Linda Howard - Sarah's Child

Sarah felt suffocated, suspended in time by his hard grip on her arms, his hot breath on her cheek, and his enraged face so close to hers. She wrenched away from him, her hands tightened into fists. She couldn’t hear about his intimacies with another woman, with any number of other women. She gave Rome a wild, desperate look, but he didn’t notice. With a groan, he sank to his knees on the floor, burying his face in his hands, and his shoulders shook.

There wasn’t enough oxygen in the room; she gasped at it, feeling her restricted lungs strain in an effort to drag enough air into her body. Her senses whirled, as if she might faint, but she didn’t. Somehow she found herself on her knees beside him, and she put her arms around him as she had longed to do so many times. Instantly his strong arms locked around her, holding her in a grip that threatened to crack all of her ribs. He buried his face against her soft breasts and cried, harsh sobs that tore out of his body in great shudders. Sarah held him, stroking his hair, letting him cry; he was entitled to it, and he’d gone for too long without letting someone else share in his grief. Her own face was wet, but she didn’t notice the hot tears that blurred her vision. All that mattered was him, and she rocked him gently back and forth, with no words, but only her presence to shield him from the bitter loneliness that had turned his heart into a winter land of desolation.

Gradually he quieted, and he moved closer to her, his hands moving up her back. She felt the deep breaths he was taking as they expanded his chest, then the warmth of the expelled air on her breasts. Her nipples tightened in automatic, shameful response, hidden beneath her silk shirt and lacy bra, and she clenched her fingers in his hair in a movement that was beyond her control.

He lifted his head, his eyes still damp, and the darkness of his pupils had become so total that there was no brown in them at all. He stared at her, then reached out and tenderly wiped the moisture from her cheeks with his thumb. “Sarah,” he said on a whispering sigh, and touched his mouth to hers.

She went still, all breath suspended in her body, as thousands of her prayers were answered in that light touch of his lips. Her hands moved to his shoulders, the nails digging into the layers of muscle that corded his frame. It was just a simple kiss of thanks, but the bottom dropped out of her stomach and the blood rushed from her head, so intense was the pleasure that assailed her. She sank against him, her soft body melding to his from shoulder to thigh, as they knelt there on the floor. Automatically he supported her, his hard arms around the female curves of her body, holding her to him.

He drew back and looked at her again, and now the expression in his eyes had sharpened to a look of glittering awareness. He was too much of a man not to recognize her feminine response. His gaze dropped to her tremulous, generous mouth, her lips softly parted, and instinct drove him to dip his head to drink from her sweetness again. This time there was nothing light about the touch of his lips; it was a kiss that was man-hungry and fiercely demanding. She gasped, and he thrust his tongue into her mouth with masculine need and command, an intimate kiss that almost shattered her with delight, and she whimpered softly into his mouth. His arms cradled her to him, his body controlling hers as he took her down to the floor.

Her senses reeled; it was so like the few forbidden dreams she’d had that she forgot where they were, forgot everything but the man who leaned over her, his mouth hot and tasting of passion. Her digging nails telegraphed her response to him, her body warming and arching to his, seeking the intoxicating heaviness of his weight.

There was no sense of time or location, nothing but the spiraling physical need that had flamed between them, unexpected and out of control. She felt his hands on her body, touching her breasts, dipping down beneath her skirt to rub her thighs and stroke intimately between them, wringing a wordless cry of need from her lips. No word of protest surfaced in her mind. She let him do as he wanted, mindless of everything but the delight his knowledgeable hands were bringing to her. He knew women, and his expertise made her wild. She offered her slim body for his delectation with no conscious thought of anything except how sweetly, hotly satisfying it was to be in his arms, to know his kisses and his caresses.

He surged to his feet, lifting her in his arms, her slight weight no trouble at all for his powerful muscles. In a few swift steps he was at the bed, lowering her onto it, coming down to join her with a low growl on his lips as he pulled her under him, spreading her legs with his and settling himself against her in a movement as natural and as basic as breathing.

Sarah clung to him, dizzy with the need he was arousing in her, her mouth tender and fervent under his. She’d loved him for so long, and at the moment she felt as if all of her wishes on falling stars were coming true. She was willing to let him do anything with her, and she knew what he wanted. She could feel the virile hardness of his body as he pressed against her. The layers of clothing between them were too much, unbearable barriers that kept their fevered flesh apart.

Then suddenly heaven ended. He stiffened on top of her, then rolled away and sat up on the edge of the bed, bending over to drop his head in his hands. “Damn you,” he said thickly, his voice full of disgust. “You’re supposed to be her friend, but you’re rolling with her husband, in her bed.”

Dazed, Sarah sat up and straightened her clothing, pushing her hair out of her eyes. She heard the accusation in his voice and found that she couldn’t get angry with him; she understood how guilty he was feeling, and how emotionally vulnerable he was after the emotional storm he’d just experienced. “I was her best friend,” she said shakily.

“You’re not acting like it!”

She slid off the bed, standing on wobbly legs. “We’re both upset,” she said to his bent head, and her voice was wobbly too. “We both went a little out of control. I loved Diane like a sister, and I miss her too.” She began to retreat, unable to stand there any longer, feeling as if she’d borne all she could for one night, and her tongue was out of control, babbling without her choosing the words she’d say. “There’s no need to feel guilty about it; there wasn’t anything really sexual about it. It was just that we were both so upset—”

He shot off the bed, his face wrathful. “Nothing sexual, hell! I was between your legs! Another minute, and we’d have been having sex! What would you have called it then? Would we have been `comforting’ each other? My God, you wouldn’t know sex if it bit you on the leg! You’re too much of an iceberg to know anything about men, or what they want!”

Sarah spun around, her face white, her green eyes stricken. Her generous mouth trembled. “I don’t deserve that,” she whispered, and bolted for the door, flying down the stairs before he realized that she was leaving. With a roar, he started after her.

“Sarah!” he yelled furiously, reaching the front door just as she turned the ignition key and started her little red fireball of a car, jerking it into gear and reversing out of the drive with the squeal of rubber on pavement. He stood in the doorway, watching the red glow of the taillights until they disappeared around the corner; then he slammed the door shut and cursed violently for several minutes. He noticed that she’d left the jacket to her suit, and he picked it up. Damn! How could he have said that to her? She was right; she hadn’t deserved it. He’d lashed out at her because of his own guilt, not just over what had happened that night, but over the years he’d spent looking at her and wanting to take her to bed, even though she was Diane’s best friend.