Sweet Caroline (28 page)

To Caroline, Mick looked more than incredible, and if it hadn't sounded like such a lame, feminine thing to say, she 269

Sweet Caroline

by Micqui Miller

would have told him he looked "beautiful" in the flickering glow of dozens of candles.

Mick slid his hands up along Caroline's arms, his every nerve heightened by the touch of Arabian silk, until his fingertips rested on her shoulder. For a moment they stood there, neither daring to breathe and break the magic of the moment or the hunger of denial building into an irresistible need. They came together, holding on, breathless, savoring their closeness, the touch, the fragrance, delicate skin against a shaven cheek, hard muscle against a yielding breast, the fragrance of a summer bouquet mingled with the scent of Caribbean spices.

Unable to still her need for Mick, Caroline trembled. Sensing her urgency, he cradled her face in his hands, tilted her chin and latched onto her gaze. Without blinking, he ran his thumb over her lips. They parted at his touch, welcoming the trail of soft kisses he brushed along her temple and cheek. He stopped short of her lips, already swollen with desire. How he wanted to devour them, to taste again what his mind and heart had refused to let him forget, but they were moving too fast. They had hours ahead of them, deadbolts thrown, phones off, pagers buried. Nothing would stop them, nor would he allow anything to spoil a night he knew they would both remember always.

"Slow and easy, Caroline," he whispered. She tensed until he added, "We have all night, lass, hours and hours." She moistened her lips with the tip of her tongue. "Is that a promise?"

"On my Irish honor."

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Mick laced his fingers through hers and led her toward the bar. "Champagne?"

She sidled closer. He handed her a glass and after pouring his, slipped his arm around her waist until they stood so close they were nearly one.

"To you, sweet Caroline."

She touched the rim of her glass to his. "To us," she said, boldly appraising every inch of him. "To a fabulous night of making love."

"D'you know what you're askin' for, lass?" The question surprised her. With half a smile, half a laugh, she said, "Is a shamrock green?" and swept her hand in an arc, motioning into the room Mick had set to the essence of seduction. "I think it's quite obvious."

"Do you now." He topped off their glasses and led her to the couch. "Have you ever really been made love to before, Caroline Spring? Or really ever made love to someone? I'm not talking about the couplin' of two people expressin' their passion. There's nothing wrong with that, but I'm askin' you, Caroline, have you ever made love with your mind as well as your body?"

The answer yes had been on the tip of her tongue but stayed put. She'd hardly left a trail of broken hearts, but when she cared deeply for a man, she enjoyed making love to him.

At the beginning, she and Luke had been so good together, she'd thought it would always be like that. Six months later, she knew better. By then they'd grown so used to each other, it didn't matter that they'd fallen into a routine of Saturday 271

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mornings or Sunday evenings. One, two, three—good to go. Mick was right, she could not remember a time where her mind was as committed as her body during those moments.

"Caroline? Are you still here? With me?" he asked.

"I'm sorry," she said. She'd drifted away from him for only a second or two, and realized what a lonely place Memory Lane is.

"You didn't answer my question."

She raised the flute to her lips and sipped. How did she answer without telling him the truth that she knew he'd already guessed? "Luke and I were engaged for more than four years."

"That's old news, Caroline, not an answer." She nipped at her bottom lip. "We shared meaningful moments."

"Did you love him?"

"Yes, I did," she said without hesitation.

"D'you still?"

She closed her eyes for a second, then looked straight at him. "You know the answer, Mick. I wouldn't be here if I did." He set their glasses aside and took both of her hands in his. His voice sounded coaxing, yet urgent. "Answer my question, Caroline. I want to hear you say it. Have you ever really made love before?"

Caroline knew they both heard the sadness in her voice.

