An Unexpected Song

  She couldn't breathe and she was trembling uncontrollably. The summer wind touched her taut nipples but she felt no cooling. The eroticism of his words was as much an aphrodisiac as his gaze on her body.

  His big, warm palms cupped her breasts.

  Her teeth bit into her lower lip to keep from crying out.

  His gaze held her own as he squeezed and released, squeezed and released, rhythmically, gently, possessively. "I thought how you'd like it. How you'd squirm and move against me." His head lowered and his mouth enveloped her nipple. He sucked strongly, pumping her, his teeth pulling at her. "How you'd let me do anything I wanted to you."

  Her spine arched backward and she moaned softly.

  "Wouldn't you?" he muttered. "Tell me."

  She couldn't make sense of his words; she was lost in heat and sensation.

  "Tell me."

  "Yes ..."

  He drew her closer and the warm, naked flesh of his chest and the triangle of dark hair was a sensual shock against her nipples. Another moan broke from her as he slowly rubbed her back and forth against his body. "Yes, that's right," he said thickly. "Feel me. Know me." His hands left her hips and moved to her hair, loosening the combs that held it in place. It flowed around her, and his fingers tangled in its soft thickness. "Your hair . . . I've wanted to do this so many times . . . I want to wrap it around me, drown in it, drown in you." He stripped her quickly, feverishly pushing her down on the ground. The grass was cool against her nakedness, the scent of earth and growth surrounded her.

  Life, again. The night was brimming, burning with vibrant life, and she wanted to hold on to it, all of it, before it slipped away.

  He stood looking down at her, quickly shedding the rest of his own garments. "Let me look at you. Open your legs," he begged hoarsely.

  She slowly parted her thighs, and she could feel his gaze on her womanhood, vulnerable to him. The muscles of her stomach clenched and she felt her breasts swell as she looked up at him. He was a giant male, overwhelming, and she had never felt more exposed than in this erotic, submissive position.

  He fell to his knees and moved between her thighs. His palms pressed down on her diaphragm, throwing her breasts into greater prominence but not touching them. But she wanted to be touched, she thought dazedly. She wanted to be devoured, absorbed by him.

  "Do you want me?" he asked hoarsely. "If you don't, say so now. There's no going back once you belong to me. Hell, I don't think I'll be able to maintain control once I start."

  Belong. For an instant she felt a frisson of apprehension at the possessiveness of the word. Othello. This wasn't the wry, clever man who had become her friend in the last week. In the moonlight he was all fierce, sensual warrior.

  He leaned forward and his warm tongue touched her belly.

  "Quick," he muttered. "Neither of us can wait. Do you want me inside you?" He moved up, nudging against her but not entering her. "Do you want me?"

  She was burning up, dizzy with need and recklessness-banished caution. "Yes. Oh, yes."

  He plunged forward, burying himself in the depths of her.

  She cried out and her spine arched upward. Fullness, thickness, warmth. "Jason!"

  He froze. "Lord, why didn't you tell me? Did I hurt you?" His teeth clenched. "Stupid. Of course I hurt you."

  "No, it's ..." Her hands closed on the grass. "I'm— Oh, please, go on!"

  His expression was tortured. "It's too late to do anything else. I can't stop. Ill try to go easy," he said thickly. "I just had to be part of you." He drew out and then back, establishing a slow rhythm. "You took me. All of me. See how well we fit? Can you feel me?"

  Every inch, every texture. Her fingernails dug into the earth. "Yes."

  "Do you like it?" His hips moved in a circular motion and she gasped as he invaded new depths. "I want you to love it." He forgot gentleness and began plunging wildly, strongly, deeply. "Moan for me. Let me hear you. I want it all."

  She was moaning. She couldn't help herself. She lunged upward, trying to match his pace, trying to keep up with him, but he was too wild, too strong, too stallion-hot. She could only hold on to him and let him ride her. Her head thrashed back and forth on the grass as his hands went around and cupped her buttocks, lifting her into each powerful thrust.

