Moonlight Lady Page 11

  She raised her head and moved as though to step away from him. But he said, “No, let me hold you like this.”

  In a little while she stopped shaking. He kissed the top of her head and held her close, but he didn’t say anything. His body warmed with need, but over and above the physical need was a stronger need. He wanted to protect her, to take away everything bad that had ever happened to her and tell her that she was safe because he was here.

  He felt her breath against his throat and the slight relaxing of her body against his. He put a finger under her chin and raised her face. He kissed her, gently at first because he didn’t want to frighten her.

  She let him kiss her, but she didn’t respond. Not at first. But little by little her lips softened and parted under his and her arms crept up around his neck to hold him as he held her.

  Her mouth was soft and warm. He urged her closer. He put one hand against the small of her back, but when he brought her tight against him, she stiffened.

  “It’s all right,” he whispered against her lips. “I won’t do anything you don’t want me to do.” But he didn’t take his hand away.

  Warmth flooded through her, and though she told herself she should resist, when he pressed her closer she didn’t. She wanted to be close to him, needed to be close to him.

  He sank to the ground on his knees, taking her with him. Their arms were around each other, their bodies pressed together.

  He cupped her face between his hands. He kissed her closed eyes, her cheeks, her mouth. His lips caressed her throat, her ears, and he took the lobe of one between his teeth to gently nibble. He said, “I want to taste you, all of you. I want... Lisa, oh, Lisa.”

  He lay back and brought her down beside him. He kissed her again. He touched her breasts and slowly began to caress them. He felt their softness through the T-shirt, the small nipples rising to the touch of his fingers. And knew he wanted more. Lifting her to a sitting position, he pulled the T-shirt over her head and reached to unfasten her bra.

  She started to protest, but he stopped her words with a kiss. He kissed her until she couldn’t think, couldn’t reason, couldn’t stop. Kissed her until her lips felt bruised and heated, until she moaned into his mouth and said, “Sam. Oh, Sam.”

  He left her mouth to kiss her breasts. He put one hand under her back, raising her so that he could better taste and sample. He gripped one pebbled tip between his teeth and in feverish haste ran his tongue back and forth across it. And when she cried out and her body arched up against his, he moved to pull down the zipper of her cutoffs.

  “No,” she gasped, and reached to stop him.

  He captured her hand and silenced her with a kiss. He eased his hand inside the cutoffs and she felt the heat of his skin through her silky panties.

  In the twilight gloom and fading light that shimmered through the leaves of the giant trees, he looked at her. Her lips were full and softened by his kisses. He thought she was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. He kissed each breast again. And because he knew that if he didn’t stop now he wouldn’t be able to, he said, “Do you want me to stop?”

  For the barest heartbeat of a moment she hesitated. “No,” she said. “No, Sam. I don’t want you to stop.”

  A sigh shuddered through him. He eased the shorts down over her hips, then the panties, and she lay naked before him. Her body in the afterglow of sunset was a perfection of golden ivory skin, of form and texture, of swell of breast, curve of hip, long lovely legs. Without taking his eyes off her, he began to unbutton his shirt. He folded it and put it beneath her head. He unfastened his belt, unzipped his jeans, yanked his boots off, pulled the jeans down over his hips and snaked out of his briefs. Then he lay down beside her and gathered her in his arms.

  Lisa shivered with nervousness. He felt the beat of her heart against his chest and said, “It will be all right, Lisa. It will be good between us.”

  And though his body tightened with a terrible urgency, he forced himself to wait. He kissed her and gently caressed her breasts, and when her breath came fast, he leaned to take one tender nipple between his lips. He scraped it with his teeth, teased it with his tongue, and when she began to tremble and her body warmed to his, he ran one hand lightly down over her belly and hips, down to the apex of her legs. He held her there and, when she didn’t pull away, began to stroke her. She was soft, warm and moist, and he wanted her with an urgency he’d never known before.

  But still he waited, though he thought his body would explode, waited until she said, “Yes, Sam. Oh, please.”