"No, Mick, I've never allowed anyone to do that. Yes, I've—

what did you call it?—coupled for passion's sake. But no, I don't think I've ever really made love." 272

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Caroline could see he struggled not to smile and gripped her hands tighter. "We're adults, Caroline," he said. "I have very deep feelin's for you, and tonight I want to show you just how deep. I want to make you forget any man you've ever known. I want to make love to your body
and
your mind. Then you're goin' to do the same for me because I know you have feelin's for me, too. Together, we're goin' to explore until there's nothing left unsaid, and not one trace of your soft sweet skin untouched. Not until we're as spiritually joined as we are physically."

Caroline sat speechless. She had expected a flip answer, not one that started her trembling again, from the pit of her solar plexus right to the tips of her hair. In another second, if she didn't catch control of her mind, she'd start hyperventilating.

Obviously satisfied that he elicited the reaction he'd planned, Mick plucked a strawberry from the crystal bowl, swirled it through the still warm chocolate and brought it to her lips. "All night. I turned off the phone, the doors are locked and the alarms set. Nothing can come between us this time, unless it's ourselves. I don't want that to happen. D'you?"

Caroline nibbled at the sweetness of chocolate mixed with the tang of ripe citrus. Maybe it was the champagne, or the nearness of Mick, but the combination set her senses on edge unlike anything before.
Relax.
The last thing she needed was to keep trembling until she'd worked herself into a state. Or was that exactly what Mick intended?

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Caroline swept her tongue across her lips, leaned her head against the back of the couch and closed her eyes. Dom Perignon champagne, a silk caftan and thong, chocolate and Brie. No matter what Mick called it, this was clearly seduction—and it was working.

"Mick," she stopped when she sensed his presence nearing her.

"Shh," she heard him say, and drew a sharp breath at the unmistakable touch of his tongue licking the chocolate that remained on her lips.

"Umm," she managed, more a breath than a word. "I thought we had all night."

Her words were lost in his kisses, soft and feathery, like the touch of a kitten's whiskers—along her cheeks, her forehead, over her eyelids and back again until his lips were fully on hers, soft at first, undemanding.

"Wait." She splayed her fingers against his chest. Mick groaned. "Um?"

"I want to be with you tonight, Mick—you know how much. But I want you to be honest with me first. You say you have feelings for me."

She saw by the crease in his brow that he likely regretted the words almost as quickly as they'd slipped out. Not opening his eyes, he murmured, "I do."

"That's not enough of an answer. You said we're adults. Adults put feelings into words, good or bad." He sighed, and straightened into a sitting position.

"Caroline, why are we doin' this now? Can't we just let..." 274

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No, she wouldn't be put off.
"All right, I'll go first." She stood, dodging away from him as he tried to snatch her wrist to pull her back beside him.

With a sip of champagne for courage, she forged ahead.

"I'm falling in love with you, Mick." She had his full attention now, and a scowl shadowed his face. "I'm not asking for promises or commitment," she continued. "Just please don't break my heart."

Mick shot to his feet, and roughly pulled Caroline into his arms. He drove his mouth against hers, in the deepest, most honest kiss he'd ever given a woman in his life. Caroline melted into him, clinging to him as if he were a safe haven in a storm. He didn't realize she was crying until he tasted her tears.

"Caroline, sweetheart, I'd never hurt you, never." He buried his face in her hair. "You're my heart, but don't ask me for something I can't give. Let's cherish this moment and let that be enough for now."

It wasn't enough for Caroline, but it was the most she could hope for. He'd said "for now," and heaven help her, she'd hang in there until it wasn't enough for him, either. She threaded her fingers through the curly soft hair of his temple, pulled him forward and nipped at his bottom lip until his mouth yielded to the tantalizing tip of her tongue. In seconds, Mick's resolve gave way to the passion he was trying so hard to keep in hand. He returned her kiss, plunging further while his fingers found their way to the first ribbon tie of the caftan. At the touch of warm skin against his fingertips, he went instantly erect.

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Somewhere at the back of her mind, Caroline heard a tiny voice whisper,
There's still time to stop, Caroline. Don't let
him break your heart.

Mick's mouth was demanding, his kiss urgent, preemptory. In seconds, Caroline abandoned any thought of safe haven. His lips were hot, his tongue prying. The kiss; deep, probing, thorough. Awesome. Unrelenting.