  Tension was mounting. She could her voice begging, pleading with him for more. His chest lifted in and out with each harsh breath as he moved, his light eyes glittering wildly in the moonlit darkness, his features set as if he were in pain.

  "Give to me." His teeth were set, his eyes half closed. "Now!"

  The tension broke and the release was as earth-shaking as what had gone before. He cried out and clutched her close, almost bruising her with the force of his grip.

  It was a moment before he stirred, and when he lifted his head, another shock awaited her. The passion was gone and his expression . . .

  Tenderness, wonder, vulnerability. He lifted his hand and stroked her tousled fair hair back from her face with the most exquisite gentleness. "Okay?"

  She nodded, her gaze clinging to his face. Here was a more sensitive, gentler Jason Hayes, a man she had somehow sensed was there behind the hard facade but never seen. She felt strange— warm, glowing, filled with joy and . . . and something else. What? Whatever that emotion was, it was just out of reach, lost in the mists formed by the haze of satiated passion enfolding them.

  He pulled her hair over her shoulders and draped it over her breasts. Then he laid his cheek on the silky pillow and rubbed slowly back and forth. "Another fantasy," he murmured. "Lord, you have beautiful hair." He dropped an affectionate kiss on one nipple poking through the strands. "Among other equally lovely aspects of your anatomy."

  Her nipple tightened in response, and he smiled in delight and his lips slowly lowered to hover just above it. "This one I find positively enchanting." He blew on the distended tip and smiled again as it hardened. "Daisy my love, you may look like an angel, but you definitely have the instincts of a voluptuary."

  My love. For some odd reason the light words hurt her. "Aren't you going to get off me?"

  "It seems a waste of time. Besides, I like it here."

  She liked it too. His weight seemed so wonderfully right on her body. "We have to get back. Charlie ..."

  His smile faded. "Ah, yes, the world intrudes." He moved off her and to the side. "Are you going to tell me what this is all about now? I was hardly expecting a virgin to seduce me." His lips twisted. "Hell, I wasn't expecting a virgin at all. For heaven's sake, you're twenty-four years old."

  She felt lonely without him. She wanted him back. "I have a career. I've been busy. You didn't seem to mind at the time."

  His gaze moved over her possessively. "Hell no. I . . . liked it." He reached out to touch her hair and then stopped, and his hand fell to his side. "But I don't flatter myself that I was the reason you suddenly decided it was time to change your virginal condition. I wasn't even trying to arouse you."

  A man with Jason's virile appeal didn't have to try, she thought ruefully. All he had to be was himself. "I don't know what you mean."

  "I think you do." His expression was no longer vulnerable but guarded once again. "I didn't sweep you off your feet tonight, but something sure as hell did."

  She stiffened, rolled away from him and sat up. "It's pretty obvious, isn't it?" she asked lightly. "You said yourself our chemistry was kinetic. You're a very attractive man. I'm surprised I held out this long."

  "Bull." His answer was bluntly succinct. "Dammit, something's wrong."

  She stood up and began to dress. "Of course there was something wrong. I was upset about Charlie."

  "Why?" His gaze searched her face. "You said yourself he'd be okay by the time he came home."

  "Yes, hell be fine." She pulled on her gown and quickly fastened the bodice before thrusting her feet into the black ballet slippers. She looked around on the ground, but she couldn't find the combs Jason had taken from her hair so she ra^ her fingers throug
h her hair to tidy it. "But it's time I got back to him."

  "Not yet." He stayed where he was on the grass. "Talk to me."

  "I told you—" She stopped and reached down to pick up her shawl from the grass. "Why are you interrogating me? You told me yourself that sex would be a form of therapy. What did you say? 'Just a romp in the hay to get it out of our systems.' No strings and—"

  "Dammit, those were your words and you know it's not like that now." His voice was harsh with exasperation. "I care about you. I want to help you. Why won't you talk to me?"

  "There's nothing to say."

  His smile held a touch of bitterness. "You could tell me why you used me."

