Page 9 of Everlasting

  She gave a low cry as he pressed and then began to rotate the spot slowly. Her eyes were staring blindly up at him and she had to clutch his shoul­ders or she would have fallen. "Not here. I couldn't imagine how you looked or what response you'd give me when I did this." There was savage joy glittering in his eyes. "But now I'm going to see you and touch you . . ." He pressed again and she jerked forward, arching helplessly toward him. "And pleasure you until you go out of your mind."

  She was already out of her mind. She felt as if every single nerve ending were on fire. She was tingling in the strangest places. The centers of her palms were throbbing and her toes wanted to curl. He stepped back from her, took off his jacket, and spread it on a pile of beech leaves on the ground. Then he was pulling her down on her knees on the coat to face him. The dry leaves rustled beneath his coat as he shifted to remove her jacket too. "Damn, I'll probably give you pneumonia. Are you cold?"

  "If there's one thing I'm not, it's cold," she mur­mured. Her hands were quivering as she pulled her sweater over her head and threw it aside; "I'm burning up!"

  ''I'll try to keep you burning up." He stopped her as she started to unfasten the front opening of her bra. "Let me. I've been looking forward to undress­ing you. It will be like seeing a flower unfold, petal by petal." He laughed huskily. "If I can make my damn hands stop trembling."

  They were still trembling as he opened the catch and slid the straps over her shoulders, as he slowly slipped the lacy scrap of material down her arms. Then he drew a shuddering breath, his gaze caressing the full swollen mounds. His eyes remained fixed compulsively on her as he pulled his sweatshirt off and threw it on top of her sweater. "Come here."

  His chest, bronzed, heavily muscled, feathered with a wedge of dark hair, looked deliciously soft and springy to her. She slowly leaned forward and his hands grasped her shoulders. Her head fell back and her eyes closed as he rubbed his chest back and forth against her with a sinuous catlike movement. "Zack ..." She didn't even realize she had murmured his name. The hair on his chest was a soft, sensuous abrasion against her nipples as he moved. She could feel the muscles of her abdomen twist and knot, and the trembling of her body grew violent.

  "You're sure you're not cold?" Zack muttered as his warm tongue moved against her ear.

  "I'm not cold." He couldn't seem to comprehend such a simple fact. "I'm about to go up in smoke. Why do you—" She broke off as his lips crushed hers with a force and passion that seared through her like a burning brand.

  He lay her back on the coat, his hands drawing off her jeans and panties in one clean motion. His head lifted and he looked down at her. He sat back on his heels. His eyes were dark and almost glazed with need as they bored into her. "You look like a cossack and an empress all at once lying there entirely nude except for those boots."

  She hadn't been aware that she still had them on. She watched bemusedly as he pulied the right suede boot off and tossed it aside. His hand cupped one bare foot and rubbed the arch, massaging it gently. "You have strong, supple feet. I like that. Your entire body is strong and firm and womanly." She was experiencing little shooting sensations from her arch to her calf. She had never heard that

  the foot could be an erogenous zone, she realized hazily. She shouldn't have been surprised. She probably didn't have a spot on her body that wasn't an erogenous zone if Zack touched it. His big hands were sliding up her calves now, his fingers massaging and exploring at the same time.

  Then he was moving between her legs, parting her thighs gently while gazing at her most inti­mate part with eyes so dark and intent that she felt as if he were touching her there. "That's what I wanted to see. You're as beautiful here as every­where else. Now when I'm thinking about you, I'll know and be able to visualize—" He broke off. "But I won't have to visualize anything anymore." His hand reached up and cupped her with a loving pos­session that made her throat tighten with emo­tion. "All I'll have to do is turn over and pull the sheet down and look at you." His fingers caressed her slowly, his narrowed eyes intent on the response he caused with every movement. His gaze lifted to meet hers as he slowly lowered his head. "I'll be able to rub my cheek against you and feel how warm and. . ."

  His words were muffled, but she wouldn't have been able to hear them anyway. Her head was thrashing back and forth in an agony of hunger. His tongue . . . Her back arched and she cried out brokenly.

