Whisper, page 14
Couldn’t she see that it had already changed?
“Well,” he said at last, putting the dilemma aside as his physical needs grew more urgent, “I need to see you.” He felt his way to the bed, groping in the blackness until he touched her.
“What are you—” Her breath caught as he teased the silk scarf across her breasts. He was sure he felt the slippery fabric catch on her nipples. Nipples he’d tasted and sucked and nuzzled but never seen. Were they apricot? Dusky red? He needed to know.
“Do you know what this is?”
“It feels like lingerie,” she said.
“It’s a silk scarf. I saw it and thought of you.”
“I’m not really much of a scarf person,” she said, sounding a little apprehensive. Did she think he was planning to tie her up? He grinned to himself. A fine idea, but not what he had in mind for tonight. She didn’t need to know that quite yet, however.
“It’s not a fashion accessory.” He slid the scarf between her breasts, left it there for a moment while he stripped her of her skirt and panties, then continued stroking her with the scarf. Back and forth over her belly then he felt it slow as it slid over her pubic hair.
“What are you going to do with it?” Her voice pulsed with undeniable excitement—and a hint of nerves.
“I’m going to blindfold you.”
He smiled at her soft gasp. “You’re not going to force-feed me cherry preserves are you?”
He chuckled. “No. I’m going to turn on the light so I can see you. All of you.”
She groaned and her body twisted beneath him. Was she turned on or freaked by the idea? Hard to tell. “What if I don’t want you to?”
“I’m going to turn on the light anyway. It’s up to you. With the blindfold or without.”
“Or I could just leave now.”
“That would be another option,” he agreed.
He could practically hear the wheels whirring away in her head as she processed this new idea. Would she go for it and make herself even more vulnerable to him? Or would she walk away?
The mature man in him knew the best thing would be for her to walk away and start from scratch with “Nick” tomorrow night.
But the mature man wasn’t in bed right now, tormented by the need to see the woman he made love to, naked but for a blindfold.
While she worked out all the arguments, pro and con, in her overanalytical head, he cruised her throat with his lips, all the while trailing the silk scarf over her body.
“I don’t know,” she whispered, sounding extremely turned on.
“If it helps your decision at all, it’s a very tasteful scarf. With a print from a Renoir.”
“I love the Impressionists,” she said, a thread of laughter in her voice. And he knew this was bad news for Nick. Terrific news for Neptune.
“Close your eyes.”
“Promise you won’t…”
“No cherries. Can’t stand ’em. Trust me.”
“Yes,” she breathed, and even though it was dark, he knew she’d closed her eyes.
He folded the scarf into an oblong shape and tied it round her head, feeling carefully to make sure it covered her eyes. “It’s not tight. You can reach up and untie it any time you like.”
“Thank you.”
“Are you ready?”
She clutched his arm, her small capable hands warm against his flesh. “I hope you won’t…”
Act like a wild beast in mating season as soon as he saw her in all her naked glory? “What?”
“Be disappointed.”
How could such an idea cross her mind? He kissed her lips beneath the blindfold. “I already know you’re beautiful.” He kissed her gently once more, feeling the soft breath of a sigh against his lips. “I’ve felt and kissed and loved every inch of you. Now I need to see you.”
She must have heard the sincerity, even in his whisper, for she let go of his arm and slowly he reached for the light switch. It made a loud snap in the room, echoed by her startled gasp.
He blinked at the sudden brightness and for a moment he was almost blinded by the sight of her pale flesh bathed in lamplight. He blinked again and her body was haloed, then his eyes grew accustomed.
“Say something,” she said, and he heard the nervousness behind the words. He saw the stiffness in her muscles as she lay still beneath his gaze. Say something. What could he say? He’d guessed she was beautiful under her clothes, the way a man automatically checks out a woman’s shape. But he hadn’t come close.
“You’re more beautiful than I imagined,” he whispered, groaning inside at the way he sounded like a drugstore greeting card.
