Chesapeake Blue
Page 70

She wore a strapless bra and a garter of champagne lace, sheer, sheer hose and high silver heels. When he turned her, looked at her, his fingers dug into her shoulders.
She was quivering now, her skin flushed and damp. And that power, that knowledge were in her eyes.
"Take me to bed."
"No." He molded her br**sts. "I'm going to take you here." Then his hands were on her hips, lifting her up, bringing her to him. He ravaged her mouth while he took his hands on an impatient journey over lace and flesh and silk. While his blood pounded, he ran the same hot trail with his mouth.
He wanted to eat her alive, to feed on her until this grinding hunger was finally sated. He wanted to lose his mind so he could think of nothing but this driving primal need.
The delicacy of her skin only made him mad to possess it. Her fresh female scent only stirred feral appetites.
When she exploded against him, he knew only a bright and burning triumph. She dragged at his jacket, her fingers fumbling in her rush, her choked cries muffled against his mouth. Dizzy, desperate, she yanked at his tie.
"Please." She no longer cared that she was reduced to begging. "Please. Hurry." He was still half dressed when he pulled her to the floor. And she was arching up in demand when he drove himself into her.
Her nails raked over his shirt, under it to dig into flesh gone hot and damp. Racing with him now, she met him thrust for frantic thrust.
Their breath in rags, their hearts slamming to the same primal beat, they surrendered to the frenzy. Rider and ridden, they plunged off the edge together.
She lay spent, and used, and blissful on the bare, polished floor with the light from her prized Tiffany lamp spreading jewels in the air. As the pounding of blood in her ears faded, she could hear the night sounds coming through her open windows.
The water, the lazy call of an owl, the song of insects.
The heat still pumped from him, and spread through her like a drug. She rubbed her foot indolently against his ankle.
"Seth?"
"Hmm."
"I never thought I'd hear myself say this, but I'm so very glad we went to that tedious, irritating party tonight. In fact, if they put you in this kind of mood, I think we should go to one at least once a week." He turned his head, saw the bright pool of red on the floor. "I'll pay to have your dress fixed."
"Okay, but it might be awkward to explain the damage to a tailor." He came from violence, he thought. He knew how to control it, channel it. He recognized the difference between passions and punishments. He knew sex could be mean, just as he knew what had just happened between them was a world away from what he'd known and seen during the first years of his life. And still…
"There's a lot you don't know about me, Dru."
"I imagine there's a lot we don't know about each other yet. We've both been with other people, Seth. We're not children. But I know I've never felt like this about anyone else. And for the first time in my life, I don't seem to need to plan every detail, to know every option. That's… liberating for me. I like discovering who you are, who I am. Who we are together."
She stroked her fingers through his hair. "Who we will be together. For me, it's a wonderful part of being in love. The discovery," she said as he lifted his head to look down at her. "The knowing there's time to discover more."
He was afraid time was the problem, and that it was running out. "You know what I'd like you to do now?" she asked him.
"What would you like me to do now?"
"Carry me up to bed." She hooked her arms around his neck. "Here's something you didn't know about me. I've always, secretly, of course, fantasized about having some strong, gorgeous man carry me up the stairs. It goes against my sense of intellect, but there you are."
"A secret romantic fantasy." Determined to have this one night of peace, he laid his lips lightly on hers.
"Very interesting. Let's see if I can fulfill that for you."
He rose, then glanced down at himself. "I'm going to lose the shirt first. It's a pretty silly image, some guy wearing nothing but a tuxedo shirt, carrying a naked woman upstairs."
"Good idea."
He dealt with the studs, the cuff links, then tossed the shirt over by her dress. He reached down for her; she reached up for him.
"How's it going so far?"
"Perfectly," she said, nuzzling his neck as he carried her toward the stairs. "Tell me something I don't know about you."
It broke his stride, but he shifted her and continued up the stairs. "I've been dreaming about my grandfather's wife. I never met her. She died before I came to Saint Chris."
"Really? What kind of dreams?"
"Very detailed, very clear dreams where we have long conversations. I used to listen to the guys talk about her and wish I'd gotten a chance to know her."
"I think that's lovely, and loving."
"The thing is, I don't think they're dreams. I think I'm having these conversations with her."
"You think that when you're dreaming?"
"No." He laid Dru on the bed, stretched out beside her, then drew her against his side. "I think that right now."
"Oh."
"That got you."
"I'm thinking." She shifted until her head rested comfortably in the nook of his neck. "You think they're some sort of visitation? That you're communicating with her spirit?"
"Something like that."
"What do you talk about?"
He hesitated, and evaded. "Family. Just family stuff. She told me things I didn't know, stuff that happened when my brothers were kids. Stuff that turned out to be true."
"Really?" She snuggled against him. "Then I suppose you'd better listen to her."
"THAT'S A smart woman you've got there," Stella commented.
They walked through the moist, heavy night air near the verge of Dru's river. The lamp in the living room window sent pretty colored light against the glass.
"She's got a strong, complicated brain. Everything about her's on the strong and complicated side."
"Strong's sexy," Stella said. "Don't you think she looks to you for the same? Strength of mind, of character, of heart? All the rest is just glands—not that there's anything wrong with glands. Makes the world go round."