  Then he was moving over her, his eyes wild and hot and his chest laboring harshly. "Kira. I need you. I don't think I can wait any longer." His hands were working at the belt of his pants. "Is it all right?"

  All right? she echoed to herself. She was aching with a hunger that seemed to have gone on forever. "Hurry," she said. "For heaven's sake, hurry."

  He was gone. Stripping quickly, tossing his clothes haphazardly onto the ground. She had a vague impression of powerful thighs, tight buttocks—exquisite masculinity—but had no time to assimilate anything else before he was with her again, parting her thighs and sliding between them. Stroking and petting her lovingly, he looked down at her with desire and heat and a vulnerabil­ity that startled her. She had always been the vul­nerable one since she had met Zack. Yet now she knew he was open and pleading and totally in her hands. With this knowledge came a sense of protectiveness that was fierce in its intensity. Her hands fell to his hips and she felt the ripple and surge of his muscles beneath her palms. "Zack ... Love me."

  He slowly bent forward, his eyes never leaving hers. He nudged against her gently and she could see the wild drumming of the pulse in his temple.

  His lips moved in a gossamer-soft caress across her mouth. Sweetness, gentleness, a honeycomb of joy. "Open. Let me come in, love. We have to be together."

  She opened her mouth and his tongue plunged into it with a wild hardness that surprised her after his gentle overture. He groaned into her throat and she felt his entire body tense with unbearable strain. "Together." He had lifted his lips a fraction from hers and each syllable of the word had been another kiss. His hips plunged forward as his tongue entered her mouth once again.

  Pain. Sharp. Startling. Then it was gone, but the hunger was still there. Zack was moving slowly, carefully. What a beautiful fullness. Hot and heavy. Yet after the first moment it wasn't enough. There was something else waiting for her. Her palms moved restlessly on his hips. She loved the feel of his skin beneath her hands. She wanted to run them all over him and feel the textures. But not now. Now she had to find that something ... She lunged upward and Zack gave a low cry, as if he had been stung by a whip.

  "Kira, I don't want to hurt you ..." She lunged again and his back arched in an agony of pleasure. He closed his eyes. "All right, but you must tell me if you want me to stop." His husky laugh held a touch of desperation. "I only hope I can still hear you."

  He plunged forward with a power and passion that robbed her of breath and then unleashed a fiery rhythm that turned her mindless with sensa­tion. How could anything be this tempest-driven? His hands were beneath her buttocks, lifting her to greater closeness, and his eyes opened to stare down at her blindly.

  Together. The word was radiant with beauty She hadn't realized it until this moment. Close­ness and striving for greater unity. The rhythm breaking through barriers to emotion she never had known existed. For if was emotion and not just sensation, she realized dimly. They had passed the point of hunger and were reaching for something beyond. Mondava? Part of it, perhaps. She couldn't analyze anything when she was so close . . . Then she was there in a burst of radiance that illuminated the world. She heard his low, hoarse cry above her. Zack. Mondava. Together.

  He was holding her with trembling arms, resting against her, his chest rising and falling heavily. He kissed her tenderly, a silent joining filled with peace, gratitude, sweetness. "I'm too heavy. I must be crushing you." He moved off her with a smile that lit his face with gentleness. "Thank you."

  He sat up and a little away from her. He was framed against a dawn shot with pink and gold and ma
genta, and she wanted to keep looking at him forever. He was all sleek bronze power and rippling muscle and seemed to be an integral part of the sky and the forest of maple and beech trees wreathed in the scarlet and gold of autumn. "You're not saying anything. Are you all right?" "I'm wonderful." She sat up with a grin. "And so are you."

  He frowned. "I hope your first time wasn't a dis­appointment. I wasn't that great, you know. I'll do better now that—" He broke off. "Do you know how beautiful you are sitting there? The sunlight is turning your hair the same shade as those maple leaves." She reached for her sweater and he frowned again. "Don't you like me looking at you?"

