Desire's Edge (33 page)
She stared out at the sky, which was cloudless, filled with stars.
How was it that she could have this? Could she trust it? She’d never really had love before. Never let herself feel it. She didn’t know what to expect.
“Hey.” His voice was rough, sleepy. “I can hear you thinking.”
She was quiet a moment. She didn’t know how to share this with him, if it was something they could talk out.
“Can I just . . . think about it for a bit?”
“Hmm . . . only if you feed me. I’m starved.”
“Me, too.” It was the first time she’d been hungry in days. But suddenly she was ravenous.
“Do you have eggs?” Dante asked. “I can make us an omelet.”
“Really?”
“I’m the cook here, remember?”
“Yes, I remember. And I knew it wasn’t me. I think I do have eggs. And maybe some cheese.”
“That’s all I need. Come on.”
He got up and lifted her from the bed, and she smiled as she pulled her discarded robe back on, as he slipped back into his slacks. The air was a little cool, but he didn’t bother with his shirt, leaving his torso bare. Leaving her to admire, as she had so often before, his broad shoulders, his muscular chest and arms, the tight six-pack of his stomach.
They went into her small kitchen, and she pulled out the ingredients while he rummaged in her cupboards until he found a pan. It took him only a few minutes to whip the omelet up; then they sat at her kitchen table to eat, talking, or chewing quietly together. It was companionable. Comfortable.
Again she had to ask herself if she could really have this. This easy companionship. And the thrilling flutter beneath it that made her cheeks heat to even look at him. It was the strangest combination. Wonderful. Amazing.
Frightening.
She put her fork down, drew in a long breath.
“What’s up, baby? You done eating?” Dante asked her.
She said quietly, “I’m still . . . a little afraid. Aren’t you afraid, Dante?”
He set his fork down, caught her gaze with his. The honesty she found there was as dazzling as the sex was, making her breath catch.
“I’m scared to death,” he admitted. “But I don’t want to let fear control me. I can’t let it win. I won’t do it. That’s why I’m here with you. What are we doing here if we’re not willing to be afraid and do it anyway?”
Tears stung her eyes. “And you said I was the strong one. It’s not true.”
“It is. I see it in you, Kara. I always have. Being afraid doesn’t mean you’re not strong. It just means you’re human. Maybe we won’t be great at this relationship thing. I probably won’t be. You know that, right?”
She had to laugh. “Yes. But I probably won’t be, either.”
“Okay. So we’re two fallible human beings. Coming together because we love each other.” He moved closer. “I love you, Kara. That’s enough for me. I hope it is for you, too.”
She reached across the table, and he met her halfway, taking her hand in his. His grasp was warm. Reassuring.
“It is, Dante. I love you, and it
is
enough. I have to trust it. But I’m still learning.”
is
enough. I have to trust it. But I’m still learning.”
“Me, too. We can learn together. I can’t imagine doing it any other way.”
“Neither can I. I don’t want to be alone anymore. I don’t want to let my fears dictate what I do, either. How I allow myself to feel. I just want to feel it. And . . . I want to paint again. I’m not giving up law. But I’ve started to draw recently and I think it’s time for me to paint.”
“That’s great.” He was smiling at her, pride shining through his whiskey gaze, his big, warm hand grasping hers.
“The painting is part of it. This transformation. And another part is work . . . I think we need to go to the partners and tell them we’re together.”
“Yes, absolutely, we’ll tell them. And they’ll deal with it. There’s nothing we need to hide anymore. This is the real thing, not some scandalous affair. All that’s changed.”
“It has. Us. Me. So much has changed in my head. The painting is only a symptom of that. A good one.” She smiled. “But it all started with you. I’ve had enough of the fear. It might still be there, but I want to be the one in charge of my life. And I want to be with you, Dante. I love you,” she told him again. She wasn’t sure she could ever tell him enough.
“My beautiful girl,” he murmured, pulling her closer.
He kissed her, and in that kiss she felt his love, deep down in her soul. She knew he would help her through this. That they would help each other. That
this
was how it was supposed to be.
this
was how it was supposed to be.
She melted into his kiss, the heat and the urgency returning with a force she couldn’t deny, couldn’t fight. She didn’t want to anymore. That last instinct to flee was gone. Dissolved in love.
He moaned, pulling on her hands until he had her in his lap. He kissed her harder. His tongue, the press of his erection underneath her making her heat all over, that lovely, seeping heat that was desire and love all mixed together.
Dante pulled back. “Baby, I need to be with you in the shower. You know how I love that. And with you . . . it has to be with you.”
Somehow they moved through her apartment and into her small bathroom. He let her go long enough to turn the hot water on.
“Don’t move,” he told her. “I’ll be right back.”
