Tainted Gold (14 page)

“Now touch me, love.” He took her right hand and laid it on his chest, desire lacing sultry undertones into his voice.

Looking at her splayed fingers resting on the hair-covered bands of muscle molding his chest, Quillen flexed them slowly and felt how soft the dark curls were. Her gaze slid down his body, and a warm, lush shiver flushed up her throat. Like his face it was flawless, sculpted—perfect.

“Touch me,” he repeated, urgency creeping into his soft murmur.

“Can’t I just
look
for a minute?” she asked, the wistful sigh in her voice deepening the flush washing up her neck.

“Do both,” he suggested, smiling, as he covered her right hand with his left and guided her palm across his chest.

She did, mesmerized by the dark hair silking through her fingers, curling around her knuckles and tangling in her nails. A soft moan parted her lips and she felt a little niggle of dizziness in her head and felt her own breasts swell as she watched him circle the tip of her index finger around his flat but erect left nipple. Raising her left hand, Quillen searched with one nail until she found his right nipple. He groaned as she repeated the slow, sensuous pattern, tipped his head back, and closed his eyes. As he opened them, he raised his left hand from hers, took off his glasses, and laid them on the cinnamon nightstand as he stretched away from her and turned off the lamp.

Like a filter on a camera lens, soft, purplish gray twilight blurred the outline of his face as he reached for her. His left arm swept around her shoulders, his right hand cupped the back of her head, and his fingers threaded their way into her thick, heavy hair as he pulled her down against him, half beside him, half on top of him.

“Oh, love,” he sighed, and breathed a kiss into her mouth as her lips opened to meet his.

His tongue traced her upper lip and his fingers kneaded her scalp while his palm smoothed down her back, cupped her small, firm bottom, and pressed her against him. Her bare thigh met hard need and Quillen caught her breath, shivering as he lifted her nightshirt above her hips.

Still held captive by his, her lips trembled as his fingers caressed the backs of her thighs and hips. Desire fluttered in her lower abdomen and fanned slowly up her torso with another dizzy spiral as she tentatively touched her tongue to his. He groaned, a deep, throaty growl that Quillen felt rather than heard as his hands gripped her and molded her to him.

A startled, ecstatic gasp broke her mouth free of his, bowed her back as she pushed herself up on her hands and opened her eyes. Dark and heavy-lidded, Tucker’s eyes opened, too, and a puzzled smile curved his mouth.

“Don’t tell me,” he said, his voice deep and thick, “that you’re disappointed again.”

“Oh, no.” She’d meant to sigh, moaned instead, and felt the flush that had stalled at midthroat surge across her face.

“Don’t be shy, love,” he chuckled. “Just enjoy.”

“I am.”

Her eyelids fluttered shut as his hands caressed a path up the inside of her nightshirt, trailed lightly around her rib cage, and cupped her breasts. Softly, his thumbs brushed her peaked nipples and ignited a liquid flame deep inside her. She breathed his name and his arms engulfed her, his palms flat against her shoulder blades as he lifted her and quickly reversed their positions.

A little too quickly, Quillen realized as a wave of dizziness made her head swim and her ears ring dully. She tried to hide it from Tucker, but his lips sought her throat with greedy, hungry kisses just as she swallowed hard to dispel it.

“Quillen?” He raised himself on his hands. “All right, love?”

“Yes,” she sighed, curving her fingers around the back of his neck.

He bent over her and said softly in her ear, “We can wait.”

“No, we can’t,” she whispered, parting her lips as she drew his mouth over hers.

Beneath her fingers she felt the resistance in his neck muscles but smoothed it away with a slow stroke of her tongue across his bottom lip. Groaning, he eased himself on top of her, his weight braced on his forearms, and dragged his mouth away from hers.

The ringing in her ears subsided as Tucker’s lips pressed wet, succulent kisses to her throat and the hollow between her collarbones. All that remained of the dizziness was a fuzzy wobble that fled, replaced by a sudden, self-conscious clutch in the pit of her stomach as Tucker raised himself on his knees and unbuttoned the neck of her shirt.

