Page 20 of Convincing Alex (Stanislaskis #4)

Hurt. Oh, she’d read the stories and the poetry, watched the movies. She’d even written the scenes. But she’d never believed

that love and pain existed together, could twine into one clenched fist to batter the soul.

Yet his words had hurt her—immeasurably—even as her heart opened to give and accept.

This time it was different. How could she possibly explain that to him, when she was still groping for the answers herself?

And what good were words now, when there was so much need?

A touch would be enough, she promised herself as they swayed toward the steps. Tonight would be enough, and tomorrow all the

aches would only be memories.

His mouth came back to hers, restless, insistent, as they began the climb. The first helpless sigh caught in her throat as

he pulled her close and aroused her unbearably with a long, sumptuous meeting of lips.

Her fingers trembled when she tugged at his jacket. Had they ever trembled for a man before? she wondered. No. And as the

leather slid away, leaving her free to grip those magnificent shoulders, she knew that none of this had happened before. Not

the trembling, not the raw scrape of nerves, not the sting of bright tears, not the sweet, slow throb of her blood.

This was the first time for so many things.

He didn’t know how much longer he could perform the simple act of drawing breath in and out of his lungs. Not when her body

was shivering against his. Not when he could hear those small, desperately needy sounds in her throat. The staircase seemed

to stretch interminably. With a muffled oath, he swept her up into his arms.

Her eyes met his, and though her heart seemed ready to burst, she managed to smile. She knew he needed smiles tonight. “And

I said you weren’t romantic.”

“I have my moments.”

Shaky, she nuzzled her face into the curve of his neck. “I’m awfully glad I’m here for this one.”

“Keep it up,” he said in a strained voice as she ran nibbling kisses from throat to ear, “and I’ll do something really romantic,

like falling on my face and dropping you.”

“Oh, I trust you, Detective.” She caught the lobe of his ear in her teeth and felt the quick jerk of reaction. “Completely.”

With his heart roaring in his head, he reached the top. She was teasing his jawline now, making little murmurs of approval

as she sampled his flesh. He headed for the first door. “This better be the bedroom.”

“Mmm-hmm...” While she worked her way to his mouth, her fingers were busy unbuttoning his shirt.

He recognized her scent first. Even as he passed through the doorway, it wrapped its alluring woman’s fingers around him.

That cheerful, sexy fragrance hung in the air, the result, no doubt, of spilled powder and an unstoppered bottle of perfume.

Her clothes were a colorful mess of silk blouses, bright cotton pants, tangled hose. His quick scan passed over a life-size

stuffed ostrich, a pair of thriving ficus trees flanking the wide window, and a collection of antique bottles, elegant in

jewel colors, before he focused on the bed.

It was a long, wide ocean of cool blue sheets, topped by a lush mountain of vivid-toned pillows. All satins and silks.

Because his mouth was beginning to water, he took one long, slow breath. But the air, so fragrant, burned his lungs. “That

looks big enough for six close friends.”

“I like a lot of room.” Even as his stomach quivered at the images that evoked, she was continuing. “I used to fall out of

bed a lot when I was a kid.”

“Is that how you broke your nose?”

“No. But I chipped a tooth once.”

He set her down beside the bed, pleased that her arms stayed linked around his neck. “I think we can probably keep from falling

out of this one. If we work on it.”

She raised up on her toes, just a little, just enough to bring them eye-to-eye. “I’m willing to risk it.”

Determined to steady himself, he kissed her brow, her cheeks. “Let me take my gun off.”

He stripped off the holster, set it on the floor. With fingers that were suddenly numb and awkward, she reached for the buttons

of her blazer.

“No.” It was that one quick flash of nerves in her eyes that had settled his own. He closed his hands over hers. “Let me.”

He unfastened buttons, then took his hands slowly up her sides, his thumbs just brushing her breasts. “You’re shaking.”

“I know.”

Watching her, he slid the jacket from her shoulders. “Are you afraid of me?”

“No.” She couldn’t swallow. “Of this, a little. It’s silly.”

He toyed with the first button of her blouse, then the second. Her skin quivered as his knuckle skimmed over it. “I like it.”

“That’s good.” She tried to laugh, but only managed one trembling breath. “Because I can’t seem to stop.”

“There’s plenty of time to relax.” The blouse slipped away, and desire curled its powerful fist in his stomach. Midnight-blue

silk shimmered in the dimming light, gleaming against ivory skin. “There’s no hurry.”

