The Gift of Love (17 page)

• • •

Oh God, she’d wanted this since the minute she’d opened the door and seen him standing there. He looked so seriously delicious in his navy slacks and white Oxford cloth shirt. When he took off his leather jacket, she could see the golden hairs on his arms where he’d rolled the sleeves of his shirt up. She wanted to run her hand over them, find out if they were soft or crisp. Play with them. Nibble on them.

She closed her eyes, ran her hands up his arms, and felt them now. His skin was warm, the hairs soft. Every nerve in her body was doing a happy dance as he gently touched her mouth with his, then nipped at her lower lip. When she moaned, he slicked his tongue over the little bites, as if to soothe her. She could taste his toothpaste, smell his aftershave. Feel his arousal against her.

The fingers of one hand were spread along her jaw so he could tilt her head to give him a perfect fit for the kiss. The other hand slid down her bottom so he could press her hips against his. It was all she could do to keep herself from rubbing against him like a cat in heat.

He broke the kiss and murmured something—her name, she thought. Whatever it was made her shiver with anticipation. When he came back for another kiss, it wasn’t soft or gentle this time. It was rougher, deeper, more passionate. She responded with all the pent-up attraction she’d felt for him since the first day she’d met him. Her nipples were in painful peaks squeezed against his chest. She knew it would only take a little encouragement, and they would be continuing this exploration in the comfort of her bedroom.

Then the timer on the stove began to buzz. It was loud, harsh, and she knew it wouldn’t stop until she stopped it.

She pulled out of his arms. “I’m so sorry. It’s the rice making that noise. The timer, I mean, reminding me to start the rice.” She punched the button on the stove with vehemence, annoyed they’d been interrupted.

“It’s okay. At the rate we were going, your dinner would be ruined.” He looked around as if to find something to distract him, his gaze landing on the glasses he’d brought out of the cabinet. He grabbed them and filled them—overfilled them, really—with cubes from the icemaker. She knew how he felt. She needed something to cool her down, too. “I can finish making the drinks,” he said, “while you deal with the rice, if you’ll point me in the direction of your rum.”

She showed him the cabinet where she kept a couple bottles of hard liquor before going about her task, grateful it didn’t take anything more complicated than boiling water because after that kiss, anything else would have been impossible to do.

He kept her company in the kitchen, drinking his rum and Coke, while she finished preparing their dinner. Her ability to carry on a conversation returned, and she explained the food to him, giving him tastes of the meat and a sample of the salad dressing. The atmosphere didn’t cool off much, in spite of the ice cubes and cold drinks. Turned out, feeding him was almost as sexy as kissing him. Watching him lick the spoonful of dressing she was holding for him reminded her of what it felt like when he licked her lips. His touch when he steadied the fork laden with meat she offered him ignited the same sparks all over her that his hand always did. She could tell from the way his eyes darkened, he felt it, too.

And not once did something happen to make him hide behind the mask he sometimes pulled over his face, which may have been the sexiest part of all.

The meal was a success. The wine worked perfectly with the meat. When they were finished with dessert, during which he did everything but lick the dish to get the last little bits, he insisted on helping to clear the table and load the dishwasher. After everything was tidied up, they took the last of the bottle of wine and cups of coffee into the living area and settled on the couch.

“You are an excellent cook. Everything was delicious.” He touched his wine glass to hers. “Another toast to the hostess. Thank you.”

“I’m happy you liked it. It’s been a while since I cooked that meal. I haven’t had anyone to appreciate it since my father passed. It was his favorite.”

He reached for her free hand, raised it to his lips, and kissed it. “I’m honored you made it for me.”

She weighed the wisdom of saying what she wanted to say but, maybe on the strength of a bit of wine, maybe because of the kiss before dinner, finally said, “I must bore you with all my family talk. You don’t talk much about yours, do you?”

He dropped her hand and looked away. “There’s really not much to talk about. I’m not close to them. My mother’s gone. My dad lives in Spokane, and I don’t see him often. I’ve lost touch with my brother. We weren’t a happy family like yours. You were fortunate.”