“I’m not beautiful,” she warned him, and he gave her a dubious, sideways smile as she pulled her arms out of the sleeves and he tugged the shirt over her head.

Gooseflesh sprang everywhere and she shivered beneath him, naked, closing her eyes and resisting the ridiculous urge she felt to cover her body with her hands. Tucker’s only response was the snap of elastic she heard and the dip in the mattress she felt. The realization that he was taking off his shorts bumped the shiver to a full-blown shake as she felt the warm brush of his body against hers.

“You’re right, you’re not beautiful,” he said, his voice deep. “You’re gorgeous.”

Cautiously opening one eye, Quillen peeked up at him. He wasn’t looking at her face, but at her breasts and hips. His gaze lingered there, then lifted, and he smiled, his eyes a dark navy and the skin over his collarbones flushed like a ripe strawberry.

Gently he lowered himself on top of her and took her mouth in his. Wrapping her arms around his neck, Quillen clung to him, scarcely breathing, lost in a swirl of sensations as his mouth slid away from hers and tracked wet, hot kisses down her throat.

Nuzzling and nipping first one nipple and then the other, Tucker rolled her on her side next to him and buried his lips in the swell of her breasts as his hand trailed down her thigh, cupped the back of her knee, and lifted it over his hip. A soundless gasp tightened her throat, and lightheadedness surged when his fingers caressed her dewy warm, damp softness.

“Quillen, Quillen,” he moaned, lifting his mouth to hers as he turned her on her back and covered her body with his.

Arching herself toward him, Quillen stiffened momentarily, then relaxed, a throat-deep purr sighing past her lips as her resistance melted. Her legs and arms enfolded him, and her mouth opened to admit his tongue as their bodies fused. Tenderly he moved himself inside her, caressing her, cherishing her.

If Quillen was still dizzy she didn’t know it—or care. All that mattered was Tucker and how much she loved him. Her fingers trembled on his shoulders, his collarbones; then her nails dug into his skin and she whimpered, shuddering, as the pressure inside her flooded her body with a molten pool of sensation.

It ebbed away slowly, uncurling her fingers, flattening her spine, and fluttering
her eyelids solidly shut as it receded. In its place dizziness swelled, ringing in her head as her hands slid limply down his arms and she felt him ease away from her.

“Quillen?” His voice, still passion-rawed, echoed in her ears.

“Oh, no,” she groaned, her hands groping for but unable to find his forearms. “I should have had Mogen David instead.”

Licking her lips to clear her thick, drowsy speech, she finally found his wrists but gripped them in limp, strength-less fingers. She heard him sigh, felt his lips softly against her temple, and whimpered as he rolled away from her.

“Hush, now, hush,” he crooned, gathering her into his arms.

A breath of air brushed her shoulder, the cool percale sheet settled over her, and Quillen fell asleep. This time she dreamed.

Not exactly nightmares, but close enough, as her subconscious gnawed on the particularly inopportune moment she’d picked to fall asleep. Not that she’d had any choice; she did, however, have a choice about waking up, and did so warily with her eyes still closed. She strained her ears, hoping for a rustle of the sheets, a deep breath, anything that would tell her Tucker was still with her. Certain that she’d die if he wasn’t, Quillen drew a deep breath, inhaled warm, soapy-smelling skin, then sneezed as his chest hair tickled her nose.

“Bless you.” His lips touched her forehead. “Have a nice nap?”

There was no sarcasm in his voice, but Quillen cringed. Almost sorry now that he hadn’t left, she opened her eyes and looked at him.

Stretched on his left side next to her, the sheet half-drawn over his hip, he leaned his head on his hand above his bent elbow and smiled. His hair was tousled, his eyes puffy, but the curve in his mouth lacked malice.

“You’re still here.”

“Where’d you expect me to be?” His smile widened but he made no move to touch her.

“Anywhere but here,” she admitted. “I expected to find a note pinned to the pillow that said something like, ‘Thanks for nothing.’”

“Oh, love.” He laughed, straightened his arm, and slid it under her as he lay on his back, drew her with him, and pressed her cheek to his shoulder.

