small one would be

more meaningful, more intimate. There were advantages to either

idea, and they could really go either way at this stage, as long as her

mother didn't find out too soon. Irene would have half the state

invited, no doubt about it.

'I don't know,' she said then, doubtfully. 'I guess I'll have to think

about it.'