It was the truth though. He’d seen her face countless times and in many moods, but never like this, when her blond hair was tousled, her cheeks delicately flushed with sexual excitement, her lips plump and wet. Her throat was long and graceful. Her shoulders were creamy, her arms lightly muscled.
Her breasts—they were understated. Not particularly large, but round and pert, the nipples dusky, like rose petals in late summer. Oh, man, there he went again spouting nonsense. At least he hadn’t said that aloud.
“What do you see?” Her wispy tone went straight to his groin. She must feel the worship of his gaze and be basking in it.
Oh, boy. He was going to sound like the whole damn Valentine’s Day greeting-card counter. He shrugged. If she was brave enough to lay naked before him with a blindfold over her face, he could be brave enough to make a fool of himself with words.
It was easy to remember to whisper. Her body made him feel reverent. “I see skin the color of cream.” He ran just a finger along her collarbone and smiled as her flesh became covered in goose bumps where he touched her. “No, not cream,” he corrected himself, coming up at last with the perfect image. “Like magnolia.”
She laughed softly, a little more pink deepening her cheeks.
“Pale cream tinged with pink. And right in the middle of the blossom, the pink gets so dark it’s almost purple.” He touched the crest of her nipples. “That’s what color you are here.”
Her nipples strained forward and he knelt over her to take first one in his mouth, then the other. She moaned softly as he lapped at each peak then pulled it into his mouth.
He raised his head to watch her body’s reaction to his caress, so he could describe it to her. “And where I’ve sucked them, they darken even more and glisten. Like…like…” Like what? Rubies? Damn, he wished he’d taken poetry as a college elective instead of political science.
As he gazed at her, once again the perfect image popped into his mind. “Like the magnolia after it rains, and the water beads deep inside the blossom making it an even deeper purple.”
“Oh,” she said, her breathing quickening, making those glorious wet nipples rise and fall so he longed to kiss them again.
So he did. Long and thoroughly, rolling them between his tongue and the roof of his mouth. He heard her soft sighs of pleasure, but even better, he could raise his head and watch her lips part as she sighed, watch her white teeth catch her bottom lip.
His gaze traveled down her body. “I love your stomach.”
She giggled, softly, breathlessly. “You do?”
“It’s slender, but firm. Like a dancer’s.”
“I used to take Irish dancing as a kid,” she said.
He almost answered, “I know,” but stopped himself just in time. “Your belly button is deeper than I thought it would be.” He grinned softly. “I could get a whole spoonful of cherry preserves in there.”
Her belly rippled as she laughed.
His gaze dropped lower and he swallowed his grin. “And this,” he grasped the hair in his hand, giving it a gentle tug that make Genna emit a quivery moan, “I can’t even begin to describe how gorgeous you are here.”
“Try.”
And knowing how much this excited her, he did try. “It’s darker than the hair on your head, curlier, and it teases the hell out of me. It’s like when a woman wears a negligee you can sort of see through, but not quite. When you lie like this with your legs almost closed, I get a glimpse of something. It’s the same color as your nipples. The same color as deep inside a magnolia blossom.” And he was never going to be able to look at a magnolia tree again without getting a hard-on.
“But when you open your legs a bit…” He took her thighs gently in his hands and parted them. She didn’t resist or help, just lay there and let him open her, “I see all of you. The skin is pinker on the outside, and darker purple as it gets closer to the center.”
He settled between her legs and leaned in. He opened her gently with his thumbs and her hips arched off the bed. He had to swallow before he could go on, as her deepest beauty was revealed to him. “And inside, right inside your body, it’s an even deeper color. And it glistens.”
She whimpered.
“It’s like a ruby. Red and sparkling.” And very, very precious.
He traced just the rim of her opening with his tongue and she bucked beneath him. “And when I touch you with my tongue, everything gets plumper, and darker.” Again he tongued just the edge of her and felt it quiver, like a mouth about to cry.
