Part 9 (1/2)

She had been waiting for him. Yes.

And he was there.

With her.

She felt him touching her, felt his face against her flesh, breathing in her skin. There was something incredibly sensual about the way he appreciated the scent of her, the feel, the taste. His fingers brushed her flesh, and they might have been a hundred degrees. She moved against him, amazed that it was so easy, astounded that she could want him so much. Her body rippled, ached, burned. His fingers moved, liquid lightning, touching, stroking, a seduction so slow ...

”You're here,” she whispered.

Should I be?

”I invited you.” You've been inviting me, you know. I shouldn't have come. I shouldn't be here. But you have invited me.

”I've waited; I've wanted you.”

The silk moved against her. Silk and shadows and fog. She felt his weight, the brush of knuckles against her cheek, silk rubbing against her flesh, his body, the subtle power of his chest... his kiss.. ..

It aroused as she had never been aroused before. Life awakened within her. She felt colors all around her, shades of red and flame, searing, dancing, leaping against a field of fog and darkness. The coolness of mist and breeze touched her, fire lapped her, and the fire was his kiss, traveling the length of her. Fire, color, mist undulated; she felt his strength, his warmth, his chest....

A pulse.

The beat of his heart.

No, the beat of her own . ..

Then . . .

Lightning.

The sun, the stars, the burst of a nova . .. Fire exploded within her; she couldn't breathe, couldn't think; the searing was sheer decadence, fierce, pulsating, undulating.. .. She could barely keep afloat in the sea of sensation, yet she was aware of a whispering. . . .

Why are you with me?

”Because you're perfect.”

I'm far from perfect.

”Perfect, so decent...”

Dear G.o.d, no, I'm so far from decent you couldn't even begin to imagine. Nice? No, my sweet, don't go there. My sins are like the weight of the world. . . .

”You're not who I think you are.”

I'm exactly who you think I am. You've seen, you've known. . . .

”No.”

You can't close your eyes. . . .

But her eyes were closed. She shook her head. She didn't want to think or talk; she wanted to feel. The sun and the earth and the sky were within her, novas bursting, and she had never expected that anything could be so sensually, s.e.xually, wildly . . . good.

She awoke drenched, and with memories that brought a flush to her cheeks and confusion to her heart.

The room was in shadow. It was very, very early in the morning, she thought sleepily. The sun hadn't quite come up.

She heard strange noises.

The television was still on.

Moving damp, tangled hair from her eyes, she squinted at the television. Yes. The soft p.o.r.n that came on the respectable cable channel late at night was still going. She shook her head, amazed at herself.

Embarra.s.sed.

She reached out, certain that Rick had to be next to her. She knew that he had arrived in the night, and that her fears had been ridiculous.

He was perfect. Everything that she had wanted in a man. Bright, decent, and ...

Could she face him?

”Rick ...”

She stretched out a hand. He wasn't there.

Frowning, she started to rise. Her black gown was on the floor. Her covers were twisted halfway from the bed.

”Rick?”

Had he gotten up to make coffee? Or, since it was still nighttime for him, had he grabbed a beer and found one of the icy steins?

She crawled out of bed, hurried into the bathroom for her terry robe, and started back out to the living room.

”Rick?”

No answer.

Then she heard the key twisting in her lock.

She frowned.

Rick stepped in. He looked beat. Absolutely beat. She stared at him.

He stared back. He fumbled with the collar of her terry robe.

”I'm sorry, so sorry.”

”Rick?” Her voice was a bare whisper. ”You've been here.”