  The word shocked her. "I didn't use you." She knew as soon as she said it that it wasn't the truth. She had used him to hold away the pain, but she hadn't meant to. "Perhaps I did. But no more than you used me."

  He stood up and began to dress. "Did you feel used, Daisy?"

  She remembered that moment when he had touched her cheek with exquisite tenderness and the joy and wonder it had brought. She had felt swept away, treasured, possessed. Used? Never.

  "No." The night chill was beginning to reach her now that she was no longer touching him. She took a step back and wrapped the fringed shawl around her. "Can we go back now?"

  For an instant she thought she saw a flicker of hurt in his expression, and then it was gone. "Sure." He pulled his crew-necked sweater over his head and settled it about his hips. "Why not?" He gestured mockingly toward the path. "After you."

  She opened her lips to speak and then closed them and started down the path.

  His soft words followed her. "But you should know this is the last time I let you lead the way. From now on I'm on the initiative."

  She glanced at him warily over her shoulder. "What do you mean?"

  He smiled crookedly. "I mean, one time wasn't enough. Not for either of us. It's going to take more than once to do the job." He paused. "I

  mean I'm going to get you into the sack at the earliest possible convenience and repeat the experience over and over and over."

  She felt the breath leave her body. "I don't think—"

  "Don't worry, I have no intention of any major interference in your life. Ill take what I can get. Now. All I ask is that you come to my room at the hotel every night after the performance. We can spend a few hours indulging ourselves in pleasure, and then I'll take you home." He lifted his brows quizzically. "I trust you're in agreement?"

  She gazed at him uncertainly even as a reminiscent tingling started between her thighs. Their lovemaking had been so powerful, she was still trembling from it, and there was no question she wanted him again. What would it be like when they learned each other's bodies and knew how to please each other? She would probably be foolish to pursue a path that led to sensual addiction. Dear heaven, she wasn't sure she wasn't already on that path.

  Yet, she needed him. For those moments in his arms she had forgotten everything but the pleasure he was giving her. She needed that release if she was going to make it through the weeks ahead. He had made it clear he wanted no permanent commitment, but there was no reason she shouldn't take the comfort he could give her. "I . . . don't know. Ill have to think about it." She started down the rock-strewn path again.

  "One more thing."

  He was still smiling, but she could sense a hardness in him she hadn't seen since those first days of their acquaintance. "Desdemona," he said. "I'm not going to lie to you. I still intend to get you for Desdemona."

  The golden hiatus was over, the challenge was thrown down.

  She silently shook her head and turned and strode down the mountain.

  Charlie was sitting in his favorite easy chair facing the piano and grimaced ruefully when Daisy walked into the cottage. "I made an ass of myself, didn't I?"

  "No, I know it's difficult for you." She closed the door and took off her shawl. "All great artists have temperament. Look at Van Gogh. He cut off his ear." She tilted her head. "Both of yours appear to be in place."

  "I'd give an ear for his talent." He stretched out his legs in front of him. "Hell, I'd give an arm or a leg. Where's Jason? Did I scare him off?"

  "No." She avoided looking at him as she draped the shawl over the back of the chair at the kitchen table. "We went for a walk and then he went back to his hotel."

  "I was rude to him."

  "He understood."

  Charlie nodded slowly. "He's a complicated man, but I think he's capable of understanding a great deal." His gaze narrowed on her across the room. "He's the one, isn't he?"

  She stiffened. "The one?"

  "The one who will bring you the joy I knew with your mother." He smiled gently. "I'm glad he came now, Daisy. Don't be afraid to reach out and grab the brass ring just because my carousel is wind-

  ing to a halt. There's nothing I want more than for you to be happy and safe."

  "It's not like that." Her words came haltingly. "We're just friends, Charlie."

  He shook his head. "Don't lie to yourself. You love him. Life's too short to waste even a minute of it deceiving yourself."

  "No, I. . . you're wrong. I don't—" Her eyes widened in shock as the mysterious knowledge that had eluded her while Jason was looking down at her suddenly emerged bright and shining from the mist. Joy and tenderness, the desire to nurture as well as hold. Love. "How did you know?" she whispered.