He moved his thumbs up a little way and spread her there. “I may be taking this magnolia image too far, but I swear, when I spread you just like—”
“Oh, please,” she cried, and all thoughts of flowers fled. What was going on here was strictly animal. Her cry of appeal went straight through him, and he put his lips right on that needy little bud and sucked her. He broke the suction and used his tongue to stroke her there. He toured the general area, tasting, nibbling, keeping his eyes greedily open to savor the sight of her spread before him, wet and shivering with mounting desire.
He slipped a finger inside her, then two, stroking her inside with his fingers as he stroked her outside with his tongue. She was a hot, wet vise closing in on him as her passion mounted.
Her hips tossed and thrust against him on the bed and he glanced up to see her head thrashing against the pillow, her breasts arching high. She was becoming slicker and hotter by the second. Tighter and harder she clamped his fingers and then she gave a high, shuddering cry as her body spasmed under his tongue, around his fingers.
His own need was so fierce he grabbed a condom, shoving the thing on with hands that shook, and plunged into her while the last tremors still rocked her.
Then he took her up again, holding her cheeks beneath his palms as he loved her. He couldn’t watch her eyes, so he concentrated on her mouth, plump and sexy and wet from his kisses. She mouthed words, but no sound came out of her.
He raised up on his elbows and gazed at her breasts. Her chest was deeply flushed and, he thought, he never would have known orgasm did that to her so long as their loving had remained in the dark.
He watched her head toss about on the pillow, the blindfold a blur of blues and greens as her control slipped. He wanted it to last forever, this ride to heaven, but, in spite of his grandiose impersonation of a sea god, he was only mortal. Adding sight to his other senses was too much. Her fevered excitement was too much.
Thrusting harder, he pushed her up and up until her wordless mouthing became the helpless cries he loved to hear. As much as he wanted to kiss her, he held himself back for the exquisite pleasure of watching her come.
But, at the crucial moment, she dragged his head down and plastered her mouth against his. It was the last straw. Greedily, he kissed her as they both plunged over the edge.
IS IT POSSIBLE to fall in love with someone you’ve never seen? Genna asked herself as she wandered around her apartment Saturday morning, stunned. Could all these feelings be just from sex?
And how could she date one man, when she could still taste another man on her lips? Feel him against her skin? She had allowed herself to be completely vulnerable to her sea-god lover last night. She’d done something she never recalled doing before—she’d given up control completely.
And she’d really, really liked it.
Now, only a few hours later, she was supposed to get ready for a date with Nick. Why, just when she needed a friend to talk to, why did he have to start showing interest in her as a woman?
She’d planned to break if off with Neptune last night. Instead she’d fallen in love with him.
She vacuumed her condo within an inch of its life, wishing the roar of the machine would drown out her clamoring thoughts. But no matter how hard she scrubbed, dusted, polished or swept, those thoughts wouldn’t be silenced.
The phone sat there like a nagging mother. Every time she glanced at it, it seemed to be telling her to call Nick and tell him she couldn’t go out with him. No girl with manners dates two men at once.
She slumped on her couch and put her feet up, throwing the cushions she’d meticulously arranged into disarray. If she couldn’t break things off with Neptune, she’d have to break things off with Nick before there was anything to break off.
She reached for the phone and punched in his number. Except she had trouble seeing the keypad as her eyes filmed with tears.
The phone rang and she willed herself not to hang up.
“Harvard Home Heating,” a cheery voice proclaimed.
“I’m sorry,” Genna replied on a sob. “I’ve got the wrong number.”
With trembling hands she replaced the phone in its cradle. She’d dialed the wrong number. That must be some kind of a sign she wasn’t meant to cancel.
She thought about how much she liked being with Nick. He was smart, sexy and fun, but there was something deeper, something softer that had gradually developed between them. Something she’d only recently noticed.
She couldn’t cancel on him.
Oh, hell. She didn’t know what she was going to do.
