AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Susannah shook her head. “Bernadette?”
“There is no Bernadette.”
She laughed, but the laugh became a moan as his mouth covered hers. His hands were everywhere, stroking her beneath the silk robe, fingers excitingly rough and hot.
“No more games, Susannah.”
“No,” she whispered, stroking the tip of her tongue against his, reveling in the heavy beat of his heart against hers. “No more games, Matthew.”
He tasted of danger and of darkness. Of the heady wildness of desire.
She tasted of hunger and of need. Of the sweetness of passion.
“I want—I want—”
“Everything,” he whispered, and kissed her again.
“Yes. Oh, yes.”
She dragged his jacket off his shoulders. He ripped away his tie. She slid her hands under his shirt, thrilling at the sharp intake of his breath, at the sound he made when she swept her palms over his muscled chest.
“Matthew,” she said, her voice breaking, “Matthew…”
Her hands clenched in his hair as he lifted her again and carried her to the bedroom, to the canopied bed. Her heart thundered as he eased her down the length of his aroused body. Her toes curled into the deep carpet as he slid her robe from her shoulders. It fell around her in a waterfall of pink silk, exposing her to his gaze.
“Sweet Susannah,” he whispered, and framed her face in his hands.
She looked at him, her eyes wide with wonder. Carefully, as if she were some fragile work of art, he bent to her, sucked her bottom lip between his teeth, bit gently as she sighed his name and sighed again as his mouth traveled the length of her throat. She was a creature of pounding blood and shimmering fire. Her head fell back. She needed his strength to support her, and he gave it, lifting her, holding her to him before laying her gently on the bed.
He rose above her. She watched from under her lashes as he removed his shirt, baring the hard muscles of his shoulders and chest. Her breath caught when he undid his belt and peeled off the rest of his clothing, revealing the shadowed planes that were the magnificence and power of his male body.
“Look at me, Susannah,” he said, his voice husky with desire.
She did, forcing open eyes heavy with passion, fixing her gaze on his taut features as he cupped her breasts.
“My beautiful Susie,” he whispered. “My lovely Susannah.”
“Matthew,” she sighed, “oh, Matthew.”
“Say my name again.”
“Matthew. Matthew, Matthew, Matth—”
He crushed her mouth beneath his, then bent his dark head and gently rubbed his stubbled chin over the soft, sensitive flesh of her breasts. When his lips closed first around one pebbled nipple and then the other, she arced toward him.
“Do you like that?” he whispered. “Tell me, Susie. Tell me what pleases you.”
“You,” she said, lifting her arms to him, “you, always—”
He kissed her again and again She could feel the heat in him, smell his excitement, feel the heat of her passion and how it had turned her wet and ready for him But she had always been ready for him, from that first day, from some time that existed only in the dark, dim past.
Now, at last, the waiting was ended.
“Now,” she pleaded. “Matthew, please, I want—I need—”
She rose to him, her arms clinging to his neck, her mouth hot, and he buried himself deep, deep within her on one long, hard, exquisite thrust. A sweet cry of surrender broke from her throat as he possessed her.
“Oh, yes,” she sobbed, “Matthew, Matthew…”
“Susannah,” he said, “my Susannah,” and then he was moving, moving, and she was flying into the sun, splintering, shattering until, at last, she was whole.
Whole, and in Matthew’s arms.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
MATTHEW awoke slowly from the most erotic dream he’d ever had.
The dream had been about Susannah, about a long, incredible night shared with her. He’d made love to her, with her, in all the ways a man and a woman could possibly make love.
Except, it wasn’t a dream.
Susannah was right here, nestled in the curve of his arm. She lay on her side, her head on his shoulder. Her hand was curled in the middle of his chest. Her leg was draped across his. They must have been lying this way for quite some time, because his shoulder felt a bit stiff and his leg felt a little cramped.
It didn’t matter. His muscles could end up screaming, for all he cared. What was a little muscle ache compared to the joy of having Susannah in his arms?
Carefully, he turned his head. He didn’t want to wake her he just wanted to look at her. To study that lovely profile with its dark sweep of lash. The sexy fullness of her lower up. The elegant nose and feminine yet determined chin.
