Читать книгу Intoxicating! - Kathleen O'Reilly - Страница 10

FOR MOST OF THE NIGHT, Daniel didn’t close his eyes, but held Catherine tightly. It’d been so long since he held a woman in his arms. Forever. He didn’t want to go to sleep because he was afraid he would wake up and be alone again. That this was all a dream.

He shouldn’t have done this. He really, really shouldn’t have done this, but there was something in her eyes that made “no” pretty well impossible.

And it was that knowledge that lessened the guilt. Yeah, he’d been a creep to take advantage of the situation, but there were words for guys who walked away when they were needed most. Daniel wasn’t one of those guys.

From outside, the sounds of life began to stir. People would be waking soon, but everything here was so quiet, so peaceful. He didn’t want to disturb it, he just wanted to live it.

In the city there was so much noise, and usually he liked the noise, since it drowned out the silence. But this quiet…For a second he listened.

The sounds of the ocean were so large against her quiet breathing, he felt her chest expand against his, the musky perfume of sex hanging in the air.

Man, what a marvelous smell. He hadn’t known that he missed it until now. That smell, mixed with Catherine’s smell—something soapy and flowery, but completely addictive.

Her bare thigh pulled up between his legs, brushing against him, and he sprang to life, fully aroused and ready to go. She was sleeping so peacefully, and he didn’t have the heart to wake her because that would be a selfish thing to do, completely taking advantage of the situation. But then she slid up his chest, her breasts pushing against him in a move that strippers would covet, and her eyes opened.

A lover’s eyes, sly and sleepy.

Daniel knew that he couldn’t live without seeing that look again.

He pushed inside her, saw her eyes go wide and felt a momentary pang of guilt, but then her lips curved, and her hair fell over his face, sliding across his cheek, and the guilt faded. The pleasure began.

THE SUN ROSE IN THE EAST, just as it always did. Daniel woke with an aching hard-on, just as he always did, but there was a woman next to him. A nude woman. A nude, sexually willing woman.

Daniel smiled and reached out a hand to touch her breast. She wasn’t built like Michelle, who’d been short and slim, with what she termed “a lot of junk in her trunk,” and Daniel could feel the differences.

Catherine was tall, with lush curves that filled his hands perfectly, hands that had never felt empty until now. In his opinion, she had the body of a goddess, earthy and rich, solely designed to give him pleasure. Her skin was the color of the morning sky at first blush, soft and warm.

His fingers caressed Catherine’s nipple, feeling it react, and he wondered at that small miracle. A woman’s body reacting. She sighed, her body arching into his hand as if it belonged there.

The sunlight cast a shadow on his empty ring finger, and he felt something stabbing at him, but he brushed it away. Not today. Today he was going to live. It was Sunday. His last day, and he wasn’t going to miss this. When he left, he would bear the weight of the band again, but right now, he just wanted to live like a normal man.

Catherine woke as he imagined she did everything else. Slowly, methodically, with exquisite purpose. Her lashes moved, fluttered up, and then he found himself falling into her eyes once again. She was so soft, so uncomplicated, so irresistible.

He touched, circling her breast, feeling the constant beat of her heart. Her body tensed, still not comfortable with being nude, but he’d work on that.

Whoa.

Daniel frowned, and she touched his mouth. “Something wrong?”

He shook his head. “No.”

Today was it. Nothing more.

“When do you have to leave?” she asked, reminding him exactly how much time he had left.

“I’ll take the late train,” he said, in absolutely no hurry to leave.

“Good,” she answered, moving back the sheet. He had thought she was shy, but the odd thing about her? She seemed to love to watch his body, loved to touch his body, too, and jeez, what man in his right mind was going to object?

She traced a line down his chest, her eyes flaring dark. He loved to watch her, too, loved to watch her mouth grow slack with desire.

It had been so long.

His body jerked impatiently to life, and she smiled.

One day left.

Daniel didn’t wait. He rolled over her, and drove inside, savoring that one second when everything within him converged to this single point, this single moment when his entire body came spluttering back to life, rough and cold and long unused—but not today.

