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“Yes.” He backed her against the vanity, his hands cupping her shoulders. His voice was rough, with the texture of wild honey. “I’m here, sugar. I’m right here.”
She made a little sound as he bent and touched his mouth to her throat. Oh, God. What was happening to her? Her bones were turning to liquid; her skin was flooding with heat.
His teeth nipped at the tender curve of her shoulder. She whimpered softly, and her hands came up and lay against his chest.
“Cade,” she said shakily, “Cade…”
Was that all she was capable of saying? Just his name, over and over? She caught her breath as his hands slid down her body, then slipped to the front of the towel where the knotted edges overlapped.
“I need to touch you,” he said, and she gasped as he put his hands under the towel and curved them against her thighs.
“Oh,” she whispered, “oh…”
Cade kissed her mouth, his lips sucking and biting hers.
“Do you want me to stop?” he said thickly.
Her gaze flew to his. His eyes were dark, so dark she felt as if she might drown and be lost in them.
“Angelica?” His hands rose, cupped her naked buttocks. “Shall I stop?”
She gave a little groan as she leaned into him. Her arm snaked around his neck; she lifted herself to him and put her open mouth against his.
She clung to him as he carried her into the bedroom, his lips hot against hers. He put her on the bed, then came down beside her, still holding her, still kissing her and devouring the sweet nectar of her mouth.
His hand moved over her, over the towel, following the curve of her breast, the sweet indentation of her waist, the rounding of her hip.
“Cade,” she whispered.
His eyes went to her face. She was watching him, her eyes wide and expectant. Her face was flushed, her mouth already soft and swollen by his, and he wondered, with one last, brief flash of sanity, if he would be able to keep from thrusting into her before he’d even explored the wonders of her body.
“Angelica.” He swallowed hard, took a deep breath. “I—I need you,” he whispered. “I want you so badly…”
With a groan, he fumbled at the knot that kept the towel together. His fingers felt numb and clumsy. They trembled with the nervousness of a schoolboy. And it was hard to draw breath into his lungs as he slowly spread the edges of the towel apart.
Everything that was happening might have been happening for the first time.
The breath sighed from his lungs as he looked at her. She was so beautiful. Her breasts were sweetly rounded, her nipples as pink and delicate as the petals of a rose. He lowered his head, kissing first one swollen tip and then the other, and her cries of pleasure were almost his undoing.
His hand slid to her waist, which was slender, then to her hips, which had surely been meant to fit the curve of his hands. Her belly was silken, her navel small and delicate. He longed to touch his tongue to it and taste its sweetness, but first, God, first he had to touch those copper curls that framed her femininity, he had to move his hand over that softness and into what lay beyond.
Angelica cried out as his fingers slid against her damp heat. She arched toward him, her hands clutching at his shoulders, her body trembling with desire.
Could she have dreamed it would be like this? The touch of his hands, the feel of his mouth, the scent of proud, conquering male. She was turning to flame in his arms, desperate for his final possession.
Possession? But how could she want that? It was a word she hated, a concept she abhorred.
“Angel,” Cade whispered, “my sweet Angel.”
He kissed her again, slowly and deeply, his tongue moving in her mouth as his fingers moved against her swollen flesh. She was panting now, she could feel her sweat mingling with his. She was a swirling, dizzying mix of emotions, need and desire and passion all mixed in with something more, something that transcended desire. She wanted to touch him, to be touched, but she wanted more, she wanted—she wanted…
He kissed her, and her thoughts broke into a thousand separate pieces.
“Yes,” she said against his mouth, “yes, please.”
Cade looked into her face. Her eyes were dark, the pupils so huge that her irises were visible only as a circular hint of emerald. She was writhing beneath him, begging him for release, but she was no more desperate than he. His muscles were so taut that he was trembling, but he would not hurry this moment. He wanted to pleasure her forever, touch her forever.
But then she moved, shifting her hips, and he knew he could wait no longer.
She watched through half-lowered lashes as he pulled off his clothing. Surely, her heart would break with the masculine beauty of him. Her gaze swept over the powerful shoulders and arms, the muscled chest, the narrow waist and hips that tapered into long, muscular legs. His shaft arrowed from its nest of soft dark curls, strong, unashamedly male, and incredibly exciting.