  She smiled. She had never imagined Zack could be even the slightest bit insecure. "I feel perfectly natural and at ease with you." It was true. It was as though she had sat before him naked and joyously

  uninhibited a thousand times like this.

  "Then why are you—"

  She held up her hand to stop him. "For the very pedestrian reason that now I'm cold."

  Damn! Of course you are." He was suddenly kneeling beside her. He picked up her bra and slipped it on her. He quickly fastened it with hands that were much steadier than when he had taken it off.

  Her sweater followed and he was reaching for her jeans when she stopped him. "I'll do the rest."

  "No," he said curtly. "We have to get you dressed as soon as possible. As it is, I've probably made you ill. Why the hell didn't you stop me?"

  She stared at him bemusedly as he pulled up her jeans and fastened them swiftly. "I didn't think of it. I don't believe I was thinking at all at that partic­ular moment."

  "Well, I should have thought of it." He jammed her left foot into her boot and then smoothed the soft suede over her ankle. "If I had been thinking at all." Then he was putting her right foot into the other boot. "All I was doing was feeling, dammit. I didn't care about anything but stopping that hell­ish ..." His voice trailed off as he looked up at her. "I'm sorry, Kira. Will you forgive me?"

  "There's nothing to forgive," she said softly. "I don't even know why you think there should be. You're right, I could have said no at any moment and I think you would have stopped." She paused. "I didn't say no."

  "I didn't give you much opportunity, did I? I practically kidnapped you from the caravan, pulled you up the hill, and demanded—"

  Her fingers swiftly covered his lips. "I'm not a victim. You insult me by insinuating that I'd let myself become one. You took nothing I didn't want to give." She smiled. "Now, don't you think you'd

  better get dressed? You're the one who's going to catch cold."

  "I seldom feel the cold," he said, still gazing at her intently. "You have every right to be angry with me, you know. I should have waited for the cere­mony tonight. I cheated you."

  "You didn't cheat me. The ceremony was Mama's idea, not mine. I think I like this better anyway. What happened here was just between the two of us. No mysterious traditions, no mondava.''

  "You're wrong. The mondava was here. We merely anticipated it."

  He was speaking of the physical joining, she realized with a pang. Now that he'd had her, he might not want to go through Mama's binding, formal

  ritual. "I've been meaning to speak to you. Marna and I had a talk last night." She looked fixedly at the trunk of a beech tree beyond his shoulder. "She explained about the mondava ceremony. Perhaps

  it would be a good idea if we didn't go through with it."

  The hell you say." Zack's voice was so violent that her gaze ricocheted back to his face. His expression was as hard and grim as his tone. "I think you'd better reconsider. We made a deal, dammit. I know I've just acted with all the tact and skill of a caveman, but that doesn't mean I'll always be that crude. You don't have to marry me, but it won't stain the family escutcheon to go through with this ceremony. It's not even legal in any other country or society. You can at least give me the mondava." He stood up and quickly began to pull on his clothes. "The ceremony will go through on schedule. Get used to the idea."

  She was gazing bewilderedly at him. "Zack, you don't understand. It was you—"

  He made a movement with the edge of his hand like the slicing of a knife. It was a curiously Indian gesture, the first she had seen him make. "It's decided. The discussion is over." He turned and strode swiftly away, leaving her to stare after him with a dazed look on her face.

  She'd had no idea her words would touch off such an explosion. It appeared that Zack was aware that the ceremony tonight constituted a commitment and wasn't at all averse to it. She felt a sudden surge of happiness so intense she was a little dizzy. He must have some feeling for her, other than desire, if that volatile break in Zack's usually tranquil demeanor was anything to go by She jumped to her feet and gathered up both Zack's jacket and her own. She stood a moment and looked out over the hills, breathing in the aro­matic scent of pines and earth and the myriad sub tie fragrances that composed this autumn world. There was just the faintest tinge of scarlet left in the heavens. Soon it, too, would be replaced by the deep cerulean blue of the morning. She had a fleeting memory of Zack silhouetted against that sky and felt again a great, buoyant joy. Together.