She was so beautiful. So very beautiful. How could he resist? He wouldn’t really wake her, he’d just kiss her. Only one kiss. A gentle one.
He moved, shifting his weight so they were lying face to face. He stroked his hand over her hair, then all the way down her spine. Her skin was silken and warm, her bottom gently rounded. She stirred under his touch, sighed but didn’t awaken.
“Sweet,” he whispered, and brushed her mouth with his. “So sweet.”
He had to be careful. He reminded himself that he really didn’t want to wake her. She was sleeping so soundly, and it was enough for him just to lie here, to hold her. But her mouth was only a breath from his. And her breasts were so soft against his chest.
One more kiss. Just one. One more feathered caress.
He kissed her. Touched her. She came awake in his arms, her mouth eager under the questing pressure of his, and the need within him burned bright and fierce. He rolled her beneath him, and her sighs of pleasure became moans of passion.
“Matthew,” she whispered, and she rose to meet his thrusts, rose to meet his kisses.
“Yes,” he said, “yes,” and as he held himself poised above her, prolonging that last, magical moment, he knew it was no use pretending this was only sex.
It was—it was…
Susannah sighed his name again, and moved against him. Matthew stopped thinking. He groaned her name, threw his head back, thrust even deeper and imploded in her arms.
* * *
Later, they sat at a small table near the window in the sitting room, Matthew wearing only his trousers, Susannah wearing the hotel’s oversize terry-cloth robe.
The table was covered with starched white linen and spread with fine china and sterling flatware. A crystal vase filled with flowers stood amid serving dishes and baskets filled with fresh strawberries, cheeses, water biscuits and flaky pain au chocolat.
Susannah took a sip of her champagne. “This,” she said, “is not Aunt Sally’s.”
Matthew chuckled. “Yeah, I’d say you were right.”
“And this is not breakfast. Champagne. Chocolate. Strawberries.”
“I agree. Breakfast is a glass of orange juice, a bowl of oatmeal, lots of bacon, four eggs, buttered toast…”
“Good grief! You have to be joking!”
Matthew grinned, sat back in his chair and reached for her hand.
“When
your job means you wake up while it’s still dark and cold, then head out into the Pacific on a trawler, you don’t worry very much about calories or cholesterol.”
“Whose job?” Susannah’s eyes widened. “Yours?”
“Sure. It’s what my old man did. It was what I figured to do, too, until I got lucky.”
“Lucky how?”
He looked at her hand, lying curled within his.
“I’d like to tell you I was a brilliant student, that I was a Rhodes scholar and spent a year at Oxford.” His eyes me hers, and he smiled. “But the truth is, I was big and tough and I sacked enough quarterbacks on the teams my high school played to win myself a football scholarship to the University of Michigan. I figured I’d get lucky and end up playing for the pros. My old man thought it was a waste of my time and his income because he had to hire a kid to replace me.” He shrugged. “So I made him a bet.”
Susannah was sitting forward, her eyes fixed on his “What kind of bet?”
“I said I’d ditch the scholarship, come home and work with him on his boat if I didn’t tackle the quarterback as many times in the season as he came home with a full load of fish. Well, actually, it was a little more complicated than that. He worked out a formula that compared the probability of fist tonnage to getting to the quarterback. Anyway, I won, and Pop lost. He stopped giving my mother a hard time over my ‘foolishness,’ and I suddenly realized I could maybe do more with my head than use it to confuse an offensive lineman.”
“And?”
Matthew looked at Susannah. Her eyes were bright. She was smiling as if she really gave a damn about the boy he’d been. He wasn’t sure which surprised him more, that she’d be interested enough to listen or that he’d just told her stuff about himself nobody else knew.
Why had he done that? he thought, and the hair rose on the back of his neck just as it had that night, weeks ago, at the Gilded Carousel.
“And,” he said lightly, “why am I sitting here, boring you to death with the story of my life when we should be finishing our champagne before it goes flat?”
Matthew didn’t want to talk about himself anymore. Susannah understood that. She never talked about herself or her past, either…except for that night at the Gilded Carousel. A faint prickle of alarm raced along her skin. It was so easy to be with him. Not just to make love but to talk to him, listen to him, watch the animation in his face.