Angelica hesitated, then reached out and touched him.
Cade groaned and caught her hand in his.
“Don’t,” he said. “If you do…” He kissed her and moved between her thighs. “Angel,” he whispered, and when her eyes were hot on his, he lifted her to him and entered her with slow, sweet deliberation, savoring her tightness and her heat as her body welcomed his.
She cried out his name, and he began to move inside her, long, deep strokes that took her to the brink of release but never quite let her tumble over the edge. She could feel the cost of that taut control in his muscles as she clasped his shoulders, in the slick dampness that glazed his skin.
“Now,” she sobbed, “Cade, now, please…”
She arched off the bed as she cried out. Cade threw back his head and exploded within her, and Angelica felt herself shatter into thousands of bright, crystalline shards.
CHAPTER NINE
CADE rolled to his side, still holding Angelica tightly in the curve of his arm.
He could feel the muscles in his body slackening, letting go the last vestiges of the almost painfully elemental compulsion that had hammered him toward those last, frenzied moments of release. His racing heart began to slow; he became aware of the coolness of the air on his sweat-slicked skin, the slight abrasiveness of the blanket tangled beneath him…
… the softness and the sweetness of the woman lying in his arms.
He rose up on his elbow and gazed at her with wonder and admiration.
“Angel?” he whispered, but she didn’t answer. He smiled to himself. She had fallen asleep, and in his arms.
It was silly, but the realization made him feel special.
How beautiful she was. Her hair streamed across his pillow like ribbons of copper; her dark lashes were silken against her cheeks. Her mouth was reddened and softly swollen from his kisses, her face and breasts still bore the flush of passion.
And now she was his. Cade’s jaw tightened. Yes. She was his, he had branded her with his desire, and she would never, could never belong to any other man…
What the hell was the matter with him?
He slipped his arm from beneath her shoulders. She sighed and rolled away from him, but she didn’t waken. Carefully, he pushed the blankets aside, got to his feet and made his way to the bathroom. He stepped into the shower and turned on the water, letting it beat down full force and hot on his shoulders.
He wasn’t a man given to sentimentality, not even in the soft afterglow of sex, not even when the sex had been terrific—and he had to admit, this had been. Angelica had been so tight, she’d been so wild yet so innocent in his arms—for a moment, he’d almost thought she’d never been with a man before. And he’d almost wished—he’d wished…
“Dammit!” Cade shut off the water. He was being stupid. OK. The sex they’d shared had been great, better than any he’d ever known.
But sex was all it was. After a while, it would run its course.
It always did.
* * *
Angelica heard the shower
running and let out a sigh of relief.
She hadn’t been certain that she could fool Cade into thinking she was asleep, and if he’d tried to take her in his arms again, if he’d said one sweet, tender word…
She sighed and closed her eyes.
Who would have dreamed that making love was like this?
Until moments ago, she’d been a virgin. She knew that was almost laughable in today’s world, but to want to make love with a man you had to let yourself feel something. You had to want to share everything you were, everything you could be—and she had never felt that, never even understood it.
Why would any woman want to feel so exposed and vulnerable?
Now she knew that the reality was even worse. She felt more than exposed, more than vulnerable.
She felt terrified.
Part of her wanted to stay right here, waiting for Cade to come back to bed, take her in his arms and make love to her again.
And part of her wanted to get up and run for her life.
How could something so wonderful have left her feeling so confused? Minutes ago, she’d lain in Cade’s arms and burned at his touch. She’d shattered into a million pieces, yet become more than whole. But once the fires had dwindled and she’d drifted safely back to the tranquility of his embrace, she’d felt something else.
She’d felt secure and protected, as if he had given her not just his passion but his strength.
And that was nothing but insanity.
Wasn’t it?
How could there be security and protection when men made the rules?
Men didn’t shelter or protect, they smothered.
Just look how Cade had smothered her in the past twenty-four hours, turning her from an independent woman into—into…
She sat up and tunneled her fingers through her hair. How could she have let herself get so sloppily sentimental? Just because Cade was a good lover was no reason for her to become rhapsodic.