The lashes fluttered closed, her mouth tense, and he watched her, watched the sun filter through the shutters, casting alternating lines of light and dark on her full breasts.

Daniel wanted to be in control of his emotions, wanted to be calm, easy. She needed that, but panic grabbed at him, sharp claws digging in deep.

Just one day.

One day before it all disappeared. Again.

So he thrust deeper inside her, her eyes focused on him, and he wanted to smile at her, wanted to act like everything was normal, but was it?

A rumbling sound came from low in his throat, a rough noise he’d never heard before. And he drilled inside her slick heat, until his mind was black, until his eyes were blind, because his body needed this.

It’d been so long.

His cock burned, the blood roaring through it like a fire feeding on air.

One day left. He moved faster, harder. Oh, he’d missed this. Harder, deeper, needing to touch her, needing to feel her, needing to…Breathe.

He needed to breathe.

He’d never used a woman like this before, not even Michelle. Daniel knew he shouldn’t, but then Catherine’s hands fastened on his shoulders, her teeth dug into her lower lip and her eyes flared with something dark and aware. It was the darkness in her that pushed him on. Raising himself up on his arms, he took. Oh, damn, he took. His head roared, louder and louder, until the pounding in his cock matched the pounding in his head.

Her head listed to one side, the tawny fall of her hair sweeping over the sun-gilded curve of her neck. Her body arched upward with each thrust, shuddering moans of pleasure escaping from her lips. Absorbing him, taking him…comforting him.

Daniel felt his body about to come, but he wasn’t going to do this alone. Not alone. He hated alone. He reached down and flicked against her. Found the place that she needed and watched her body buck.

He touched her, finding where they were joined, and his hand moved faster, and he kept thrusting inside her. She had to feel this. She had to feel the same hopeless need that he did.

Her teeth bit into her lip, and he noticed the blood.

“Come on, Catherine,” he begged, because he needed her with him.

His hand moved, palm against her bone, and her eyes closed, her back lifted, and the moans grew loud and ragged. “A little more,” he said, fighting back his release. She was close. He knew she was close.

She let out a cry, sounds stuttering, and her hips were sliding against him, against his cock, against his hand, until her body jerked once, her mouth opened and he couldn’t resist.

He took her mouth, he took her body, and as the climax fell over them, Daniel surrendered to the darkness.

One day left.

CATHERINE LIFTED her head, stared and then fell back against the pillow. “I think the world was stirred.”

“Thank God,” he said, more of a prayer than a curse.

She reached out next to him and grabbed his hand, tracing over his palms, his fingers. He froze because it was wrong. He should be wearing his ring, but then Daniel forced himself to relax. To remember.

Gradually, the tension left and he closed his eyes.

“What do you want to do today?” she asked.

Right now, he would happily stay in bed all day, but that wasn’t the politically correct thing to say, so he shrugged. “It’s up to you.”

“Could I draw you?”

“That’s what you want?”

She nodded eagerly, and he knew he couldn’t deny her even though the idea of being stuffed in some dainty French chair with his head twisted just an inch to the left would be hell.

“Okay,” he answered, forced enthusiasm in his voice.

“Great.” She rose from the bed. He watched as she covered her body in some shapeless bathrobe, and he felt a momentary sadness. For seven years, he had avoided thinking of female nudity, but now he was back into it in a big way.

Full, high breasts. Long, long legs that could wrap around him when he drove inside…

Daniel shook his head.

She flipped up the shutters on the windows, and the eastern light filtered in. “The morning light is the best,” she told him.

Then she began to adjust him, staring with wide-eyed exuberance. His arm went this way, his head reversed, his fingers like this, and then she looked as if she would be adjusting him there, as well. He moved in and took control.

“What are you thinking about drawing?” he asked her carefully.

“Oh,” she said, drawing the sheet back over him.

Instantly, Daniel sensed that he’d just missed something major. Some huge detail that he’d overlooked. When she looked at him again the exuberance was missing.