She slid closer to him on the couch. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to bring up an uncomfortable subject.”

“Not uncomfortable. It’s just the way things are. You had the support of a family to keep you safe all the years you grew up. My father’s idea of stability and planning was to make sure we had enough milk in the refrigerator at night for his coffee the next morning. Anything else was a bonus.”

She could hear the hurt underneath the sarcasm. “It must have been tough on you and your brother.”

“Yeah.” He ran his hands over his face. “I decided at a young age to get out of there as soon as I could and never look back. My brother left in another way—he escaped into a bottle.”

She couldn’t help it. She put out her arms to hug him. He was tense at first, but eventually, he pulled her closer to him and returned the gesture. “You didn’t deserve so much stress. No kid does,” she said. Pressing a soft kiss to his cheek, she added, “So that’s where all your skill at planning came from, is it?”

“I don’t know about skill, but it’s probably where my determination to look ahead so I can avoid problems was born.”

He didn’t say anything more, merely held her, his cheek resting on top of her head. She wanted to change the subject to something more comfortable for both of them. “What does your ability to look ahead tell you about the rest of this evening?” she asked.

A curl had escaped the scrunchie she’d used to try to subdue her hair. He seemed more focused on the curl than on her question. “The rest of the evening? I’m not sure I know what you mean.”

“I thought I was pretty clear.” She repeated herself, slowly and carefully. “What’s going to happen for the rest of the evening, do you think? Between us, I mean.” She looked up at him, hoping she’d see the answer she wanted in his eyes.

Instead, he asked, “What do
you
want to happen?”

It was what her brothers would call “go big or go home” time.

“I want you to kiss me again. Then I want to show you the rest of my apartment.”

He looked puzzled. “A house tour? Have I missed something?”

“Yes. My bedroom.”

For all her bravery in inviting him into her bedroom, Taylor could see Isabella was anxious when they got there. She pulled him into the room and stopped as they approached the bed. “I think I’ve run out of nerve. I don’t know what to do next,” she said as she patted the crimson blanket neatly folded on the foot of a white duvet, for the first time he could recall, avoiding looking at him.

Everything about her was open and honest, and he loved her for it.
Loved?
Wait. What? No, not possible. He admired her. That was how he felt, wasn’t it? It couldn’t be love. Love wasn’t part of the plan. His mother had loved his father, at least at first, which had gotten her exactly nowhere.

Before he could twist himself into any more knots over her, she stepped toward him, said, “Well, maybe I can do this,” and slipped her arms around his waist. With her body against him, he did the only thing he could. He tangled his fingers in her curls and drew her face to his. It was as hot and hard as the kiss in the kitchen had been, their tongues stroking intimately, tasting, exploring, deepening the passion between them.

As the kiss went on and on, his hands found their way under her sweater, skating up her back then slipping around to cup her breasts, which he was surprised to find were not confined in a bra. Her nipples were already hard points before he tweaked them, eliciting a moan from her that made his cock harder than he thought possible.

“I want you, Isabella,” he whispered as he nibbled and licked his way from her mouth to her ear. She shivered when he breathed on the spot behind her ear where he’d sucked to get one more taste of her, as though he were a starving man and she was the food.

“We have to get rid of this,” he said and shoved her sweater up over her head. It caught on the heavy necklace she was wearing, and untangling it momentarily dampened some of the mood as she giggled at his frustration. But once it was off and he could see the dark pink nipples waiting for him, his mouth watered in anticipation. And when he dropped to his knees and, holding her tightly by the hips, feasted on them, her laughter turned to sighs. Her moans of pleasure urged him on as he caressed, suckled, and licked first one breast then the other.

“Taylor, please. I don’t think I can stand up anymore,” she whispered as he indulged himself with her beautiful breasts.

Her eyes were glazed. Her body was arched toward him. Desire had taken up residence on her face, softening it, lighting it with pleasure. Seeing her like this, knowing he’d put the look there shot him from rock hard to solid steel.