  He kissed her mouth. He came up over her and brought that throbbing essense of himself between her parted legs, against her heat and her softness. She urged him closer. Her body lifted to his.

  “Oh, yes,” he said against her lips. And with an agonized gasp he thrust into her.

  She cried out, not in pain but in pleasure, and clung to him, clung with her arms and with those marvelous legs, lifting her body to his, whispering, “Oh, Sam. Sam.”

  “Is it good? Do you like...? Ah, Lisa...” Words uttered in mindless passion while he moved against her like a man possessed, afraid it was too much for her but unable to hold back because nothing had ever been as good as this. He ground his body against hers as though by the force of it he could make her a part of him. He wanted it to go on forever. Knew it couldn’t because he was close...so close to the edge.

  He heard her whispers of pleasure and raised himself so that he could look at her. It was almost dark now, and he could barely see her face. She moved her head from side to side as though in agony, the same sweet agony he was feeling.

  “Tell me,” he said. “Tell me.”

  The sound started low in her throat. A muffled groan. A murmur, a small whimpering that grew into a frenzied moan. “Sam? Oh please, oh please...”

  She thrilled him, inflamed him with her need. He thrust hard, withdrew, thrust again and she cried, “Oh! Oh, yes. Ohh...”

  He took her mouth. He took her cry, and his body thundered over hers, riding higher and higher toward that moment of glory, taking her with him on this trip into ecstasy. He joined his cry to hers, primitive and wild here in the denseness of forest where no one could hear.

  When at last their breathing slowed, he said, “I’m too heavy for you. I’d better move.”

  She tightened her arms around him and held him close. “In a minute. I—I like to feel you like this, Sam.”

  He kissed her eyelids and her lips. He said, “Are you all right? Was I too rough? I didn’t mean to be.” He kissed her again and again. “It was so good, Lisa. You’re so beautiful, so fine.” More kisses. “I didn’t hurt you?”

  “No,” she said against his lips. “It was...” She nuzzled her face against his neck. “It was wonderful,” she whispered.

  “I didn’t mean it to end so quickly. Next time...” He tried to see her through the gathering darkness. “Next time we’ll go slower,” he promised.

  “Next time?”

  “You bet.” He chuckled, then the chuckle died because when he thought of how it had been and how it would be again, he began to grow.

  She felt it, too. “Looks like next time is just about now,” she whispered.

  He moved against her. “Do you know how you feel to me?” he asked, and in his voice there was a low purr of contentment. “Do you know how good it is to be inside you like this?”

  She touched his face and shivered a sigh of pleasure.

  They moved together slowly, sensuously, relishing every new sensation, every touch. He stroked her breasts, drawing out the peaked and pebble-hard tips, rolling them between his fingertips, teasing, teasing. And when she moaned, he kissed her mouth and his tongue stroked her lips as that other part of him stroked the warm and hidden heart of her.

  She caressed his face; he kissed her palm. She ran her hands over his shoulders and loved the feel of his skin. Loved this time and place here in this dark forest with him, surrounded by the scent of frangipani blossoms and the
call of night birds.

  The pace quickened. “So good,” he whispered. “So good.”

  She sighed with pleasure, lost in this sweet, hot loving, pressing closer, wanting to be enveloped by the arms that held her, by the legs that pinned her to him. She sought his mouth. She kissed him softly and deeply and whispered of the pleasure he was giving her. But in the telling, her passion grew feverish, hurried, urgent.

  He knew.

  Clasping her bottom, he ground his body against hers and his movements quickened. “Yes?” he said. “Yes?”

  But there were no words, for she was beyond rational thought, lost in all the pleasurable sensations that gripped her.

  “Lisa...” he moaned against her lips. “Lisa.”

  And when it happened for him, and for her, they held each other, heart beating against heart. He stroked her back. Again and again he told her what this meant to him, how good this was for him.

  “I’ve wanted you since the first moment I saw you standing at the edge of the road,” he said. “And when we kissed that first time it was all I could do not to take you.” He kissed her with gentle kisses and called her his precious girl.