Then she stepped into the shower, her second of the day. As she soaped her body, she heard the echo of a whisper, comparing her breasts and other more intimate parts of her to a Southern magnolia.
Even as she warmed at the memory, she scrubbed harder, as though she could scrub away the things she’d done with a stranger. She didn’t want to fall in love with him. She couldn’t.
If she wasn’t careful she could end up with Tiffany Ross’s dilemma, abandoning a flesh-and-blood man to chase after an unattainable fantasy.
Why did she ever go to New Orleans? Why?
If she ever made partner she was going to lobby against all corporate retreats. If the members of the firm had to meet, they could do it in a damn boardroom.
10
GENNA’S BUZZER SOUNDED. Even though she’d been waiting for it, the sound made her drop her purse.
For a crazy moment she thought about not answering it. She could hole up here in her apartment. As long as she did, she didn’t have to admit that her relationship with Nick might be changing.
She didn’t want it to change.
Did she?
She tried to swallow the nerves crowding her throat. She was nervous—of Nick. Her once orderly life was like a children’s carnival ride that had jumped its tracks and taken on a life of its own. And she wanted it back on the tracks!
She pushed the intercom and Nick’s voice floated up to her sounding cheerful and strong, just the way it always did. Why wasn’t he a bag of nerves?
Suddenly she didn’t want him in her apartment, this man who had her key just as she had his, and who’d been in her home countless times. It might send the wrong signal for a first date.
She sighed. Already their friendship had changed.
“I’ll come down,” she said.
She took the stairs at a walk, prolonging the inevitable by a good forty-five seconds or so. Then there was nothing else to do but greet him at the door.
“Hi,” he said. “You look great.” They were the words anybody might say, but just as she thought maybe she’d made a huge thing about nothing and started to relax, she glanced up and caught his gaze on her.
There was no misunderstanding the heat in his eyes.
Her heart hammered and a strange feeling washed over her, like a wave of dizziness. She wanted to glance away, but couldn’t.
His eyes were silver in the outside light from her building. His thick, wavy hair was freshly brushed and he wore a light summer suit. He looked like an ad for a clothing designer—not one of those androgynous male models with big lips and no facial hair—but a real man.
And he was that, she sighed. A real man. Not a fantasy that could exist in a dark hotel room one night a week. A career stumbling block of gigantic proportions.
She realized he’d made a special effort with his appearance, and again that little niggle of nerves hit her. “Why are we doing this?” she blurted before she could stop herself.
He rolled his eyes. “Because it’s healthy to eat three meals a day.”
“I’m not talking about eating dinner. I’m talking about—” she gestured helplessly “—this! Us!”
He grabbed her arm as an elderly couple came out of the apartment’s front entrance. “Come on,” he urged, his eyes losing some of their heat. “Let’s walk a bit.”
How could he sound so calm and assured when she felt as if the world had started spinning in the wrong direction?
They walked at a comfortably brisk pace and she heard their shoes slapping the sidewalk, the quiet whoosh as a car went by. She felt the soft warm impact every time his shoulder brushed hers.
“What happened to Ms. PR?” she asked, when the silence felt too heavy.
“Who?” She’d swear he’d been miles away and had forgotten she was by his side.
“The PR woman who had her eyes glued to you at Marcy and Darren’s party.”
“Nothing happened. She wasn’t my type.”
A little spurt of relief shot through her, which annoyed her so much it made her snarky. “She was sane, you mean.”
He let out a long, frustrated sigh. “Okay, cards on the table. Here’s the deal. I’m tired of dating those women.”
“The boobs, the bods and the bunnies?”
“Some of those women were very nice.”
She giggled. This was more like it. Teasing Nick about his awful women, him teasing her about the lack of men in her life. This is how it was best between them, and most comfortable. Her shoulders relaxed as she called up one of her favorite Nick moments. “They sure were. Especially Sugar. Remember her? You brought her to the firm Christmas party and the minute she heard ‘Santa Claus is Coming to Town’ she started stripping her—”
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