Нора Робертс - Megan’s Mate

“I—” He was waiting, she realized, for her to agree or refuse. No seduction, no pretty promising words. No illusions. “Yes,” she said, and met his lips with hers.

When he swept her up this time, she gave a quick, nervous laugh. It slid back down her throat when she met the look in his eyes.

“You won't think of him,” Nathaniel said quietly. “You won't think of anything but us.”

She could hear her own heartbeat pounding, pounding, in counterpoint to the rain that pounded against the windows. She wondered whether Nathaniel could hear it, too, and if he did, whether he knew that she was afraid. His arms were so strong, his mouth was so sure each time it swooped down to claim hers again.

He carried her up the stairs as if she weighed no more than the mist that swirled outside the cottage.

She would make a mistake, she would do something foolish, she wouldn't be what either of them wanted. The doubts pinched at her like fingers as he swept her into his bedroom, where the light was dim and the air was sweet with wisteria.

She saw the spear of purple blooms in an old bottle on a scarred wooden chest, the undraped windows that were opened to welcome the moist breeze. And the bed, with its sturdy iron headboard and taut cotton spread.

He set her down beside it, so that she was all too aware of the weakness in her knees. But she kept her eyes on his and waited, terrified and aching, for him to make the first move.

“You're trembling again.” His voice was quiet, the fingers he lifted to stroke her cheek were soothing. Did she think he couldn't see all those fears in her eyes? She couldn't know that they stirred his own.

“I don't know what to do.” The moment the words were out, she closed her eyes. She'd done it already, she realized. The first mistake. Determined, she dragged his head down to hers for an aggressive kiss.

A fire kindled in his gut, flames leaping and licking at the ready fuel of his need. Muscles tensed in reaction, he fought back the urge to shove her back on the bed and take, take quickly, fiercely. He kept his hands easy, stroking her face, her shoulders, her back, until she quieted.

“Nathaniel.”

“Do you know what I want, Meg?”

“Yes— No.” She reached for him again, but he caught her hands, kissed them, fingertip by fingertip.

“I want to watch you relax. I want to watch you enjoy.” His eyes on hers, he lowered her hands to her sides. “I want to watch you fill up with me.” Slowly he began to take the pins from her hair, setting them on the table beside the bed. “I want to hear you say my name when I'm inside you.”

He combed his fingers through her hair, contenting himself with the silky texture. “I want you to let me do all the things I've been dreaming of since I first laid eyes on you. Let me show you.”

He kissed her first, his mouth soft, smooth, seductive. Endlessly patient, he parted hers with teasing nips and nibbles, with the persuasive caress of his tongue. Degree by torturous degree, he deepened the kiss, until her hands clutched weakly at his waist and her shudders gave way to pliancy.

Hie lingering taste of brandy, the faint and very male scrape of a day's beard against her cheek, the patter of rain and the drifting scent of flowers. All this whirled in her head like a drug, both potent and possessing.

His lips left hers to journey over her face, to trace the line of her jaw, to nuzzle at her ear, waiting, patiently waiting, until he felt her slip over to the next stage of surrender.

He stepped back, only an inch, and slipped the shirt up her torso, over her head, let it drop to the floor. His muscles coiled like a snake. She thought she saw the lightning flash of desire that darkened his eyes to soot. But he only skimmed a fingertip down her throat, to the aching tip of her breast.

Her breath caught; her head lolled back.

“You're so beautiful, Meg. So soft.” He pressed a kiss to her shoulder while his hands gently molded, caressed, aroused. “So sweet.”

He was afraid his hands were too big, too rough. As a result, his touch was stunningly tender, humming over her heating skin. They slicked down her sides, leaving tremors in their wake as he eased the loose pants from her hips.

Then those fingertips moved over her, gliding over curves until her shaking breathing turned to unsteady moans.

He undressed, watching her heavy eyes flutter open, seeing the misty blue focus on him, the pupils dilate.

Now, she thought, and her heart stuttered madly in her throat. He would take her now, and ease this glorious ache he'd stirred to life inside her. Sweet and eager, her mouth lifted to his. He gathered her close, laid her on the bed as gently as he might have laid her in a pool of rose petals. She arched to him, accepting, braced for the torrent. He used only his lips, soft as the rain, savoring her flesh as though it were a banquet of the most delicate flavors. Then his hands, big and hard-palmed, skimmed, lingered, discovered.

Nothing could have prepared her. If she'd had a hundred lovers, none could have given more, or taken more. She was lost in a gently rocking sea of sensation, undone by patience, weakened by tenderness.

Her breathing slowed, deepened, even as her heart rate soared. She felt the brush of his hair on her breast before his mouth claimed it, heard his quiet, satisfied groan of pleasure as he suckled. Heard his sign as he circled and teased with his tongue.

She sank, fathoms deep, in warm, clear waters.

She didn't know when those waters began to chum. The storm gathered so slowly, so subtly. It seemed one moment she was drifting, and the next floundering. She couldn't get her breath, no matter how deeply she gasped for air. Her mind, suddenly reeling, struggled for the surface, even as her body coiled and tensed.

“Nathaniel.” She grabbed at him, her fingers digging into his flesh. “I can't—”

But he covered her mouth with his, swallowing her gasps, savoring her moan, as the first dizzy climax racked her.

She reared against his hand, instinctively urging him on as hot red waves of pleasure swept her up. Her neat, rounded nails scored his shoulders before her hands, her body, even her mind, went limp.

“Megan. God.” She was so hot, so wet. He pressed his tips to her throat as he fought to level his own breathing. Pleasuring a woman had always pleasured him. But not tike this. Never tike this. He felt tike a king and a beggar all at once.

