Law, Susan Kay (36 page)

He traced them, his fingers circling the base of her neck, sliding
over the swell of her breast, grazing her nipple, then trailing along the
underside.

"I never thought..." His finger rounded the curve and
began to follow the beads up the other side. "They are just cheap seeds.
Yet, against your skin, they glow like pearls."

She quivered as his hand passed over her other nipple.

"Here, let me," he murmured.

She lifted her head slightly and he slipped the beads over it,
gently disentangling the necklace from her hair. Holding on to one end of the
strand, he pooled it on her belly. The beads, smooth and rounded, were warm
from her skin. He trailed them over her, drawing them through the valley
between her breasts, then letting them slide over her nipple. Over and over, he
caressed her with the necklace.

The touch was almost too much, yet not nearly enough. The seeds
skated over her skin, a fluid, sinuous strand, like the purling of water. He
dribbled it across the line of her hip and drew it over her waist. She shifted
restlessly, needing more.

"Open your legs."

Unable to think clearly enough to do anything else, mesmerized by
the husky rumble of his voice, she let her thighs part.

"So beautiful," he whispered. The beads slid easily
against her flesh. Tiny darts of sensation shot through her.

"Jonathan... please."

And instead of the beads, there was his hands and his mouth. His
touch was reverent, whispering over her skin. He tasted her breasts, and his
hands explored her inner arms. He licked the hollow of her throat and stroked
her ribs. He nipped her shoulder, and his palms polished her hips.

His touch poured over her, drowning her in sensation. And his
words poured over her too.

The difference stunned her. The first time had been hushed, their
silence broken only by the sound of thunder and their breathing. Now he spoke
softly, continuously, telling her she was lovely, how feminine the curve of her
belly was, how womanly her thighs. The silky swath of his hair swept over her
with the equally smooth sweep of his tongue. Each part he touched, he tasted.
And each part he tasted, he praised.

Heat shimmered along her skin, and need quivered within her. She
was overwhelmed, almost frightened.

"Jonathan, please," she said again, desperately.

"Yes."

His hair brushed her stomach, and she felt his hands slip under
her to cup the curve of her buttocks. The heat of his breath shocked her; the
touch of his tongue nearly made her cry. She tried to protest, tried to say
stop, but she couldn't get her mouth to form his name, only an incoherent moan.

The pleasure was excruciating, just shy of too much. His tongue
was gentle velvet, but the stubble of his beard rasped the soft flesh inside
her thigh. She felt herself tightening, felt the beginning clench of
pleasure... and she was unbearably, achingly empty.

"No!" Sitting up, she tugged on his hair to pull him up
to her. "Jonathan, no."

He settled himself next to her then, and with fingers that shook
ever so slightly, brushed damp tendrils of hair from her temples. "What's
wrong?" he asked quietly.

"I'm so... empty."

He stared at her for a moment, his expression harsh, and for an
instant she wondered if she'd done something unforgivable in stopping him. Then
he smiled gently and slipped his hand down her body.

His middle finger slid deeply, naturally into her body. She
gasped, and the pleasure began to spiral through her again.

But it wasn't enough.

She pushed his hand away.

"Please," she repeated. Hesitantly, she brushed her
knuckles over his hardness. He sucked in his breath, and she reached for the
buttons on his breeches.

He grabbed her hand and flattened it against his hip.

"I can't."

"Why?" she asked, unable to keep the quaver from her
voice. His gaze sought hers, and his eyes were clouded, unreadable. Sweat
beaded on his forehead, and a muscle in his jaw bulged.

Finally, he swore and jerked to his feet. He ripped at the
fastening of his breeches, and Bennie was distantly surprised when one tore. He
yanked his drawers and breeches off in one motion and dropped them aside.

He towered over her, his feet spread, his hands planted on his
hips. His chest heaved, his hair lay loose on his shoulders, his erection
jutted boldly from his body, and he was every mythic god come to vital, vivid
flesh.

He dropped to his knees between her thighs, slipping his arm
around her hips and lifting her to meet him. She felt him slide into her
slowly, and she was empty no longer.

Levering down, he brought his stomach flush with hers, but kept
his weight from her by propping himself up with his elbows.

But she wanted his weight. Digging her nails into his shoulders,
she brought him closer. He gave a strangled sigh and went still. She waited for
the wonderful rhythm to begin, but he didn't move.

Unable to wait any longer, she tilted her hips to deepen the
contact.

"Oh, God," he whispered, and began to move, stroking
deep and long and slow.

She kept her eyes open, watching his face above her. Even with the
lines of his face sharpened by strain, his eyes nearly closed, and his teeth
clenched, he was beautiful, all male power and sexuality.

"God, Beth... I can't... please..." he said urgently.

She'd been nearly there before; now, pleasure burst through her,
suddenly and without warning. Closing her eyes at last, she threw back her head
and let go.

Maybe he was going to be able to manage it. Beth was shuddering
beneath him, her face exquisitely lovely in ecstasy. He ground his molars
together with such force his jaw ached. He purposely put more weight on his
left shoulder, welcoming the pain that shot down from his wound. It was the
only thing that kept him from his own release.

She was calming now, giving soft sobs of pleasure he found
unbearably sweet. He thrust once more, and was rewarded by her small
convulsion. Finally, he pulled out and fell to one side. She was still shaking,
and he gathered her close, soothingly sweeping his hand down the soft curve of
her back.

She stirred slightly.

"Don't move." Her lush form nestled against him was nearly
driving him to madness, but he couldn't deny himself at least that much pleasure.

