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“Wait a minute—slow down. What the devil are you talking about?” she asked, her arms still encircling his neck. When she pulled her head away from his shoulder in order to study the anxious lines of his face, she could read nothing but worry in his gaze.
Trevor noticed the confusion in the mysterious sea-green depths of her eyes as he carried her into the den. He shook his head as if to knock out the cobwebs that had gathered in his mind from too many nights without sleep and too many bottles of alcohol to deaden his nerves.
“Not now,” he whispered as he placed her on the plushly carpeted floor before the fire. Passion darkened his eyes as he brushed a strand of dark hair from her face and gazed down upon her. His finger traced the length of her jaw, pausing slightly at the pout on her lips. “Tonight you and I are going to forget about all the craziness between our families, all the lies, and all the betrayals. Tonight, we’re going to concentrate on each other, just as if the slate were clean.”
Her fingers grabbed hold of his wrist, effectively halting the assault on her senses from the sensual touch of his hands. Her words came out in a ragged whisper. “You act as if you expected me to show up here tonight.”
His shoulders drooped from an invisible burden and he looked away from the elegant contours of her face to stare into the fire. Drawing his bent legs to his chest, he placed his folded arms over his knees and stared at the scarlet embers of the dying fire. “I didn’t think I’d ever see you again,” he admitted reluctantly. “I thought you were lost to me forever.”
“But why?”
“I almost lo
st you once before when you married another man.”
Ashley felt the burn of her betrayal in her chest. “You know that was a mistake, I told you so. Even Richard would admit it.” She touched Trevor gently on his arm, forcing him to turn and face her again. “Don’t you know I’ve never loved another man, not with the passion I’ve felt with you? I only married Richard because I didn’t think you wanted me, and I’ll never make that mistake again. It wasn’t fair to anyone. Not you, or Richard, or myself. In the past eight years I’ve learned a lot; one thing is that if you find something you want, I mean really want, you’ve got to hold on and never let go. I learned that from you, Trevor. That and so much more.”
Trevor buried his face in his hands. “I hope you know that I would never do anything to hurt you,” he said.
“I do.” She didn’t question him for a moment. She had come to him and found him raw and naked and vulnerable. For the first time in her life she knew that he cared, that he had always cared as much as he could allow himself.
“And the last thing I would want would be for you to be subjected to any kind of danger.”
“Of course—Trevor, why are you taiking like this?”
He turned to study her worried expression. Her fingers on his forearm moved slowly, soothingly against his skin. He swallowed against the uncomfortable lump which had formed in his throat and made speech impossible. “I love you,” he admitted, his eyes boring into hers.
The movement against his arm stopped abruptly and a sad smile touched the corners of Ashley’s mouth. How many years had she waited to hear just those words?
Trevor took her small fingers in his and touched each one to his lips. The moist warmth of his tongue as it slid seductively against her skin forced a tremor of longing to shake her body.
Blue eyes held her fast as his hands pushed her coat off her shoulder before straying to the top button of her blouse.
“I’m not going to let you go,” he promised as the first pearl fastener slid through sea-blue silk. “I’m going to keep you here, protect you, and you’ll never be able to get away from me again.” Another button was soon freed of its bond by the warm insistence of his finger.
Ashley’s breathing was rapid, coming in short little gasps, and her heartbeat thundered in her ears. Her breasts rose and fell as his hand slid lower, to the third button. “I’ve never wanted to get away from you, Trevor,” she rasped when her blouse parted and the firelight displayed the French lace of the camisole covering her breasts. His hands touched the silken fabric, and Ashley’s fingers wrapped around his wrist to forestall the attack on her senses. There were things she needed to know. Questions that had no answers.
“Why didn’t you call or come to me?” She looked up at the strained angles of the face, shadowed now in the fire’s glow. There was a weariness about him and the smile he rained on her was bitter, filled with agonized defeat.
“It’s better this way. I couldn’t take a chance of placing you in danger.”
Regardless of the passion smoldering in his midnight-blue gaze, the set of his jaw was grim and rigid. His shirt hung open and as he leaned over her, she noticed that the muscles of his chest were tense and strained. There was no bandage to swath his abdomen, but a jagged red scar sliced across the tanned skin, reminding her of the reason he had sought her out in the lonely mountains.
Lightly, her fingers traced the scar. Trevor sucked in his breath and closed his eyes, as if in pain.
“What’s with all this talk about danger?”
He paused a long moment and stared down at the vulnerable and beautiful woman lying on the carpet. Her mysterious eyes were heavy with seduction and the fine lace of her camisole couldn’t hide the twin points of her nipples straining against the flimsy cloth. “There’s nothing to worry about now,” he whispered, lowering his head to the inviting cleft between her breasts. “I’ll take care of you. . . .”
She felt the heat of his tongue slide against the lacy fabric as a slumbering desire began to awaken within her. She was lost in her love for this man. Seeing some of his pain and worry only intensified her yearning to be a part of him and his life.
His fingers twined in the ebony strands of her hair. He whispered words of love against the sensitive shell of her ear before his lips pressed against hers with the fire of too many nights of lonely restraint.
Passion parted her lips and she eagerly accepted the touch of his tongue against hers. Her hands pushed his shirt off his shoulders, lingering over the smooth, hard muscles of his upper arms as the cotton garment slid silently to the floor.
“Make love to me,” he murmured when her hands touched his belt and hesitated at the buckle. He rubbed against her, making her achingly aware of the urgency of his desire stretching the faded denim of his jeans.
She moaned in response and slowly removed his pants, letting her fingers slide in a familiar caress down the length of his lean thighs and calves. The corded muscles tensed at her gentle touch, and when her fingers slid against the tender arch of his foot, he began to shake from the restraint he placed upon himself.