  She turned and walked swiftly down the hill toward the Gypsy encampment. She had always loved to visit Mama's people, from the time she was a tiny child. It was like taking a step back in time with its brightly painted wagons and well-groomed horses. The tribe had adamantly refused to embrace the conveniences of motor vehicles and continued to travel the countryside as their ancestors had done for centuries. It was very soothing to leave the tensions of the modern world for a place where tradition and simple affection were more important than position and wealth.

  People were awakening, preparing for the new day when Kira walked into the camp. Marna was standing by the wagon talking to Paulo and broke off in mid-sentence as Kira came toward her. Paulo gave Kira a puckish grin and a casual wave before he turned and strolled away.

  Mama's eyes searched Kira's face and then dropped to Zack's coat draped across her arm. "It a done then," she said quietly.

  Kira nodded and unconsciously braced herself for an explosive reaction.

  "It was with your will?"

  Kira nodded again and met her Mama's gaze readily. "Yes, I couldn't have been more willing, sorry you're disappointed, but..."

  Mama's impatient gesture cut her short. "I do not matter. The mondava exists. That is all that is important." She smiled in a slightly rueful way. "Besides, perhaps it was not the ceremony itself but my wish to exert my will over Zack's that made me so determined. I should have known he would not submit meekly to my controlling the situation. Diseks make their own rules and customs." Her smile widened and there was the faintest glint of respect in her eyes. "But I didn't expect him to creep into the wagon at night and steal you away from beside me. That took a Gypsy boldness. I think we trained him too well when he was with us."

  "He didn't steal me. He called," Kira said gently. "I believe that for the rest of my life I'll come when­ever he calls me."

  "It's so strong already? Ah, well, it is only what I expected. Come, we'll have breakfast and then we will begin to prepare you for tonight. Perhaps it's best Zack decided not to tolerate my interference. Now you will be able to concentrate on the soul tonight, instead of the body."

  Would she, indeed? Kira somehow doubted it. Her body was still exquisitely sensitive and became even more so when she remembered Zack's hands moving. . . She drew a deep, shaky breath. "I really wouldn't count on my being preoccupied with the soul tonight, Marna."

  Mama's dark eyes were suddenly twinkling. "Maybe I should have said you'd be able to concen­trate on the soul as well as the body. As for me, today I'm going to enjoy myself. I will talk to the women, and laugh, and be a Gypsy again."

  Marna looked years younger and as free and irre­sponsible as Paulo. She had exchanged the neat black dress she always wore outside the encamp­ment for bright clothing. The full blue skirt and yellow cotton blouse she wore now ma
de her appear almost another person. Kira had never really thought about Mama's age. She had always been merely Marna, as ageless and steady as these hills around them. Now Kira suddenly realized that Marna was only in her early forties.

  "You really miss this life, don't you, Marna? You gave up so much when you left your people to take care of me."

  "I gained so much," Marna corrected. "But it is good that they are still here for me now."

  But they wouldn't be here for her for very long. She would have to leave her people and her country and go into exile again. There was no question that it was entirely Kira's fault. Marna had been drawn into her problems through duty and devotion and now was going to have to suffer for it. "Oh, Marna, I wish—"

  Mama's big hand caressed her cheek in a ges­ture that was half-pat, half gentle slap. "How many times have I told you that it is useless to wish for things. You either do something to get what you want or accept what you have. Stop worrying about me. I will enjoy what I have while I have it. It is the Gypsy way. My way."

  Kira's expression betrayed how troubled she felt. "That's not good enough. Not for you, Marna." Marna shrugged. "It will have to be." "We'll have to see about that." She suddenly smiled as she linked her arm with Mama's. "But right now, well follow your Gypsy philosophy and enjoy ourselves. It's been a long time since I've been free to do that, and there's no one who knows how to do it better than the Romany."

  Seven

  Kira shook her head as she looked in the mirror Marna was holding before her. "Are you sure this isn't going a bit too far? I saw an old Maria Montez movie on the late-late show on television when I was in college, and even she didn't look this theat­rical. Seven petticoats, Marna?"