Her stunned response aroused him unbearably. All he could do was wallow in her, absorbing her shock waves, and his own, feeling each and every nerve in his body sizzle and spark.

He wanted to give her more. Had to give her more. Strapping down his own grinding needs, he slipped inside her, letting himself rock with the pleasure of her quick shudder, her broken sigh.

She was so small. He had to remind himself again and again that she was small, all delicate bones and fragile skin. That she was innocent, and nearly as untouched as a virgin. So while the blood pounded in his head, his heart, his loins, he took her gently, his hands fisted on the bedspread for fear he would touch her and bruise.

He felt her body contract, explode. And then she said his name. He pressed his lips to hers again, and followed her over.

The rain was still drumming. As she slowly swam back to reality, she heard its steady beat on the roof. She lay still, her hand tangled in Nathaniel's hair, her body glowing. She realized she had a smile on her face.

She began to hum.

Nathaniel stirred himself, pushed back lazily to lean on his elbow. “What are you doing?”

“Singing. Sort of.”

He grinned, studying her. “I like your looks, sugar.”

“I'm getting used to yours.” She traced the cleft in his chin with a fingertip. Her lashes lowered. “It was all right, wasn't it?”

“What?” He waited, wisely holding back a chuckle until she looked at him again. “Oh, that. Sure, it was okay for a start.”

She opened her mouth, closed it again with a little humming sound that wasn't at all musical. “You could be a little more... flattering.”

“You could be a little less stupid.” He kissed her frowning mouth. “Making love isn't a quiz, Meg. You don't get graded.”

“What I meant was... Never mind.”

“What you meant was...” He hauled her over until she was splayed on top of him. “On a scale of one to ten...”

“Cut it out, Nathaniel.” She laid her cheek on his chest. “I hate it when you make me feel ridiculous.”

“I don't.” Possessively he ran a hand down her back. “I love to make you feel ridiculous. I love to make you feel.”

He nearly followed that up with a very simple “I love you.” But she wouldn't have accepted it. He'd barely done so himself.

“You did.” She kept her head over his heart. “You made me feel things I never have before. I was afraid.”

Trouble clouded his eyes. “I don't want you to be afraid of me.”

“I was afraid of me,” she corrected. “Of us. Of letting this happen. I'm glad it did.” It was easier than she'd imagined to shift, to smile, to press her mouth to his. For a moment, she thought he tensed, but she dismissed that as foolish and kissed him again.

His system snapped to full alert. How could he want her again, so desperately, so quickly? be wondered. How could he resist those sweet, tantalizing lips?

“Keep that up,” he managed, “and it's going to happen again.”

The shiver of excitement was glorious. “Okay.” She shared her anticipation in the kiss, torturing his mouth, teasing his tongue. Amazed that there could be more, she gave a low sound of delight when he rolled, shoving her beneath him and crushing her mouth.

For a heady moment, he let those violent needs hold sway, trapping her beneath him, devouring her lips, her skin, dragging a hand through her tousled hair until her throat was exposed to his hungry teeth and tongue.

She moaned, writhed under him. Whimpered.

Rolling away, he lay on his back, cursing himself, while his heart pounded the blood through his veins.

Confused, shivering with needs freshly aroused but unmet, Megan laid a tentative hand on his arm. He jerked away.

“Don't.” The order came out harsh. “I need a minute.” Her eyes went dead. “I'm sorry. I did something wrong.”

“No, you didn't.” He scrubbed his hands over his face and sat up. “I'm just not ready. Look, why don't I go down and rustle us up something to eat?”

He was only inches away. It might as well have been miles, and she felt the sharp sting of rejection. “No, that's all right.” Her voice was cool and calm again. “I really should get going. I need to pick up Kevin.”

“Kevin's fine.”

“Regardless.” She brushed at her hair, tried to smooth it. She wished desperately for something to wrap around her nakedness.

“Don't pull that door shut on me now.” He battled back fury, and a much more dangerous passion.

“I haven't shut any door. I thought—that is, I assumed you wanted me to stay. Since you don't, I'll—”

“Of course I want you to stay. Damn it, Megan.” He whirled on her, and wasn't surprised when she jerked back. “I need a bloody minute. I could eat you alive, I want you so much.”

In defense, she crossed an arm over her breasts. “I don't understand you.”

“Damn right you don't understand me. You'd run like hell if you did.” He fought for control, gained a slippery hold. “We'll be fine, Meg, if you wait until I pull myself together.”

“What are you talking about?”

Gripped by frustration, he grabbed her hand, pressed it against his, palm to palm. “I've got big hands, Megan. Got them from my father. I know the right way to use them—and the wrong way.”

There was a glint in his eyes, like the honed edge of a sword. It should have frightened her, but it only excited. “You're afraid of me,” she said quietly.

“Afraid you'll hurt me.”

“I won't hurt you.” He dropped his hand, left it fisted on the bed.

“No, you won't.” She lifted a hand to touch his cheek. His jaw was tight, urging her fingers to stroke and soothe. There was a power here, she realized, a power she'd been unaware of possessing. She wondered what they could make between them if she set it free.

“You want me.” Feeling reckless, she edged closer, until her mouth slid over his. “You want to touch me.” She lifted his fisted hand to her breast, her heart pounding like a drum as his fingers opened, cupped. “And for me to touch you.” Her hands stroked down his chest, felt the quiver of his stomach muscles. So much strength, she thought, so ruthlessly chained. What would it be bice if those links snapped free?