She broke away, struggling to quell her excitement and to catch her breath.

Undeterred, Mick switched places. A gentle dusting of kisses along her jaw line. A whispered breath across her ear, and a barely discernible suckle on a tiny earlobe. Goosebumps—loads of them. Caressing hands, inquisitive fingers. Warm touches against cool skin, silk against leather, the hitch of the metal of his belt buckle, a plastic button at the top his fly, the swatch of a silken thong. His fingertips danced along her spine, across her back, slid along the curve of her tight little behind. Nibbles on her neck, curly red tendrils freed from imprisoning barrettes. Shivers skittered across her skin. Breath coming hard. Hands flat against his chests, fingers splayed, grasping, releasing, a net of desire drawing closed, ensnaring her. She bit back an anxious giggle, nerves taut, anticipatory. A jolt of electricity. Hands urging aside the front panel of the caftan. How was it possible? When had Mick untied all of the tiny latches that held the lapels in place?

Probably at the same time she'd fished inside his waistband and freed his shirttails. Probably at the same time she'd opened his shirt front and padded a trail with her 276

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fingertips through the wiry red curls that dusted the muscles of his chest and tummy.

Probably about the same time she felt the hardness of his erection telling her just how glad he was that she was there. Rising on tiptoes, she molded herself against him, undulating only enough to rub the head against the softness between her thighs.

From somewhere the other side of breathless, Mick murmured "Caroline, oh, my sweet, sweet Caroline." Before she had a chance even to think what was happening, he swept her up in his arms and carried her toward the bedroom. The room was spinning around Caroline. With it came the realization that the girl who'd stood a head taller than all of her classmates from the first day of pre-school, who'd fetched toys from the highest shelves while the petite little princesses stared up at her giggling, who'd eaten her heart out because the star quarterback in high school preferred the wispy little gnome who somersaulted off the top of the cheer squad's pyramid—for all the years, and for all the jeers, Caroline suddenly knew this moment was for her.

She draped her arms around Mick's shoulders and nuzzled her face into the crook of his neck. Wafting four feet above the ground, secure in the arms of a man who actually stood head and shoulders over
her
, Caroline knew with certainty that she loved him like she'd never loved another man again. This was better than slipping her feet into glass slippers. Someday was here, her prince had come.

* * * *

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MICK HUMMED WHILE he waltzed her into his room, a room he'd spent an hour preparing with candles with just the right scent, dozens of roses to compliment their fragrance, and shiny satin sheets that must have looked like an ocean of white to Caroline from her perch high above. She was almost as tall as he yet she felt delicate in his arms, almost tiny, as if she were no bigger than a minute. And God, how right she felt.

He lowered her to the floor, making sure that every inch of her brushed languorously against every inch of him on the way down. He wanted to gather her against him, hold her with such might it would take her breath away, but he dared not. There was something so open, so trusting and still so vulnerable about the way she looked at him, he knew he'd rather lose an arm than ever hurt her.

Rational thought gave way to urgency. The last of the ties of the caftan fell open. He was urging her backward while she fumbled with the button on his slacks.

A second later, his finger slipped inside the thong.

"Mick!" she gasped.

"Ummm?"

His thumb brushed against her silken lips. "Oh, Mick!"

"Oh what?"

"Oh, more."

"We have ... all night."

Her mind was turning to mush on the scent of roses and candles, and the kind of raw lust that she'd only dreamed of ever knowing. Whatever he was saying, she didn't care. She wanted him—inside her. All of him.
Now!

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"Not yet," he whispered and cradled her face, forcing her to look at him.

They both knew he was right. "We have
all
night." Her fingers, with a mind of their own, were pulling on the sleeves of his shirt. It dropped to the floor behind him at their feet while she unzipped his fly. Was it her imagination? Or was the man buck naked inside his slacks? With one swift push, she sent his trousers falling to his knees. His arms tightened around her. She watched the control he held so well weaken.