“It’s okay. I’ve got you. I won’t let you go.” He stood, holding her firmly with one arm, reaching around her with the other to pull down the comforter and sheet. Then he gently lowered her onto the bed. He pulled off her boots and, with her help, unsnapped and removed her jeans. The sight of her wild curls spread over the pillow, her brown eyes black with want, wearing only a bit of lace for panties and the heavy silver necklace was almost enough to push him over the edge.

“You are the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. I wish I were an artist. I would paint you like this so I could never forget you.”

She reached out to him. “I need you here. Please.”

He unbuttoned and shed his shirt as quickly as he could, followed by his shoes, socks, pants, and boxer briefs, all of which he carefully placed on a chair across the room. As he walked back toward her, he heard a sharp intake of breath, followed by a low moan. “It’s not me who’s beautiful. It’s you. You’re like a Viking god,” she said.

On his hands and knees he scrambled across the bed to where she was lying. “Not one drop of Scandinavian blood in me, but I’m happy you like what you see.”

• • •

Like what she saw? That was an understatement. He was even more delicious out of his clothes than he was in them. His shoulders were broad; his hips were slim. Dustings of golden hair were scattered over a chest with dips and valleys she wanted to run her tongue over. And the erection on display as he’d crossed the room was even more tempting. Her fingers ached, her mouth craved. She wanted to touch him, taste him.

But he had other ideas. He grabbed her hips with both hands and began to kiss his way from the valley between her breasts down to her navel, where he ran his tongue around it, then moved on to first one hipbone then across to the other, all the while kissing, licking, sucking, igniting sparks again, this time everywhere south of her waist.

Moving his hands around to her bottom, he traced more kisses down her body. As he reached her pubic hair, he stopped, looked up, and said, “If I do anything you don’t like, you’ll tell me, won’t you?”

She couldn’t get her brain cells to construct a sentence so she only nodded agreement.

“Good.” He gently pushed her legs apart and settled himself between them. Watching her the whole time, he touched, just touched, her sex on the outside of her panties, and she thought she’d die from the pleasure of it. He slipped a finger under the elastic and separated her labia. “You’re wet already. I like knowing you want me like this.”

“Please. I want you now.” Her breath was ragged; she was barely able to keep from grinding against him.

“Not yet. But soon.” He slipped her panties down over her bottom and, with her help, removed them. Then he lowered his head, and his tongue went straight to the place his finger had been. She could feel the tip of his tongue circling, could feel the orgasm beginning in her until finally, as his fingers joined his tongue, she felt the earthquake begin inside her as her world fell apart and her body shattered into shards of light.

As she came down from the most amazing climax of her life, she felt the bed shift as Taylor got up. Panicked, she whispered, “No, please, don’t go.” She was sure she sounded desperate.

“There’s no place I’m going except to get some protection from my wallet.” He returned to the bed, the packet held up for her to see. She reached for it and tore it open with her teeth as soon as he gave it to her. When he was back beside her, she nudged him onto his back and unrolled the condom onto him, enjoying the chance to get her hands, finally, on his erection.

“If you take much longer, there won’t be anything left to play with,” he said. Rather tensely, she thought.

“Believe me, I don’t plan to spoil things for either one of us,” she responded. As if to prove it to him, when she was finished with her task, she straddled him. “But it’s your turn now, don’t you think?”

He grinned up at her. “You know I can flip you any time I want to, don’t you?”

Rising up on her knees, she positioned herself over the tip of his penis. “Yes, but if you did, you’d miss this.” Slowly, very slowly, she began to lower herself onto him. The hiss of breath she heard as she finally seated him completely inside her told her he was quite happy about having the tables turned.

When he grabbed her hips again, she whispered, “You like holding me like that don’t you?”

“I like holding you any way I can.”

Still for a moment, she eventually began to rock back and forth, then slowly up and down, leaning over him, her hair falling against his chest. She could feel him deep inside her, filling her. And when he began to massage her clitoris, she knew it wouldn’t be long before she came again.

Which was enough to distract her so he could do as he had said he could. Still deep inside her, he flipped her over. As she felt her internal muscles pulse and throb around him and the world begin to shatter again, with one powerful thrust, and roaring her name, he came seconds after she did.