  Charlie smiled and got to his feet. "I always had a keen artist's eye." His smile faded. "Too bad I don't have the talent to match." He started toward his bedroom and paused at the door to look back at her. His expression was loving as he repeated softly, "Go for the brass ring, Daisy."

  The next moment the bedroom door closed behind him.

  Daisy turned out the light and moved jerkily toward her bedroom. How had it happened? She had never intended to fall in love with Jason Hayes. She couldn't even have named the moment wariness had eased into desire, sympathy, and admiration, nor when friendship had turned into love. Yet there had been enough clues. Why else had she turned to him tonight and asked him to make love to her? Such aggressiveness was completely out of character for her. Had Charlie's outburst been only an excuse for her to take what she wanted? Even tonight, when she had come so close to the answer, she had lied to herself.

  It was no wonder she had tried to convince herself that her feelings weren't deeply involved. Heaven only knew there was no future in a relationship with Jason. He wanted two things, to have her sexually and to possess her voice for his music.

  No, that wasn't true. He liked her.

  But there were no guarantees liking would turn into love, and she would be a fool to expose herself to the lacerations of unrequited love when she was already an emotional basket case. She would be much smarter to extricate herself from any further involvement with Jason.

  Go for the brass ring, Charlie had said.

  But if she dared to reach too high, she might fall off the carousel entirely.

  She crossed to the window and sighed wearily as she leaned her warm forehead on the cool glass pane. Her instincts had always been to be open and optimistic, to give on the chance that she might receive, but the pain and waiting had gone on too long. She didn't know if she could lower her defenses and risk any more hurt. Sweet heaven, she just didn't know what was best any longer.

  Four

  "Hi, Charlie." Jason walked into the cottage the next afternoon without knocking, as he usually did these days, his gaze immediately going to the platform where Daisy sat posing in the big throne chair. He nodded politely. "Daisy."

  She felt the color rush to her cheeks and her hand clutched her shawl closer. This was the man who had made wild love to her and now he was behaving as if they had merely exchanged handshakes. Well, what had she expected? It had been her first experience, and what had happened had undoubtedly meant more to her than to him. "Hello, Jason."

  He looked away from her and moved toward the kitchenette. "Coffee?"

  Charli
e glanced absently at him. "Not now."

  "I'll make it anyway and have it ready." He grinned. "I'm turning into nothing but a kitchen drudge. And doing industrial damage to these hands my piano teacher said would shake the musical world."

  "The world is pretty hard to shake," Charlie said, his gaze on the canvas. "You'll get there." He paused before adding awkwardly, "Sorry I blew up last night."

  "No problem." Jason plugged in the coffee-maker. "We're all entitled to an explosion now and then." He came around the kitchen bar and settled cross-legged in his favorite spot on the floor in front of the platform. "Right, Daisy?"

  The explosion of which he was speaking had been purely sensual in nature. She looked straight before her and moistened her lips with her tongue. "I've already told Charlie I understood."

  She was acutely conscious of Jason's intent gaze on her. Her pulse accelerated as she remembered his words from last night about his fantasies as he watched her pose. She had a sudden mental picture of the two of them naked in this massive Spanish chair, Jason's hands on her breasts, his hips moving . . .

  Her gaze shifted helplessly, irresistibly, to Jason and then she wished she had continued to avoid his eyes. His face was faintly flushed and his expression blatantly sensual as he met her gaze. She knew he was remembering how it felt to be inside her; she knew he understood that she couldn't bear this urgent tingling between her thighs.

  "Move your head a little to the left, Daisy," Charlie requested.

  She jerked her glance from Jason's face and tilted her head obediently to the left. Dear heaven, she wished Jason would go away. She could feel her breasts swell against her bodice and heat flow through her.

  As if in answer to her silent plea, she heard a rustle of sound as Jason rose to his feet. But instead of leaving, he strolled over to the piano, seated himself, and began to play softly.