Rainbows and Rapture (17 page)

With that, he swept her into his arms and carried her to the bed.

Dropping her to the bed, he loomed above her, seeing his own dark shadow fall across her pale skin. “
No te muevas.
Don’t move. Stay right there on that bed.”

She looked up at him; his swarthy features were hard and sharp, like they’d been chiseled by an angry sculptor. Not even the mellow candlelight softened them. “What are you gonna do? Why’re you jist standin’ there like that?”

Her confusion faded into pensiveness as she watched him leave the bedside. The man did nothing but walk across the room, but he got her full, wide-eyed attention. He stopped before the tub. She watched as he bent and removed his shirt from it. He wrung it out, water running over his big hands and thick arms.

Warmth seeped through her; she couldn’t understand why the sight of water slipping over his skin affected her the way it did.

He hung the wet shirt over the back of a chair and returned to the tub. Russia caught her lip between her teeth when he lowered himself into the water and poured water over his head and shoulders.

It flowed over his rugged male body like a stream of diamond dust, sparkling brightly against his raven hair and brown, brown skin. As if exploring him, it sought, found, and trickled into all the hidden crevices of his torso. At the thought of the water touching parts of him that she never had, Russia felt a stirring of something delightful.

Drenched now, he stood, presenting his left side to her.

Russia saw the bar of white soap in his strong tanned hand. At that moment, she realized he was going to wash himself.

He’s gonna wash. Right in front of me.
She’d never watched a man bathe before, had never really cared to do so. But being allowed to watch Santiago do it…being allowed to watch him lather that big, dark, bare body of his…

“Do it,” she whispered too softly for him to hear.

Transfixed, she watched him roll the soap between his palms and raise his hands to his head. Rivulets of creamy soap coursed through his long black hair, down his dark back, over the hard cheeks of his bottom, and along the long swell of muscle on the backs of his thighs.

He stood before her, nothing but sparkling water, lustrous suds, and pale candlelight covering his sinewy form. He was so beautiful to her, Russia felt overcome by a sense of wonder.

Slowly, he descended into the tub again, pouring more water over his head, rinsing away the soap, and making Russia feel crushed beneath the weight of her anticipation of what he would do next. Her anxiety was so great, she closed her eyes for a moment to get hold of herself.

Then she could smell him. Couldn’t see him, but could smell him. The soap: soft and fresh; white and foamy. Santiago: hard, tan, and black; leather, steel, and male. The contrasting fragrances, the sensual mental image of the soap drizzling over him, and the sound of the water lapping gently against him as he moved… Quivers raced over her skin. She opened her eyes. The sight that met them made her depths feel heavy with warmth and need and that same coiling tingle he never failed to bring to her.

He was standing again, turning the soap in his hands once more. Every bit of breath left her body when he began smoothing the lather over his muscular arms, corded chest, and powerful legs. He went about it slowly, so unhurriedly that Russia felt time itself had been restrained to make her pleasure last longer.

Pale suds streamed down his solid torso, glinting against his darkness and nestling within the thick black hair at the apex of his thighs. Russia felt engulfed in an exquisite heat that both burned and pleased her. Every part of her throbbed with the overwhelming excitement of watching him complete his bath.

Complete his bath.
There was only one part of him left. Only one place on his magnificent male body he hadn’t yet touched.

When would he touch it?

Slowly, he turned and faced her, his black and piercing gaze directed right at her. She felt as though she were melting from his scorching scrutiny of her. She wondered what to do, what to say, couldn’t decide, and so did nothing. Nothing but stare back at him.

She saw his eyes narrow sensuously right before he unfurled his fingers from around the soap and let it splash into the tub. He moved his strong hands to his slim hips, then inched them closer together. Tension built steadily within her, bringing every nerve in her body to pounding life. Her own eyes stung with the need to blink, but she wouldn’t, couldn’t make herself do it.

All she could do was watch, obsessed, absolutely transfixed as those big brown hands of his made the agonizingly slow journey toward his manhood.

And then they arrived. Spellbound, Russia saw him curl his soapy fingers around himself. He slid them up, ashen lather swirling in their wake. He circled his thumb around the tip of his masculinity, and then, lazily, as if he had the rest of eternity to finish the task, he lowered his hand again.