“I—” Her head fell back as he traced a finger over the silk. Gently, so gently, over the swell of her breasts, as though hers

was the first body he’d touched. The only one he wanted to touch. “God, Alexi...”

“I’ve spent a lot of time imagining this. Step out of your shoes,” he suggested while he unhooked her slacks. In a daze, she

obeyed as the slacks slithered down her legs. “I’m going to spend a lot more time enjoying it. I want all of you.” Lazily,

testingly, he ran a finger under the lace cut high on her thigh. Ah, the skin there was like rose petals dewed with morning.

Her eyes went wide and dark; her body quaked. “All of you,” he repeated.

She couldn’t move. Every muscle in her body had turned to water. Hot, rushing water. She couldn’t speak, not when so many

emotions clogged her throat. As she stood swaying, helplessly seduced, he watched her. Touched her. Clever fingers brushing,

stroking, exploring. He trailed them up her arms, slid them over her shoulders. Then back to silk, until her body burned like

fever.

His eyes never left hers. Even when he kissed her, lightly, tormenting her hungry lips with the barest of tastes, his eyes

stayed open and aware.

“You’re making me crazy.” Her voice hitched out through trembling lips.

“I know. I want to.”

He caught her wrists when she reached for him, then ran their tangled fingers over her, so that she felt her own response

to him, inside and out, as he touched his mouth to hers again. Patiently, erotically, he deepened the kiss, until her hands

went limp and her pulse thundered. Then he brought her hands up, spread them over his chest. Together they spread his open

shirt apart. With his mouth still clinging to hers, he tugged it off. His heart gave a quick, hard lurch as her hands, hot

and eager, raced over him.

Yanking her close, he took off his shoes. His skin was already damp when he fumbled for the snap of his jeans.

“I want you under me.” He tore his mouth from hers to savor her throat. “I want to feel you move under me.”

They lowered to the bed, rolled once, then twice, over silk. He used every ounce of control, every degree of will, to keep

himself from plunging into her and taking the quick, desperate release his body craved. His mind, his soul, wanted more than

that.

She seemed smaller like this. Slighter. It helped him remember that passion could outstrip tenderness. So, while the blood

pounded and burned in his veins, he loved her slowly.

She discovered that a woman could drown willingly in sweetness. She knew there was a gun on the floor beside them and that

he had used it at least once to kill. But the hands that moved over her were those of a gentle man. One who cared. She rested

a palm on his cheek as she floated away on the kiss. One who loved.

Who loved her.

Staggered by the knowledge, she poured everything she had into the kiss, needing to show him that whatever he felt was returned,

equally. Then his mouth slid from hers to trail down her throat, over her shoulder. All thought, all reason, skittered away.

In a warm, slippery pool of silk and satin, he showed her what it was to ache for someone. To yearn for the sharp, thin point

of pain the poets call ecstasy. Her hips arched under his, desperately offering. But he only continued that tormenting journey

over her with teasing lips and gentle hands.

When his tongue flicked under the line of lace that clung tenuously to her breasts, she moaned, pressing an urgent hand to

the back of his head. The taste there—honey, dampened by her arousal—nearly unraveled the taut knot of his control. So he

pleased them both, closing a greedy mouth over that firm, scented swell.

Gasping out with pleasure, she bucked under him, straining for more, her nails digging heedlessly into his back as she whimpered

and struggled for what was just out of reach. Maddened by her response, he brought his mouth to hers again, crushing her lips

as he slithered a hand down to cup the heat between her thighs. Prayers and pleas trembled on her tongue, but before she could

voice them, he slipped under the silk to stroke.

The unbearable pleasure shattered. Fractured lights, whirling colors, spun behind her eyes to blind her. She heard herself

cry out; his name was nearly a sob. Then there was his groan, a sound of sweet satisfaction as her body went limp in release.

Never before. Her hands slid away from him, boneless. Sweet Lord, never like this. She felt weak, wrecked, weepy. As her breath

sobbed out, as her eyes fluttered closed, they both knew that her mind, her body, were totally his for the taking.

He’d never felt stronger. Her wild response, her absolute surrender, filled him with a kind of intense power he’d never experienced

before. Silk rustled against silk as he drew the teddy down, tossed it aside. Her skin, slick with passion, glowed in the

shadows. He touched where he chose, watching, fascinated, as his own hands molded her. Gold against ivory. He tasted wherever