He returned a few moments later with a string of condoms in his hand and a small smile on his face. He moved in and kissed her again, softly, as he slipped her robe from her shoulders, stepped out of his slacks.
The steam was building around them, like some gentle blanket as they stepped into the shower.
He wrapped his hands around her waist, moving her under the water. Kissed her throat as the warm water ran over her hair, her body. And then he took her bottle of liquid soap and carefully washed her all over. His hands were slick, impossibly gentle, as they slipped over her skin. They moved to her breasts, and the hunger was like the steam surrounding them: that gentle, that lovely. His fingers drew circles around her nipples, and they went hard, harder. But the need was a whispering ache, urgent, yet sweet.
She couldn’t take her eyes off his hands as he moved them lower, over her thighs, then between them.
“Oh, Dante . . .”
His soap-slicked finger slipped over her cleft, caressing the swollen lips of her sex, and she parted her thighs for him. He massaged her there, sliding up over her clitoris, then back down. Over and over until she was on the edge of climax.
He stopped. Reached behind her for the shower wand and rinsed her off as carefully as he’d soaped her. At last, he moved the spray of hot water between her thighs. The gentle beat of it hit her clit, and he held it there with one hand, while with the other he pulled her body in close. His mouth closed over hers, and as she came she moaned her pleasure against his lips.
She was still shivering with it when he sheathed himself and, wrapping one of her legs around his waist, slid into her.
“Dante,” she panted, his thick cock moving inside her, taking her up to that peak once more. Pleasure was dizzying. Blissful. Transcendent, having him inside her body, and knowing he loved her. Feeling it so keenly she couldn’t doubt it. Feeling it to her core. “I’ve never felt this before . . . this . . . God . . .”
He arched his hips, driving deeper. “I know, baby. I know exactly what you mean. It’s so good, loving you like this. You’re so good for me, Kara.” He kissed her, pressing his lips to hers over and over. “We’re good together, baby. My beautiful girl.”
It was true. She knew it. And every moment with him, the fear grew smaller and smaller, until it faded away. As the sheer pleasure of being with the man she loved, who loved her back, grew inside her, spiraled, she realized that it was truly gone.
“I love you, Dante,” she whispered to him as her body began that lovely explosion, like all the stars in the night sky lighting up deep inside her. Lighting her up with pleasure. With love.
“I love you, my girl.
My
girl.”
My
girl.”
She belonged to him. Truly. Completely. Finally, she knew love. She knew what it was to let it cradle her, keeping her heart safe. Safe at last, with Dante.
Keep reading for a preview of
Tempt Me
by R. G . Alexander
Available November 2011 from Heat Books.
“Care for another, angel?”
Gabriel nodded at the bartender, ignoring the blatant invitation in her eyes.
Angel
. His smile was rich with self-mockery. If he’d ever been one, he’d fallen long ago.
. His smile was rich with self-mockery. If he’d ever been one, he’d fallen long ago.
The sexy blonde turned to refill his glass with amber ale, and the sight of his own reflection in the beveled mirrors made him wince. It had been a while since he’d seen himself. Too long, apparently. The first description that sprang to mind when he did was
pathetic drunk
.
pathetic drunk
.
Was this who he really was, then? Gabriel Toussaint Giodarno—just another lost soul?
Whoever it was he was glaring at needed a shave. Rough shadows framed a sharp jaw, accentuating cheeks that had hollowed out in the past year. A diet of beer, scotch and shame would do that to a man.
His dark hair curled around his ears and along the nape of his neck—the first time he’d let it grow out since he was sent to Catholic school at the tender age of nine. His heavy-lidded green eyes were bleary with exhaustion, and—his gaze narrowed—the skin around his left eye was still tinged with yellow and blue from his encounter with that angry biker in a Tupelo bar last week.
Nearly all traces of his old reflection were gone.
He
was gone.
He
was gone.
“You look like hell, Gabe. As usual.”
Shit. He knew he was drunk, but he hadn’t realized he’d had enough to start hallucinating again. He pushed his beer away and tapped on the glossy wooden counter. “Any coffee in this place?” Or even better, some holy water?
The man beside him sighed. “I was hoping you’d head to Mambo Toussaint’s or Michelle’s instead of the nearest tavern. Why you keep gravitating to these shadow-filled places, I’ll never know.”
“Look, guy, I told you—those shadows aren’t real,” Gabriel muttered, keeping his eyes straight ahead and his voice down so the bartender wouldn’t think he’d gone off the deep end. “
You
aren’t real. Not a man. Not a ghost. Remember?
I
don’t do that particular parlor trick. All the woo-woo genes went to my sister. You’re just a figment of my imagination.”
You
aren’t real. Not a man. Not a ghost. Remember?
I
don’t do that particular parlor trick. All the woo-woo genes went to my sister. You’re just a figment of my imagination.”
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