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f the zipper, and eased it up slowly over her chest to just under her chin.
“I don’t want you to catch a cold,” he whispered, and Camille trembled at his confident intimacy.
They sat in the sweet-smelling hay, huddled under blankets provided by the lodge. When everyone started singing, Camille smiled as his soft baritone caressed her and his warm breath fanned her cheek.
He put his arm around her and drew her closer to him, though their legs were already entwined for warmth. She was shocked when he unzipped her parka a few inches and put the hand that had been settled on her shoulder inside and rested it against the base of her throat. Her pulse began to race when his fingers played along her collarbone and stroked her neck. When she glanced up at him timidly, he only smiled and leaned forward to kiss her lightly on the forehead.
Snow was just beginning to fall when the wagon returned to the lodge. Zack lifted her down, and Camille started up the steps of the building. His fingers wrapped around her elbow and he gently pulled her back.
“I can make a mean cup of cappuccino. Would you come to my room and share one with me? Please?”
His voice was compelling, his smile tender, and Camille exercised no resistance against the combination of them, though alarm bells were sounding warnings in her brain. She nodded mutely and linked her arm in his. They strolled down the icy paths of the compound to another group of buildings. These were the condominiums, and Zack explained that a friend of his owned one and had lent it to him. He unlocked the door to one of the units and they stepped inside. The room was distinctly masculine. Rough, wide beams were exposed across the tall, sloping ceiling. At one side of the room a large picture window opened upon a vista of the mountains. A small kitchen was behind louvered doors, and Camille reasoned that the other door led to the bathroom. A stone fireplace took up another wall and directly opposite it was a king-sized bed with a suede bedspread thrown across it.
To cover her nervousness Camille remarked, “This is apparently the high-rent district. My room in the lodge is nice, but nothing like this.”
He helped her out of her parka and laid it in a chair. “Yes. My friend doesn’t have any money problems. I doubt if he’s been here more than a couple of times. Go sit by the fire and I’ll make our drinks.”
He went whistling into the kitchen. He seemed accustomed to being alone with a woman in what was little more than a glamorous bedroom. Camille crossed to the window and studied the landscape, listening to him clattering utensils in the kitchen.
“It’s snowing harder. I’m glad it held off until after the hayride.” Unconsciously, she drew the cord that closed the drapes.
He tried to suppress a smile at her action as he came back carrying two steaming mugs. She felt like a ninny. Shutting the drapes indeed! Would he think she was desiring privacy from the outside world? Was she?
He drew her down beside him on the rug before the fire and removed her damp boots, massaging her toes back to life before he pulled off his own boots and stretched his feet toward the fire.
They chatted about inconsequential things and laughed at one man on the hayride who couldn’t carry a tune, but sang louder than anyone and kept getting everyone else confused.
When they finished their cappuccino, and the trivial conversation used to soothe the mounting tension between them ceased, he took her cup and set it aside with his. He faced her and slid both hands behind her neck, drawing her face to his.
The lips that met hers were warm and persuasive, moving over hers with a developed technique, tenderly demanding that she respond. When her tongue first touched his, an electric current shot through her and she wrapped her arms around his back. She had fantasized kissing him, but she wasn’t prepared for the impact his embrace had on her. The kiss was tender, but masterful. She didn’t feel plundered, but rather discovered.
Hot, fervent kisses traveled over her face and neck and she never knew how he managed to divest her of her sweater. He gazed derisively at the glossy fabric of her sheer brassiere, which made her breasts look more naked than if they had been bare.
“That’s not doing much good, is it?” he chuckled as he unclasped the front fastener.
His hands knew what they were about and stirred her in a way that none of the aggravating, schoolboy fumblings of other men had done. He buried his face between her breasts and murmured, “Camille. Camille, you’re so sweet. And beautiful. And I want to make love to you.”
Had she agreed with a nod or had she spoken or had he considered a long silence her acquiescence? She didn’t remember. He carried her to the bed and threw back the suede spread. She must have removed her jeans when he turned his back to remove his own clothing, for the next thing she knew they were lying together naked under the smooth sheets. His body was beautiful. The firelight danced around the room and bathed the hair on his chest, arms, and legs with a golden light.
“Camille,” he breathed, stroking her breasts. He fastened his mouth to hers and she was powerless to do anything but meet his passion. His lovemaking was tender and fierce. He carried her with him on a passionate quest and when the culmination came, Camille’s preconceived notions of how it would be diminished with the splendor of the actuality.
When he finally pushed away from her, he brushed the damp curls from her temples and searched her amber eyes. “You should have told me, Camille. I’m sorry.”
She lay languidly in his arms, enjoying the steady beat of his heart under her ear. “Are you?” she whispered.
“No,” he laughed softly. But he pulled her closer, stroking her body gently as he buried his face in her hair. “Why didn’t you say something?”
She raised herself up and looked at him incredulously. “Well, it isn’t something you just drop into a casual conversation. ‘Isn’t it a lovely day? Oh, by the way, I’ve never been to bed with a man before.’ What would you have done if I’d said that?”
“Probably what I did anyway.” He dropped his eyes to her breasts. “I couldn’t have resisted you.” He kissed her again deeply, then turned her on her side and placed her back against his chest and stomach. “Go to sleep.” He nuzzled her ear and laid his head down beside hers on the same pillow.
Camille never slept that night. She listened to his even breathing and knew that he slept, but she was too excited to sleep. His warm breath stirred her hair. His hand rested possessively on her hip. She felt warm, relaxed, and secure. At home. At peace. Fulfilled.
As inexperienced as she was, she had been gratified to hear his small cries of pleasure. She had pleased him.
Something about those words grated on her as an unwelcome thought bounced around her brain. Was that all it had been to him? A pleasure trip? All the signs pointed to the fact that he was skilled in the art of lovemaking. He probably had to fight women off. Camille now realized that she had certainly offered him no resistance. She had come willingly into his arms, his bed! Then she began to count all the things she knew about him. Nothing! Nothing except his name and that he had a wealthy friend who owned this bed she was sharing so wantonly. He hadn’t plagued her with a multitude of questions about herself either. He didn’t want to know. He didn’t care! He had shared a few fun days and one night with a woman ten years his junior whose inexperience must have been a novelty to him. Camille felt dirty and ashamed. His loving had been tender and gentle, and seemingly genuine, but she was sure that was part of his game plan to woo her.
She shivered at another horrifying thought. Pregnancy! My God! She didn’t take pills or use any other contraceptives and he hadn’t either. What if, even now, she was carrying this stranger’s baby!