Hell.

“You want to draw me nude. Is that it?” he asked, because he’d never been exactly shy, but he wasn’t Sean, either. Discretion. That’s what he believed in.

Nudity was private, and sitting there bare-assed-naked while she sketched him…all while he wasn’t supposed to be thinking about sex?

Hell.

“You don’t have to. I don’t want to make you uncomfortable. I’m around pictures of naked people a lot more than everybody else, and sometimes I forget,” she muttered, her eyes resigned.

“All right,” he said, throwing away every piece of dignity he’d ever had. The exuberance rushed back in her eyes.

The sheet went off, and she adjusted his thighs, his butt, his currently aching cock, and he gritted his teeth until she told him that he needed to relax his jaw.

Easy for her to say.

But eventually she quit touching him and went to work, sitting in a chair across from him, the sun at her back. Actually, it wasn’t as bad he thought, because he got to watch her while she sketched him.

She was pretty. Really pretty, but it took someone with a careful eye to see it. The sun flashed gold in her hair, and when she got frustrated with herself, which seemed to be often, she would comb her fingers through the long strands.

At times, she looked, stared, watched him impassively, and he tried not to be affected. Unfortunately, when a woman watched his currently unclothed body with such single-minded focus, he couldn’t help it. He hadn’t had sex in a very long time and…well, there was a completely logical reason for a man to be aroused.

Heavily, painfully aroused.

Catherine didn’t seem to notice, thank God. When she sketched, she got caught up in some other world that he wasn’t a part of.

Her hand moved to the lower edge of the paper, and she leaned forward, the robe gaping an inch, almost enough…

If he moved his head only a fraction lower, he’d be able to…

She leaned forward even more….

His head followed, and he could almost make out…

“Oh,” she muttered, and then snapped up from the chair, regretfully pushing the robe back into place. Her busy hands were back at his jaw, twisting, her brown eyes all business, studying him again.

“Sorry,” he said, wondering what she would think if he pulled her down to the bed for a momentary intermission. A break to stir her creative juices…maybe.

She shook her head. “The look in your eyes. It’s wrong. Can we put the sadness back?”

He looked at her in surprise. “Excuse me?”

“I’ve got you half-sad, but I’m not quite finished with it, and you look, well—” the nervousness was back in her face “—not sad.”

“I’m very sorry, but you make me…completely not sad,” he said.

That brought her out of her reverie.

“Really?” She looked at him, a pleased smile stretched across her face.

“Really.”

“Maybe I shouldn’t worry about the sad look. Maybe I could draw you like this,” she muttered, looking lower, and then faltering for a second.

Daniel felt his patience coming to an unrepentant, crashing halt, and he was a patient guy, but this was flat-ass weird. “You want the sad back? Keep staring at me like that and stay about four feet away. That’s sad.”

“Wow,” she breathed.

“‘Wow’ was not the word I would use,” Daniel said, fighting the urge to cover himself. Dammit, some things couldn’t be helped, and he wasn’t going to apologize for it.

Her mouth pulled into another smile, equally pleased as before, but a little bit wicked, and she slid the robe off her shoulders and climbed on top of him. He showed her exactly how “not sad” he felt.

THEY DID EVENTUALLY make it outside. The late-summer sun burned down on her fair skin, the air was sticky, the sand hot, and the water looked too cool to ignore. Daniel was a good swimmer, not as good as she was—she, who had been the breaststroke champion at St. Ignatius, until Mrs. Crawford, the evil school nurse, had told her that swimming made her body look too much like a boy’s.

Thank you, Mrs. Crawford.

But Daniel didn’t seem to care. He caught her a few times, pulling her under the surface, touching her in ways that told her that he liked her body fine.

Take that, Mrs. Crawford.

Although one thing Catherine did notice was that he was never overt, never committing too much, always watching the lawyers next door with a careful eye. Daniel and Catherine appeared to be two swimmers in the sea, not two lovers lingering on the beach, but she decided that it wasn’t going to bother her. After all, she wasn’t the demonstrative type, either.

