is there, just like it was eleven years ago. Don't make me try to
explain it, because I can't. Lord only knows I didn't want to feel
anything for you!
You were the one who showed up uninvited, remember?"
He smiled dryly. "So you've told me."
"You bring back memories. Maybe what I need is to wipe out those
memories with new ones."
His smile turned wry. "You are using me."
When Chloe pushed herself up, his hands fell away. She was on her own,
as she had been all those years. And she knew what she wanted.
"Yes, I'm using you! I'm using you to show me that I can feel and live.
I'm using you to help me put the past to rest. You're right. I have to
do that. But don't you see," she ended on a note of pleading, "that
you're the only one who can help me?"
For long moments, silence was as thick in the air as the lingering heat
of passion. Finally Ross lifted a hand to her cheek. "I want to believe
it, Chloe. Want it bad."
"Then make love to me. You show me what love should be like."
With a low animal sound, he reached out and pulled her under him,
kissing her fiercely, erasing everything but the here and now. Chloe put
herself into his hands. Trusting him fully, she lost all inhibition and
returned his kiss with everything she had.
His lips moved on her neck, inching down into the dip of her dress.
"I've been wanting to do this all night," he whispered moments before
his mouth found the bottommost point. He kissed her there, wet,
openmouthed, then rose again. His mouth was ready when he cupped her
breasts and lifted them there.
Chloe sighed softly. She squeezed her eyes shut, buried her fingers in
his hair, and held him closer.
With excruciating slowness he drew back her bodice, freeing her breast
bit by bit. Her insides quivered when her nipple was bared. His breath
was hot, the air cool. Arching closer, she watched his tongue touch the
pebbled tip, circle it, touch it again.
"Ross!" she gasped, straining beneath him, needing more.
"Love is torment, Chloe. It's wanting and wanting and wanting until you
would do anything to get. Be patient."
She tried, but it was a torment, indeed, to watch him pull his shirt
from his pants and release every single last button. She bit her lip to
keep from reaching out to touch him. He could have been sculpted in clay
by a master, he was that beautiful, more beautiful even because he was
real. He was human, manly, alive.
Her patience was pushed even further when he drew her up, reached behind
to slide her zipper to her waist, then pulled her dress down, easing her
arms from their sleeves. Bare to the waist, she needed his touch, but
his eyes caressed her first. Her breasts swelled, begging to be cupped
and held.
"They're not the same," she whispered falteringly. "I was much younger
then."
A sound came from deep in his throat. It gave credence to his words.
"Maybe younger then, but better now." His eyes said it was true. With
trembling hands, he palmed her breasts with such soft, gentle motion
that she nearly cried out again.
Patience slipped slowly away. When she thought she'd seen the last of
it, Ross drew her to him, crushing her breasts against his chest in a
move that stole her breath.
He made another deep sound, this one very male, very satisfied. His
hands moved over her back, covering every inch of its smooth surface,
and Chloe followed his lead. Eyes closed, she savored the feel of him,
letting her palms play on his back, then drawing away to glory in his
chest. His nipples were as flat and hard as hers were raised and
swollen. His neck was as strong as hers was slender. His skin was as
tanned as hers was creamy. Their bodies were so different, but the light
in his eyes matched that in hers. She saw desire there. It was hot and
heavy.
Chloe could barely breathe, much less speak. She was as aroused as she
had ever been, and more with each touch of his fingers or tongue. The
beat of her heart skipped rapidly on, driving heated blood through her
veins. She was free. She was alive. She wanted to belong to Ross then
more than anything in the world.
Sensing her urgency, he pulled her up. As she stood, her dress slid past
her hips to form a pale blue circle on the floor. Aware of the
admiration in his eyes, she stepped out of it wearing nothing but a pair
of small silk panties.
When he held out his arms, she went to him and wrapped hers tightly
around his neck. Her breasts were crushed against his hairy chest. She
burned from within.
"Chloe ... Chloe ... Chloe.. ." he chanted softly, reminiscent of that
soft September breeze in New Hampshire. But she couldn't think back, not
with his fingers skimming her hips, then moving up her sides and around.
He was exquisitely tender. She felt cherished, desired, and loved, if
only for the night.
"Hurry." She arched against him, her body aflame with need. "Hurry."
Setting her back, he unbuckled his belt and undid his pants. His eyes
devoured her hungrily as he pushed everything off, then knelt to remove
her panties.
She was trembling with excitement when he dragged a cushion from the
sofa to the floor. He lowered himself and held out a hand, and for a
minute she couldn't move, couldn't take her eyes from his body. It was
perfect in every way, thoroughly masculine and fully aroused. Eleven
years ago she had been too shy to study him, but she wasn't now. He
seemed to stretch forever, one long limb connected to another by firm
sinew. Had she been an artist she would have drawn him. But she was only
a woman.
"Chloe?"
She took his hand and stretched out against him with a soft moan. He
felt wonderful against her. When she began to touch him, he sucked in a
breath.
"Oh, God," he whispered gruffly, "oh, God, that's it." His chest rose
and fell, lungs labored. "Feel it, princess?"
There were two kinds of feeling, the physical and the emotional. Chloe
experienced both. High on the fullness, she moved freely over his body.
Her fingers found delight with every touch, her heart satisfaction. She
reached his most electric parts as he reached for her.
"Now," she begged, desperate and demanding.
"Kiss me first," he murmured thickly. When she turned up her face, he
moved over her, slipping between her open thighs.
She cried into his mouth when he thrust forward. Anything she might have
remembered of the past was gone then, paling in the light of the
present. Her body exploded and flamed, burning hotter with each thrust
of his hips, with each progressively deeper penetration. She rose and
rose, straining higher, higher, until her body burst into spasms of
something akin to heaven.
