Heather Graham - Protector, Lover...Husband?

“Whatever you wish.” He released her. The minute he did, she lost her towel.

She turned to face him, deciding not to make a desperate grab for it. Standing as casual and tall as she could, she shook her head. “That was a rather childish trick.”

“It wasn’t a trick. I let you go and your towel fell off. Not my fault.”

“Well, thank God you still have yours.”

He grinned and dropped his towel. And his smile, as well.

For a moment he stood there, watching her, with no apology at all for the visible extent of his arousal.

He took a step toward her, reaching for her, pulling her into his arms, hard and flush against his length. She knew, though, that if she protested with even a word or a gesture, he would let her go again.

She meant to say…something.

But she didn’t. His fingers brushed her chin, lifting her face, tilting her head. Neither of them spoke. His eyes searched hers for a moment; then his mouth met her lips with an onslaught that was forceful, staggering. It took only the touch of his lips, the thrust of his tongue, the simple vibrant crush of his body, and she felt the stirring of sexual tension within her so deeply that she thought she would scream. If he had lowered her to the tile floor then and there, she wouldn’t have thought of denial.

But he did no such thing. His lips and tongue met hers with a flattering urgency, and his hands moved down the length of her back, fingers brushing slowly, until they had cleared the base of her spine, curved around her buttocks and pressed her closer still. She felt the hard crush of his erection against her inner thighs, equal parts threat and promise, a pulsing within, creating a swirl of pure sensuality that possessed some core within her. Weakened, shaking, she clung to him, still intoxicated by the movements of his lips, teeth and tongue.

And his hands, of course, pressing, caressing…

She drew away as his lips broke from hers. She needed to say something. Married or not, they shouldn’t be here now. She had moved on. For the first time she had felt chemistry with another man. With…

She couldn’t even recall his name.

David’s mouth had broken from hers, only to settle on her collarbone, where his tongue drew heated circles, then move lower.

“David,” she breathed. He didn’t answer, because the fiery warmth of his caress had traveled to the valley between her breasts, and with each brush of flesh, she felt the need for the teasing to stop, for his lips to settle, for his body to…

“David…”

Her fingers were digging into his shoulder then. His tongue bathed her flesh, erasing any little drops that remained from her shower. Everywhere a slow, languid, perhaps even studied caress, everywhere, until those areas he did not touch burned with aching anticipation. Her abdomen was laved, thighs caressed, hips, the hollows behind her knees, her thighs…close…closer…

“David…”

“What?” he murmured at last, rising to his full height, still flush against her, yet meeting her eyes. “Don’t tell me to stop,” he said, gaze dark and volatile, “Alex, don’t tell me to stop.”

“I—I wasn’t going to,” she stuttered.

He arched an eyebrow.

“I was going to tell you that I couldn’t stand, that…I was about to fall.”

“Ah,” he murmured, watching her for the longest moment as heat and cold seared through her, heat that he held her still, cold, the fear that had come before, that he would leave her, that her life, like her body, would be empty.

“I—I don’t think I can stand,” she said, swallowing, lashes falling.

“You don’t need to,” he said, and he swept her up, his arms firm and strong, his eyes a shade of cobalt so dark they might have been pure ebony. He moved the few steps through the hall, eyes upon her all the while, pressed open the bedroom door and carried her in. And still he watched her, and in the long gaze he gave her, she felt the stirring in her quicken to a deeper hunger, urgency, desperation. It was almost as if he could physically stroke her with that gaze, touch every erogenous zone, reach inside her, caress her very essence.

She breathed his name again. “David.”

At last he set her down, and though she longed just to circle her arms around him, feel him inside her, he had no such quick intent. He captured her mouth again, kissed her with a hot, openmouthed passion that left her breathless. And while she sought air in the wake of his tempest, he moved against her again, mouth capturing her breasts, tending to each with fierce urgency. She felt the hardness of her own nipples, felt them peaking against his mouth and tongue, and then the cold of the air struck them and brought shivers as he moved his body against hers. This time he didn’t tease, but parted her thighs and used his mouth to make love to her with a shocking, vital intimacy, until she no longer arched and whispered his name, but writhed with abandon and desperation, unable to get close enough, unable to free herself, ravenous for more and more.

Sweet familiarity. He knew her. Knew how to make love to her. Time had taught him to play her flesh and soul, and he gave no quarter, ignored the hammering in his own head, the frantic pulse in his blood, a drumbeat she could feel against her limbs. She cried out at last, stunned, swept away, crashing upon a wave of physical ecstasy so sweet it left her breathless once again, almost numb, the beat of her own heart loud in ears. But before she could drift magically back down to the plane of real existence, he was with her, as she had craved, body thrusting into hers, their limbs entangled. The roller coaster began a fierce climb once again, driving upward with a frenetic volatility that made all the world disappear and, in time, explode once again in a sea of sheer sensual splendor, so violent in its power that she saw nothing but black, then stars…then, at last, the bedroom again, and the man still wrapping her with his arms. Shudders continued to ripple through her, little after currents of electricity, and as they brought her downward, she couldn’t help but marvel at the sheer sexual prowess of the man and the almost painful chemistry they shared.

He rose up on his elbow, slightly above her, and used his free hand to smooth a straying lock of damp hair from her face. She was startled to see the tension that remained in his eyes as he studied her. And she was more startled still by the husky tone in his voice when he suddenly demanded, “Why?”

“Why?” she repeated.

“Why did you do it? You didn’t call…you didn’t write. You sent divorce papers.”

She stared back at him. Why?

Because I couldn’t bear the thought of you having this with any other woman—ever. Because I was losing you. Losing myself. I was happy at your side, but I needed my own world, as well. And I was sure that one day you would realize I wasn’t the kind of woman you could spend forever with.

She didn’t speak the words. It wasn’t the time. She was far too off balance. She moistened her lips, desperately seeking for something to say.

“Sex doesn’t make a marriage,” she managed at last. He frowned slightly, staring at her still.

She pushed him away from her. “David…you’re heavy,” she said, though it wasn’t true.

But he shifted off her. She rose and sped into her bathroom, where she just closed the door and stood there, shivering. Finally she turned the shower on and stepped beneath it. If they had really still been married, he would have followed her. He could do absolutely incredible things with a soap bar in his hands, with suds, with water, with teasing, laughing, growing serious all over again, heated…

He didn’t follow her. She didn’t know how long she stayed in the shower, but when she emerged, he had left her bedroom.