She sat up and, with a characteristic gesture, shoved her tumbled
curls away from her face. Her eyes blazed.

"What the hell was that about?"

"Uh, what do you mean?"

"You know very well what I mean!" She glared accusingly
at his still-erect member.

"Beth..."

"Just your way of saying thank you? Well, no thank you!"

She was gorgeous, all fiery and outraged. And she was too far
away.

He held out his arms. "Come here."

Her eyes widened in disbelief. "You can't be serious."

"I'll try and explain it to you. If I can. I'd rather hold
you while I'm doing it."

She bit her lip, then gave in, nestling against him as if she
belonged there. He gave a sigh of satisfaction and threaded his fingers through
the luxuriant length of her hair.

"You are so beautiful."

"That's hardly a reason to stop when you did."

He gave a small laugh—no easy feat, considering the condition of
his lower body. "No." He found her hand and twined his fingers with
hers. "What I did to you before, Beth. It was unforgivable."

"Jonathan—"

"Quiet. How am I supposed to explain when you insist on
interrupting me?" He squeezed her hand lightly. "It was bad enough
that I made love to you, pretending to be something I wasn't. But did you ever
consider that you might have gotten pregnant?"

He felt her sudden stillness. "Yes."

"That was the worst thing I did, Beth. I might have been
leaving you to bear a child alone and unmarried. I won't—I
can't
—take
that chance again."

"Jonathan," she said crisply. "Two of my four
sisters-in-law had babies less than seven months after their weddings. It's
hardly unheard of."

"It's not that simple." He allowed himself to drop a
kiss on the top of her head. Surely that wouldn't strain his still-insistent
passions. "They did get married, after all. I had—
have
—no idea if
I'll ever be back. And even if I do come back I couldn't marry you. There is no
way I could do that and maintain the illusion of Lieutenant Jon. You would be
left alone, to bear the child of an enemy. You could probably never marry.
Would your family stand by you then?"

He took her silence as her answer.

"I can't take your family from you too. I've already taken
far too much."

She disengaged her hand. He'd convinced her, he thought, even as
vicious regret pierced him.

And then she touched him. He was still slick from her, and her
palm slipped easily over him, circling, gliding, stroking. Despite himself, he
arched up into her hand.

"Beth..." he protested weakly.

"Don't I have any choice in this, you foolish man?"

Let her,
his body demanded. Although he deserved
the frustration, was there so much honor in sacrifice? This was safe. This
wouldn't cause her any real harm. She couldn't get pregnant.

He
was
a foolish man, she thought. He didn't know the
Joneses at all if he thought her family wouldn't stand by her. And in all
likelihood, she would never marry anyway. She would take what fate gave her. It
was her choice.

He was hot, hard, and silky beneath her hand, vibrantly alive. His
eyes were closed now, his breath coming in sharp gasps, and he jerked slightly
with each stroke of her hand.

She moved swiftly, straddling him.

"No, Beth!"

"Yes," she said. "Tell me you don't want this and
I'll stop."

He couldn't answer, could only think of the feel of her soft, hot
flesh closing around him.

"Yes," she repeated with satisfaction. "It's my
decision too, Jonathan."

She sank down on him, and he filled her even more completely than
he had before. Tiny, unexpected bursts of pleasure tingled down her spine.

He shuddered and threw back his head. With a hoarse shout, his
back bowed up, and she felt his warmth flood her.

She lay sprawled
across his chest. He smoothed her hair,
and his fingers followed the line of her spine with exceptionally slow,
languorous movements.

"Oh, Jonathan," she whispered, turning her head with
tremendous effort to press a kiss into the hollow of his throat. "It felt
as if you were pouring your soul into me."

"God, I hope so." He cradled her face, lifting it so she
could look into his eyes, eyes that were filled with churning emotion.
"It's certainly better off in your hands than mine."

"You're not angry?"

He raised his head and brought her mouth to his. There was no
passion in this kiss; the touch of their lips was a communion, a vow.

He leaned back and brushed his fingers down the line of her jaw.
"I promised myself I wasn't going to do that to you again."

"You didn't do anything
to
me." He could find no
regret in her eyes, in her voice, and the sharp tang of his own guilt was
muted. "You did something
with
me," she finished softly.

He regarded her seriously. "Promise me you won't be
sorry."

"I won't be," she said, and the glow in the warm brown
depths of her eyes reassured him. "Life is so... fragile right now. I
don't think it's wrong for us to take a little joy where we can find it."

"I'll try to be in touch with you regularly. If you should
find yourself..." He paused, swallowing the sudden thickness in his
throat. "With child, send for me, and I will find a way to come to
you."

"It's too dangerous."

"Promise me," he demanded, command ringing in his voice,
and she suddenly realized, that along with his talents as an agent, here was a
man who would be extraordinarily skilled at leading others.

"All right," she agreed.

"I may not be able to see you myself," he warned her.

"How will I know if someone comes from you?"

"He—or she—will say..." He grinned suddenly, with a
roguish, mischievous bent that warmed her heart. What a charmer he would be,
she thought, if he were free of the demands of battling nations. "'Job's
tears.'"

Heat flashed through her, and she lowered her lashes.

He chuckled and rolled her beneath him. His weight was heavy and
delicious, settling comfortably between her thighs, and he kissed her with a
complete thoroughness that quickly turned embarrassment into abandon.

Regretfully, he broke away. The skin beneath her ear tempted him,
and he licked it slowly. How could any skin be so soft, he thought hazily?