Nora Roberts - Dance Upon the Air

She vibrated beneath him, a volcano on the brink of erupting. Flashes of white-hot heat, curls of keen-edged longing raced through her system until she was raw and ready.

She arched under him, more demand than offer, her nails biting restlessly into his back. The world was spinning, faster and faster, as if she'd leaped upon some mad carousel and all that kept her earthbound was the glorious weight of his body on hers.

"Right now." She gripped his hips, opened for him. "Right now!"

He plunged, letting his body take over, letting his mind go. There was nothing but the relentless fury to mate. She closed around him, a hot, wet fist, and he felt her tighten, stretching like a bow beneath him before she let out a cry that rang with triumph.

Her climax ripped through him like madness.

Pleasure geysered through her, flooding senses, swamping reason. Flying free, she wrapped herself around him, clinging tight to take him with her.

And with her sheer joy, drove him over the edge.

His ears were ringing. Or maybe it was just the sound of his heart banging against his ribs like a fist on piano keys. Either way, he couldn't get his mind clear or his body to move. He'd have worried about temporary paralysis if he could've worked up the energy to worry about anything.

"Okay," he managed and breathed in. "All right." And out again. "I guess I tripped."

"Me, too." She was flattened under him, in the perfect position to nuzzle at his throat.

"Did you get banged up anywhere?"

"No. You broke my fall." She gave the strong line of that throat a little scrape with her teeth. "Such a hero."

"Yeah. You bet."

"I rushed you. I hope you don't mind."

"It's a little hard to complain just at the moment." He found the energy to roll over, dragging her with him so she was cushioned against him. "But I'm hoping you'll give me a chance to show off my style and finesse."

She lifted her head, shook her hair back, and just grinned down at him.

"What?"

"I was just thinking how much I like your style. Every time I caught a glimpse of you tonight during the party, I just wanted to lick my lips. Big, handsome Sheriff Todd standing around in a suit he wished he didn't have to wear, nursing one lonely beer all evening so he could drive people home safe, and watching me with those patient green eyes until I was so turned on I'd have to go back to the kitchen just to calm down again."

"Is that right?" He ran his hands down her arms, amused when he hit the cuffs of her shirt. Carefully he began to unbutton them. "Do you know what I was thinking when I was watching you?"

"Not exactly."

"I was thinking how you looked like a dancer, all grace and competence. And I tried not to think what you might have on under that starched white shirt and sexy little vest."

Once he'd freed her wrists, he ran his hands back up her arms. "You've got such a fine, streamlined shape to you, Nell. It's been driving me crazy for weeks."

"I don't know how to explain how it makes me feel to know that. To feel steady enough to want that." She threw her head back, her arms up. "Oh, God! I feel so alive. I don't want it ever to stop."

She leaned down again, kissed him hard, then scrambled to her feet. "I want that champagne. I want to get drunk and make love with you all night."

"I can get behind that idea." He sat up, then his eyes widened as she pulled open the door. "What" re you doing?"

"Getting the champagne out of the car."

"Let me get my pants on, and I'll get it. Nell!" Stupefied, he sprang to his feet as she raced outside, naked as a jaybird. "Well, for God's sake!" He grabbed his pants, carrying them with him to the doorway. "Get back in here before I have to haul you in for indecent exposure."

"There's nobody to see." It felt fabulous, and exactly right to stand naked in the cool night air, to feel it caress the skin so recently heated by passion. With the grass tickling her feet, she threw her arms out to the side and turned in circles. "Come on out, it's a beautiful night. Moon and stars and the sound of the sea."

She looked impossibly alluring, the gold of her hair silvered by starlight, her milky skin shimmering with it, and her face lifted to the sky.

Then her gaze met his across the little patch of lawn with a power so intense it stole his breath. For a moment he would have sworn the whole of her sparkled.

"There's something in the air here," she said, turning her hands up, palms cupped as if she could catch the breath of the night. "I feel it inside me, beating like a pulse. And when I feel that, it seems I could do anything."

With her palm still cupped, she held out her hand to him. "Will you come kiss me in the moonlight?"

He couldn't resist, and didn't try, but walked to her, took her outstretched hand. With the sky sprinkling light over them, he lowered his mouth to hers in a kiss that warmed rather than burned.

The tenderness of it crept into her heart. When he lifted her into his arms, she cradled her head on his shoulder, knowing she was safe and welcome there.

He carried her inside, through the little cottage and to the old bed that shifted quietly under their weight.

Later, he told himself as he lost himself in her, he would think about how he felt to find himself falling in love with a witch.

She awoke before dawn from one of the snatches of sleep they'd allowed each other. She felt his warmth, and his weight. The ease of it, the sheer and steady normality of him, was both comfort and arousal.

She drew his face for herself in her mind, feature by feature. When she had it complete, she held it there as she slipped out of bed to start her day.

She showered, dressed in shorts and a sleeveless shirt. Quietly, she picked up the clothes they'd scattered in the living room and all but floated into the kitchen.

She'd never experienced desire like that before, not the kind that sprang like an animal inside you and swallowed you whole.

She hoped to have the experience again.

And the tenderness that had come later, the insatiable thirst for more, the dark, breathless groping. All of it.

Nell Channing had a lover. And he was sleeping in her bed.

He wanted her, and that was a thrill. He wanted her for who she was, and not who he could mold her to be. And that was a balm.

Blissful, she brewed coffee, and while its scent perfumed the air she worked up a dough for cinnamon buns, another for bread. While she worked she sang to herself and watched the new day put roses in the sky.

Once her garden was watered, and she'd sipped at her first cup of coffee, she slid a batch of buns into the oven. With her mug in one hand, a pencil in the other, she began to toy with her menu for the coming week.

"What're you doing?"

She jumped like a rabbit at the sleep-roughened sound of his voice, and the coffee slopped over onto the paper. "Did I wake you? I'm sorry. I tried to be quiet."

He held up a hand. "Nell, don't do that. It pisses me off." His voice was thick with sleep, and despite herself dread curled in her stomach as he stepped toward her.

"There's one thing I'm going to ask you." He picked up her mug, drank to clear his mind and voice. "Don't ever mix me up with him. If you'd waked me up and it annoyed me, I would say so. But the fact is I woke up because you weren't there and I missed you."

"Some habits are hard to break, no matter how much you try."

"Well, keep trying." He said it lightly, moved over to the stove to pour a full mug for himself. "You got something baking already?" He sniffed the air. "Mother of God." He breathed it, reverently. "Cinnamon buns?"

Her dimples flickered. "And if they are?"

"I'll be your slave."