He looked down at himself and fanned his fingers, spreading them wide against the mat of ebony hair at his groin. Then he pushed them lower, cupping the dark pouch that lay between his parted thighs. Gently, languidly, he rolled his foam-filled palms over and under it.

He hardened in his own hand. Allowing his head to drop over the back of his shoulders, he groaned softly.

The profoundly sexy sound and the way his throat moved when he made it caused Russia to moan not once but twice, and then again. “Zamora,” she whispered.

He tilted his head up, his brow lifting. “Dime que quieres. Tell me what you want. Whisper it. Dime, paloma.”

At his husky command, she gasped with pure, unmerciful desire. “You,” she whispered.

The sudden flare in his midnight eyes told her everything she wanted to know. He understood her need. He would match it with his own. He would overcome whatever fear she might still feel over these new emotions he’d brought to her. Gently, but thoroughly. Sweetly, yet with a passion that would make her beg for more.

Impatience rising, she watched him lower himself into the tub one last time. When he emerged, all the soap was gone from his body. He stepped out of the tub and walked toward her, leaving puddles behind him. When he arrived at the bedside, he leaned over her.

Warm, soap-scented water splashed down on her. His eyes, as dark and potent as the rest of him, watched her from beneath thick black lashes, and from them spilled an emotion she’d never sensed in him before. It dominated whatever fear of him was left inside her. Trembling, she held out her arms to him.

He took hold of her wrists, wrapping his fingers firmly around them, his thumb smoothing across the tops of her hands. “Please don’t be afraid, Russia.”

She lowered her gaze. Compelled beyond control, she slipped her right hand from his grasp and reached out to touch him, sliding one pale finger down the hard, dark length of him. “I ain’t never touched a man because I wanted to. I’ve always done it because I had to.”

He tightened his possessive hold around the slender wrist he still held. “And are you touching me now because you want to or because you think you have to?”

She closed her hand around his maleness, moaning softly at the soft-hard, wet-hot feeling of him. “I— I have to. I have to…because I want to.”

Desire slammed into him so forcefully, he almost rocked with it. “Russia,” he whispered, “take off your dress.”

She pressed one last, intimate stroke to him and reached for the fastening at the valley of her breasts. Her fingers quivered so badly, she couldn’t seem to get the hook out of the eye. “I—I can usually git it off in less than seconds. But tonight… I cain’t seem to do it. I don’t know what’s the matter with me.”

Santiago knew. The remedy for her problem would please her as much as it would him. “Let me.”

She squeaked with unabashed pleasure when his warm, strong fingers brushed the swells of her breasts as he began unfastening her gown.

Smiling at her small sound of delight, he smoothed her scarlet gown off her alabaster shoulders and down her arms, watching it pool around her rounded hips. His hands around her small waist, he lifted her to her knees, then pulled her close to him, so close her breasts flattened against his broad chest.

She placed her hand on his dark, wide shoulder, loving the hard warmth she felt there. Slowly, bit by bit, she brought her gaze up. His sable hair cascaded into sable eyes, eyes that reflected candlelight and desire. A male hunger that beckoned to the woman inside her. “God, Zamora, I ain’t never knowed a man handsome as you.”

His breath rushed from him on a long, throaty sigh. Gently, he urged her back to the bed, fascinated by the way her extraordinary hair spread all around her. He picked up one long curl. It swept over his hand like a delicate ribbon. It was soft and gossamer; his palm was rough and callused. It was pale; his fingers were dark.

Profoundly aroused, he slipped into the bed beside her. Slowly, as if unveiling a never-before-seen masterpiece, he removed her clothing, stopping frequently to devour each bared part of her with his eyes, and to touch each satiny inch of her with his ravenous hands.

And when at last she lay naked beside him, the whole of her splendorous beauty revealed to him, he took her into his arms and kissed her.

Russia clung to him, powerful and vivid desire glowing inside her. His mouth brushed hers lightly, extending an invitation to her. Parting her lips, she felt a wild surge of pleasure burst through her when he settled his mouth more firmly over hers.