  At last they grew sleepy. He curled himself around her back to hold and warm her. He kissed the back of her neck and her shoulders, he cupped her breasts, he rested that still-quivering part of himself between her legs.

  And when at last he heard her even breathing and knew that she slept, he leaned his head against her and he, too, slept.

  Chapter 10

  It was the song of a bird that woke Lisa, a song as clear and sweet as any music. She lay listening, drowsy and contented, more relaxed than she’d been in years. But when she stretched she felt the stiffness in her bones from sleeping here on the hard ground. And something else, the pleasant lassitude of a body well used by loving.

  She lay there thinking about how it had been with Sam, the fierce tenderness of his lovemaking. Of how, afterward, he had held and caressed her, and of how, exhausted, they had gone to sleep in each other’s arms. In the half sleep of morning, she smiled. Sometime in the night she had felt his hands on her breasts, and before she came awake, he had eased himself into her. No words had been exchanged; none were needed. He had moved lazily, sleepily against her. He’d kissed the back of her neck, then reached around to touch and caress her, whispering, “Sweet Lisa, darling Lisa.”

  She remembered the gasp of his breath against her skin and her own smothered pleadings for release before her body spiraled to a climax that left her shuddering with reaction as he stiffened and moaned against her shoulder.

  He’d held her and told her how she made him feel, how he loved making love with her. She felt protected and cherished, and had gone to sleep to the sound of his murmurings and his tender kisses.

  It had never been like that with Philip, not in the almost-seven years she’d been married to him. Making love with him had been... She tried to think of a word and all she could come up with was orchestrated. He’d arranged their lovemaking. Almost ceremoniously he’d lighted the candles, poured champagne into crystal fluted glasses, put Mozart on the CD and used his breath spray.

  It had all been so antiseptic, so quickly over that it hardly seemed worth the trouble. While she lay there, unhappy and frustrated, staring up at the ceiling, he would murmur good-night, turn his back and go immediately to sleep.

  She hadn’t known lovemaking could be the way it was with Sam. It was as though she’d suddenly discovered a delicious secret that nobody else in the world knew about. She wanted to hug herself because at last she had discovered what making love was all about.

  Soon after she had met him she had told herself that he wasn’t the kind of man she’d ever be interested in. She’d thought, God help her, that he was like her father. But he wasn’t. He might be as big and brawny as Matt Collier, but there the resemblance ended. Sam, for all of his tough, rough attitude, was a gentle man. He made her feel like a woman, treasured and cared for.

  The sun shone through the trees to dapple the morning with sunlight. She had no idea where they were, but it didn’t matter. She didn’t want to think about yesterday, or the man who had died, or the danger that lay ahead. She had today, and for the moment that was all that mattered.

  She stretched again, luxuriating in her nakedness, then sat up and ran her fingers through her hair.

  “Hey!” he called out from somewhere in the trees. “Are you decent?”

  “No,” she answered, and reaching for her T-shirt, pulled it over her head.

  He came through the bushes, wearing his briefs, looking momentarily disappointed that she’d put something on. He took a bite of the mango he was eating and with a grin said, “Get up. I’ve got a surprise for you.”

  “What is it?”

  “You’ll find out.” He reached down, pulled her to her feet, eyed her thoroughly, and said, “You look pretty good in the morning. Tousled and well loved, but good.”

  She blushed and pulled the T-shirt as far down as it would go.

  He offered her a bite of mango. She took it, and when the juice dribbled down her chin, he licked it off and kissed her. “Taste pretty good, too,” he said.

  She backed away. Her cheeks were flushed and he knew she was embarrassed. But that was okay. Nothing could bother him this morning because he felt so good. Good? Hell, he felt like a million bucks. Wanted to grab one of the vines and swing through the trees. Beat his chest, yell some kind of primitive male cry that would tell all the birds and beasts in the forest what kind of a man he was—invincible and ready to take on the world. Because of Lisa. Because of the way she made him feel.

  He picked her up in his arms and started running with her through the trees. When she squealed, he stopped long enough to silence her with a deep, satisfying kiss and say, “Time for your bath, madam.”