“You didn’t, did you?”

“I didn’t what?” he asked, his fingers swirling circles on her upper arm.

“You didn’t—finish.”

“I didn’t
what
?” His fingers stopped. “Oh—finish. No, I didn’t.”

“Oh, God!” Quillen cried, covering her face with her right hand. “Why couldn’t you lie to me?”

“Women lie about it, Quillen, men don’t.” His voice was gentle and so were his fingers as he pried her hand away from her cheek, then lifted her chin. He was smiling. “Do I look like I minded?”

“Oh, Tucker, that’s not the point,” she wailed. “I
failed
—”

“Who did you fail? Me or you?”

“You,” she moaned miserably.

“You didn’t fail me.” He curved his knuckles against her cheek and smoothed them along the line of her jaw.

“
Now
you’re lying,” she accused, tears hanging, ready to spill from the corners of her eyes.

“I didn’t enjoy it as
completely
as you did.” He paused and kissed her forehead again. “But I enjoyed it almost as much as I enjoyed watching you sleep.”

“Oh, sure,” Quillen muttered, tears thickening her voice. “That must have been a
big
thrill.”

“It was.” He caught her right hand in his left and drew it beneath the sheet.

“No kidding,” she breathed, quivering as she touched him.

Chuckling, he drew her arm around his waist and pressed his body against hers. A light-headed rush raised gooseflesh on the back of her neck and, yes, she was dizzy, ecstatically dizzy.

“I will always put your pleasure before mine,” he murmured, his voice deepening as he cupped her head in his left hand and brushed his lips over hers. “Except this one time”—he leaned up on his forearm, an amused gleam in his eyes—“’cause you owe me.”

Laughing, Quillen raised her mouth and kissed him as she moved on top of him. His eyelids took a surprised leap, then closed, a groan vibrating his mouth against hers and his jaw slackening momentarily as she rotated her hips over his. When she pulled her mouth away from his and leaned up on her hands, he smiled and curved his fingers around the backs of her legs.

“Think you can stay awake for this?” he taunted, the gleam still in his eyes as he rolled his hips beneath hers.

“Try me,” Quillen returned softly, matching the rhythm of her body to his.

He groaned, “Oh, love,” under his breath—and did. This time, the objection Quillen’s body made was not as noticeable. Without separating them, Tucker rolled her over and made love to her with torturous, agonizing slowness, his mouth mimicking and accentuating the sensuous movement of his hips. Quillen had never felt so awake in her life, every nerve, every cell in her body keyed to his. With his hands and soft, whispered words in her ear, he guided her beneath him. Her back arched and she said his name on a sharp intake of breath, and felt his shudder and heard him moan her name in her ear. Then he relaxed on top of her and burrowed his nose into the curve between her neck and shoulder.

Cradling him to her, Quillen stroked the damp back of his neck. Through half-closed eyes, she lazily watched the room dim around them. Gradually the ragged burr eased out of his breathing, and she thought he had fallen asleep. Smiling, she drew the sheet over him.

“I’m not asleep,” he said, his voice muffled against her throat and lacing shivers across her collarbones. “I probably should be, but I think I’ve forgotten how. I haven’t slept since Sunday night.”

“I could give you a refresher course,” she volunteered, smoothing the wet hair curling at the nape of his neck. “That’s all I seem to be able to do.”

Chuckling, he levered himself up on one forearm and stroked his curled knuckles across her forehead. “Now I know what kind of man you’re used to,” he said gently, his fingers threading their way into her hair, “Few and far between.”

“Oh, thank you, how kind of you to say so.”

Even to Quillen, her quick retort sounded defensive—needlessly so—and she turned her head away from him on the pillow. Bending over her again, he softly kissed the line of her jaw.

“I’m not complaining,” he said lowly, his lips nuzzling her hair. “It thrills me to my bone marrow when I think of all the delicious things I get to teach you.”

“Old pro that you are,” she replied dryly.

“Retired old pro,” he corrected her as both his hands combed her hair across the pillow. “Officially, as of this moment.”