She reveled in her own surrender to him. She yearned to be conquered, mastered by this man who she knew held the key that would unlock the mysterious feelings pulsing through her. “Zamora,” she urged him, feeling his tongue sweep across her lips.

“Si, paloma. Si,” he acquiesced softly, knowingly. Leaning over her, he took her breast into his mouth and suckled before lifting his head and placing whisper-soft kisses along the delicate slope of her neck. He savored the odd but disturbingly arousing scent of clove clinging to her moist skin. His hand glided slowly down her belly, down to the juncture of her thighs, where finally he cupped her intimately.

Russia gasped when he slid his finger deeply into her silken warmth, his palm beginning the slow, round and round rhythm known only to lovers. She clutched at his hair, his shoulder. The pleasure, the sweet-painful pleasure… His bath had begun it, the demand in his black gaze had heightened it, and now she hoped desperately that his body would fulfill it.

Santiago felt her pushing into his hand, seeking that which he had every intention of giving her. He saw pleasure flit across her face, but knew she hadn’t yet reached her peak.

Minutes passed. He continued to caress her, anticipating her climax, his palm and fingers maintaining their rhythm.

Russia’s breath came in short pants now. It was near, something wonderful, some sort of grand finale. She sensed she was right at the brink of it.

But no matter how she struggled to throw herself toward it, she couldn’t seem to reach it. Her muscles began to tremble with exhaustion, scream with exertion. Demanding more of them, she labored harder, gasping with both fatigue and the pleasure that seemed only to taunt her instead of satisfying her.

Santiago smoothed another finger into her, filling her a bit more, his palm never ceasing its tiny, pressing circling. Watching her face carefully, he waited in tense, hot silence for her to feel fulfillment.

But time went on. And on. Yet she didn’t find the bliss he wanted to give her.

Russia stilled; her body could do no more. A sense of deep sorrow overcame her. She closed her eyes and pulled Santiago’s hand to her chest.

A myriad of emotions swept through him. It angered him that it hadn’t happened for her. It saddened him that she lay there with such profound disillusionment etched on her flushed face.

And it bewildered him that they both had tried so hard and failed so miserably. Every part of him wanted to try again. All night if necessary. With his body this time. With all of him. Inside her. Perhaps then…

But as he continued to observe her, he realized his wishes would have to wait. Her weariness was evident. “Russia,” he said, his voice heavy with all the emotions he was experiencing, “what did you feel when I touched you?”

Opening her eyes, she wondered how to put the feelings into words. “It— It was somethin’ slow and good and happy. Like a itsy-bitsy grin that little by little grows into laughter. But the laughter…it didn’t never come. I—I cain’t explain it good. I ain’t never feeled it before tonight.”

He was so astonished, he couldn’t speak. Part of him wanted to believe she was playing her game again, toying with him. But another side of him caught and recognized the glow of candor in her eyes and the brush of innocence in her voice.

He couldn’t understand how she could be so ignorant of sensual pleasure. “Russia—”

“I’ve heared it can happen fer women. But— Since it ain’t never happened to me, I never thought it was too important. Never wasted time even thinkin’ about it.”

“But it is important, Russia. It’s very important.”

She knew now he was right. Assailed by a sense of bitter wretchedness, she turned away from him. Curling her body into a tight little ball, she closed herself off completely. “There must be somethin’ wrong with me. Somethin’ real wrong.” Inside, outside, she added silently. Dear God, what had Wirt Avery done to her?

“What is it that’s wrong?” Santiago asked, her heartache tearing at him. “Russia, tell me what it is so I can—”

“Fix it? Like you was gonna fix the problem I had earlier when I was cryin’? You cain’t fix that one, Zamora, and you cain’t fix this one neither. They’re the sorta problems that cain’t git no fixin’.”

He hated the defeat in her voice. It was so contrary to what he knew about her. So unlike the happy and outrageous girl he knew her to be.

He tried to take her in his arms, wanting to hold her close. But when she stiffened, instinct warned him to allow her to do as she would. “Russia,” he began, searching for the right words, “I know you’re upset, paloma. But— But we’ve got time. There will be other—”