  “A bath?”

  He moved past a stand of ferns, past flowering red hibiscus, wild orchids and cup-of-gold vines. He motioned with a nod of his head and, in a clearing, Lisa saw a pool of clear, clean water and a rushing waterfall cascading down from the mountain into one end of it.

  “It’s beautiful,” she said when Sam put her down.

  “Yeah. Right out of South Pacific.” He took her hand and led her to the edge. There he looked her up and down and said, “Well?”

  “Well what?”

  “Off with the shirt.”

  “I—I can swim with it on.”

  “Aw, c’mon. Take it off.”

  She shook her head. For a minute he thought she was acting coy, waiting for him to take it off for her. Then he realized she was embarrassed and maybe shy, which struck him as strange after what they’d shared the night before. Strange, but maybe a little endearing, too.

  “The shirt will be wet when we leave,” he said reasonably.

  “That’s all right.” She looked down at her toes instead of at him. “I can wear the jacket.”

  He shrugged. “But I don’t want to wear wet briefs, so if you don’t mind...” He stepped out of the briefs and turned to hang them over a bush.

  Her first thought was that he had absolutely great buns! Then he turned and she headed for the water.

  It was surprisingly cool. She swam fast to warm up, aiming for the waterfall. Swam into it, under it and laughed aloud with sheer pleasure. When Sam came up beside her she said, “I don’t suppose you have any soap?”

  He offered curled-up fists. “Which one?” he asked.

  Going along with the game, she touched his left hand. He opened it and offered her a bar of soap. “Found it in the saddlebag this morning,” he said. “Put it in the bushes along with my clothes. If you’ll take your shirt off, I’ll wash your back.”

  “No, thanks. I can manage.” She soaped her hair, rinsed it under the waterfall and bathed as best she could without taking the shirt off.

  When she finished, she handed the soap to him and said, “Your turn.”

  “Why don’t you do it?”

  She
raised an eyebrow.

  “Okay, just my back.” He handed her the soap and turned around.

  Lisa hesitated. This, too, was different. Sam, unlike Philip, seemed totally at ease with his body. She and Philip had never bathed together. He’d worn pajamas to bed, even when they were making love, and he’d expected her to keep her nightgown on. Once, when their air-conditioning had gone off in the middle of July, she’d gone to bed without a gown and he’d said, “Really, Lisa.”

  Sam wasn’t like that. He was totally uninhibited, comfortable in his skin. And no wonder! He was well built, with the football-player shoulders she’d always thought she disliked. His skin was tanned and smooth and he had muscles, not the weight-lifting, bulging muscles that turned her off, but firm smooth ripples of toughness beneath his skin. Nice.

  She liked the feel of him against her hands, liked the way his shoulders tapered down to a slimness of waist and tempting roundness of buns. She wanted to touch them, knew she shouldn’t, but found her hands going lower. They hesitated at the small of his back before, as though with their own volition, they slipped lower.

  Sam didn’t move. She soaped his buns. They were tight and firm and well shaped. She’d never done anything like this before and it fascinated her. Round and round her hands moved, trailing soap bubbles, rinsing and soaping again.

  He said, “I suppose you know what you’re doing to me.”

  She felt him shudder, felt her own response—a kindling flame, an inner trembling. She ran her fingernails over his skin and heard the sharp intake of his breath. She touched the tender skin at the bottom of his backside close to the apex of his legs. He turned. Her eyes widened and she said, “Oh, my!”

  Before he could catch her, she dove under the waterfall and started swimming toward the center of the pond.

  He came after her. She was fast; he was faster. “Oh no, you don’t,” he said, and grabbed her.

  “Oh yes, I do!” She pulled away, splashed the water with the flat of her hand and started swimming.

  He muttered a curse, chased her, and this time when he caught her he hauled her into his arms. She laughed and the sound of it in the morning air was free and joyous and full of fun. He gripped her waist and raised her, still laughing, up out of the water. She was as light as a water sprite, as young as springtime. The sun shone on her face and he knew he had never seen anyone as lovely as she was.