He closed them over her breasts, not with passion, but with reverence, and kissed her sweetly on the mouth before he lowered himself to his knees again. Her panty hose were tinted gray and had a sheer lacy panty. He kissed her through the lace.
When he lowered the garment, he placed his lips directly against her skin and his longing increased to such a pitch that he nearly shredded the hosiery getting it down her legs and off her feet.
Reining in his desire, he treated himself to a visual feast. She smoothed his brows with loving fingers as he took in every inch of her flesh, touching her at will, kissing, tasting. He leaned forward and nuzzled the delta of her womanhood.
“Grant,” she gasped softly. He stood at once and lifted her in his arms, navigating the spiral staircase with ease.
He set her down next to the bed and flung back the covers. Smoldering lust and tender love combatted in his eyes as he laid her on the bed. With a brazenness she didn’t know she possessed, for it had never manifested itself before, she propped herself up on one elbow to watch as he rid himself of his clothes.
As his brief underwear was peeled down his muscled thighs and calves she stared in fascination at his bold virility. He came to her slowly, not rushing, not wanting to frighten her.
Thus he was surprised when she said, “You’re beautiful, Grant. Beautiful.” Shy fingers reached out to touch his hard thigh. Then she leaned forward and kissed him, tentatively at first, then with an aggression that robbed him of breath, of thought, of life.
“My God, Shelley.” Falling on the bed to lie beside her, he cradled her against him. The pressure of his hand on the small of her back urged her against him. The softness of her belly absorbed the strength of his desire and they pulsed together.
He stroked down her thigh with a leisure that brought a murmur of entreaty to her lips. He captured them with his own as his hand lovingly separated her thighs and touched the heart of her femininity.
His caress was tender and adoring. As it became more curious her arms tightened around his neck. Her breath was a soft wind in his ear as she sobbed joyfully, “I can’t believe this is happening. Is it just another dream? Oh, God, don’t let it be.”
“It’s real, my darling. You’re real. Dear and precious and so very much a woman.”
A gasp tore through her throat when he touched her in a way she’d never been touched before. Her heart and soul and mind expanded until they burst into a sparkling shower of light. “Grant—” she called, trying to pull him on top of her.
“No, my love,” he whispered against her neck. “We share everything equally from
the beginning.”
His words meant nothing to her fogged brain then. All she knew was the glory of his hand sliding under the curve of her hips to bring her upward to receive his loving thrust. She took all of him, lifting her thigh over his and pressing him into her innermost self. She was washed with his fire. And what had happened but once in her life only seconds before, happened again, more sublime, more meaningful than the first time because he was inside her.
With their bodies still fused together, they lay in breathless repletion. Her hair was a damp silken skein that blanketed his chest. His hand idly caressed the contours of her back.
“Grant,” she whispered, hesitant to interrupt this moment of bliss, “do you believe in fairy tales?”
He breathed deeply and she felt him awakening again, stirring within her body. “Not until tonight.”
CHAPTER 7
Grant studied the bite of scrambled egg on his fork and said contemplatively, “You haven’t ever asked.”
Shelley cocked her head to one side and looked at him quizzically. “About what?”
He chewed slowly for a moment, swallowed, took a sip of coffee, then said, “You’ve never once asked about Missy Lancaster and me.”
She glanced down at her own empty plate. She didn’t remember when food had tasted so good or when she’d been so hungry. After they had shared a shower, she’d wrapped herself in his royal blue velour robe. The garment, which hit him mid-thigh, came to the top of her knees. She’d prevailed on him to dress only in pajama bottoms.
Now, lifting her eyes to him across the first breakfast they’d shared, she was again awed by how handsome he was. His hair was still damp from the shower. His cheeks were smooth from the recent shave. The hair on his torso curled and swirled in a pattern that continued to intrigue her though she’d traced it time and again during the night with slumbrous eyes and languid fingers. She recalled vividly the salty taste of the fine sheen of perspiration that covered him each time they made love. Her tongue had lifted it off his skin with dainty licks while he murmured love words and threaded his fingers through her hair.
The look she greeted him with now was warm and drowsy with remembrance. “It wasn’t important to me to know. Nothing you did or could have done would have changed the way I feel about you. I thought that if you wanted me to know, you’d tell me without my having to ask.”
He set his ironstone coffee cup in the matching saucer and reached across the table to cover her hands with his. “I have no idea what kind of lover Missy Lancaster was. I was never—never, Shelley—her lover. She was in love with someone else.”
She digested this slowly. “Were you in love with her?” A ribbon of jealousy wound around her, squeezing her tight. She didn’t want to know, but she had to know.
He smiled slightly and shook his head. “No. We were never more than friends. I’ve wished a thousand times I hadn’t been such a good friend. Maybe if I hadn’t been, she’d be alive.” At her bewildered expression, he said, “Let me clarify. Missy was having an affair with a congressman. He was young, handsome, prominent, politically visible … and married, with three young children.”
Shelley’s frown revealed her opinion of the unnamed congressman.
“Exactly,” Grant said, interpreting her expression correctly. “I thought her affections were misplaced, but she was crazy about this guy. Anyway”—he sighed—“when I joined Senator Lancaster’s staff and met Missy, we developed a friendship. Grudgingly I consented to escort her to a reception where she was to meet her lover. After he’d commissioned someone to drive his wife home because ‘something urgent had come up,’ he sneaked Missy off to their rendezvous.”