She cried out again when she heard Ross's cry. She felt the tightness of
his muscles, the pumping of his hips, then, joy, a grand pulsing inside
her. He held her as tightly as she held him, and there was joy in that,
too.
For what seemed a glorious forever, they lay that way. Finally, his body
damp, he slid out to lie beside her. The night air was broken by ragged
breathing, both his and hers.
Chloe lay stunned. Then, suddenly and inexplicably, she was overcome.
Pressing her cheek against Ross's drumming heart, she began to cry. In a
frightened voice, he asked, "What, princess?"
"Just hold me. Hold me tight."
He gathered her to him as though she were the most precious thing in the
world, and held her while she cried. She couldn't explain why she did
it, and he didn't ask. He simply held her, stroked her back, whispered
sweet nothings of comfort and support against the top of her head.
Gradually her eyes dried and her pulse grew steadier. "I'm sorry. I
don't know what came over me."
"How do you feel now?"
"Better." She took a last jagged breath and rubbed her cheek against his
chest. "Satisfied." She thought about that and finally tipped up her
head. "I actually feel great. That was the most beautifull-" Her words
died when her throat constricted again.
Ross turned them so that they lay on their sides, facing one another. He
traced the slim lines of her cheek and jaw, then ran the tips of his
fingers down her neck to her collarbone.
Chloe felt a stirring inside. She must have looked startled, because he
laughed.
"Didn't think you could feel it again so soon?" When he slid a leg
between hers, she moved against it, but he didn't tease her. He was
suddenly serious. "It was beautiful, princess. Even more so than before.
I've lived all these years wondering whether I had imagined it. I tried
for it over and over. And here, in one shot, you've done it again, and
more."
"Not me. Us." She touched him lower.
He gasped. "You're gonna do it again," he said and kissed her.
This time was slower, more leisurely. Ross was the connoisseur, showing
Chloe how to tease and withhold, playing the martyr when she did. She
took delight in learning the nuances of holding, caressing, leading him
to the brink, staying there, and, incredibly, the force of the passion
was even greater. This time, when it was done, there were no tears. Eyes
closed, she nestled against him, replete and happy. She didn't have a
care in the world.
Oblivious to the steady rain that beat down on the roof of the house,
they slept. Their twined bodies offered warmth, the soft rug offered
comfort. It was nearly four in the morning when Ross gently woke her.
"Let's go upstairs," he whispered, kissing her ear.
Groggy and disoriented, she reached for him. "What is it?"
He was on his knees, gathering her into his arms. "Nothing. I just want
to take you to bed."
"You're not leaving?" Her arms tightened around his neck, but he
chuckled.
"I want to take you in bed-"
"Are you ... again?"
"Shhh. I want to be able to remember what your bed feels like, for all
those long lonely nights ahead," he drawled. He crossed the living room
and took the stairs with her in his arms and a minimum of effort. "I
want you to be haunted the same way," he added, less humorous now.
"You'll lie in your bed and remember the feel of me until you're ready
to burst."
Fully awakened, Chloe was warm all over. Her breast was snug to his
chest, her hip nestled against his naked belly. It was still night.
Under cover of darkness, she could do anything. Her lips turned
recklessly to his shoulder, her tongue moistening a spot, her teeth
leaving a mark.
"Heeeey! Watch that!" He put her down, letting her slide slowly over the
length of him. His hand stayed at the small of her back, pressing her
against a full erection. To Chloe's amazement, she was just as aroused.
Their lips met, open now and sure. There was no limit to this pleasure,
only the need for more and more.
"The bed," she croaked in haste, tearing herself away to pull back the
quilt. She fell onto the sheets with him, and there was a fury to this
union, a blend of yearning, fear, and unbridled greed. Morning was
coming. They couldn't get enough of each other. When they finally
climaxed and collapsed, their bodies were slick and exhausted. Again
they slept.
When Chloe opened her eyes next, it was to the gray light of a soggy
morning and, more brightly, to Ross. His dark hair was disheveled. He
was staring down at her.
Breaking into a smile, he said, "I wanted to see if it would work."
"See if what would work?"
"If I could wake you up by willing it. I've been sending brain waves."
"Brain waves didn't wake me." She yawned. "I'd have woken anyway."
He stretched and grimaced. "I feel well used."
"That's one way to put it," she said, but she was thinking ahead. How
not to? Morning was here.
She rolled away, but he rolled her right back and held her in place with
an arm on either side. "Don't. After last night you can't turn away."
"Can't?"
"Won't. Let's talk," he said gently and sat up. His eyes wandered to her
hair, which was spread on the pillow, then the sheets, which bunched at
her navel. He looked at everything in between as though it were
priceless. At last, in a deep voice, he said, "I love you, Chloe."
She reached to cover his mouth, not ready for that, but he caught her
hand and pinned it to the pillow. Leaning down, he gave her a long,
silencing kiss. When his mouth left hers again, he said, "I love you and
want to marry you."
She shook her head.
"I do," he insisted.
Her heart ached. She wasn't ready, wasn't ready at all. "Last night we
made love. Saying 'i love you' is something else entirely."
Ross didn't budge. "Argue as much as you want, but you won't change
this. I love you. I wish I could say that I loved you eleven years
ago-it would all sound romantic. I wanted you then. I knew that there
was something in you-deep in you-that intrigued me. But I didn't get to
know you. A few hours is too short a time."
"It's hardly been much more than that now," she protested.
"It's been more than two weeks."
"It's been less than two days."
"Tell me you didn't think of me."
She recalled those long hours after New Hampshire. "I can't. I thought
of you. But in order to love a person you have to spend time with that
person."
"You're clutching at straws. I love you. If you were honest with
yourself, you'd tell me that you love me, too."
That was what she feared most. There was no place in her life for that
kind of love. "You don't know what I feel."