As the afternoon sun moved low they came out of the water. Daniel told her more about himself. He talked about his job at the accounting firm, about his brother’s bar. He asked her questions about where she worked, and this time Catherine was the careful one. Normally she loved to talk about Montefiore’s, but with all the talk in the back hallways of the auction house, she needed to be extra careful. So she told him she was gainfully employed at an art gallery in Soho where she did appraisals.

Catherine was always cautious.

Daniel listened, asking her polite questions about the business, and she gave her carefully constructed, socially acceptable tales of the canvas, and he didn’t seem to notice.

She avoided checking her watch, but eventually the sun started dipping lower in the horizon, and she knew it was close to time. Not wanting him to bring it up first, she glanced pointedly at her watch…once—but it was enough.

He met her eyes, and the loneliness returned. Odysseus was back on his travels. “I should get packed.”

Catherine sighed, then stood, dusting off the remains of the sand from her legs. “I’ll call you a taxi.”

“That’d be good,” he said, in a voice best described as emotionless.

This was it. That awkward moment when nothing more is going to come about, but everyone is expected to be adult. Catherine was supposed to pretend she hadn’t given her body to a man who was virtually a stranger, yet she’d never felt a stronger connection with a stranger, never felt a stronger connection with a non-stranger, either, for that matter.

Not many men understood a woman like Catherine. She’d spent so much of her life staring at art, studying art and drawing art. She lived in a quiet, inanimate world and at some point, the world became her, and she became the world. And actually, Catherine was happy in that quiet, inanimate world.

Daniel, with his lonely eyes. She’d thought this man understood her, but with every second that passed she felt him putting distance between them. Yes, she wanted to see him again, but she wasn’t going to ask, and put herself out there. This was one weekend only. A limited engagement.

Daniel followed her into the house and headed for the bedroom where his things were. The unused bedroom.

After Catherine called the cab, she stood over the kitchen counter. Her hands gripped the cool granite. Some part of her didn’t want this to end, but what choice did she have? Eventually, she spotted a bottle of water, helpful for his train ride back to the city, and her genetically propagated social skills came to the rescue.

With the travel refreshment in hand, she went to the bedroom. He didn’t notice her at first because he was engrossed in something entirely new and different—the heavy gold band sitting on top of his duffel bag.

A wedding ring.

Okay, that explained it. Catherine ignored the shooting pains radiating up from her gut to somewhere near her heart. She did hand him the bottle of water. In times of crisis, always best to remember one’s social skills.

She tried to not look at the small circle of gold. However, like the Mona Lisa, it drew your eye like a magnet.

A wedding ring.

Not quite what she had imagined.

“It’s not what you think,” he said, easily reading her mind. Catherine didn’t have the patience to hear excuses, not when she suddenly understood why he hadn’t cared if she talked much.

Catherine Montefiore, walking vagina. That was her.

“Don’t say anything. It’s better that way. I’ll think more highly of you if you don’t try and wangle your way out of this.”

Soullessly, he stared at her, and again she felt it, that complete isolation of his, but now it made more sense. It took a cold man to do what he did.

He nodded curtly. “You’re right. I’m sorry. I should have told you up front.”

“You should have,” she replied tightly. Thankfully, she heard a car horn. “What amazing timing. Taxi’s here.”

He donned his ring, slung the duffel over his shoulder and gave her one last look. “I know you don’t want to hear this, but I liked being with you. It’s been a long time since I’ve felt like that. It felt good. You should know that.”

Catherine fisted her hands behind her back, her mouth scrunched together. She didn’t want to yell. Not yet. Not until he was gone. What an easy mark. For that she hated herself nearly as much as she hated him.

“You’re right. I don’t want to hear that,” she told him, waiting until he walked out the door and left.

After she heard the rev of the taxi pulling away, Catherine went to take a shower. A long shower because right then she needed nothing more than to get clean.

Sadly, she knew the shower wasn’t going to help.