“It’s not a—” he started to deny, then gave it up with a wry grin. “All right, all right, you win. It’s a damned trench coat. Mike Parker in his Sam Spade mode.” Feeling sheepish, he quickly undid the belt and buttons, stripped off the coat and flung it to the far corner of the room.
“Guess I read too much Mickey Spillane and Ray Chandler as a kid. Always pretending that I could grow up to be the same kind of tough-guy detective.”
“I’m glad that you had some make-believe in your life, Michael,” Sara said with one of those tender looks he almost found unbearable. “I used to play pretend about a lot of things when I was a little girl.”
“Oh, yeah?” He slipped his arms about her waist, drawing her close until she fit nicely beneath his chin. They made a strange contrast reflected in her dresser mirror. Sara in her white nightgown, a soft tumble of blond curls cascading down her back. Like someone straight from heaven. Him in his faded jeans and black T-shirt, unshaven jaw and windblown hair. Like something that had been tossed back from hell.
He grimaced, avoiding the sight by resting his cheek next to her temple and nuzzling a kiss against her brow.
“So, angel,” he murmured. “What kind of things did you pretend when you were a kid? The usual girl stuff, I bet. Knights on white chargers and the handsome prince bit?”
“No. I used to go hunting for fairies in the rose garden.”
Mike groaned. “I might have known.”
“And unicorns.”
“A horny what?”
“A unicorn.” She glanced up at him, her eyes half-laughing, half defying him to tease her. “You know. The mythical horse with the horn growing out of its forehead that can only be captured by a virgin.”
“There must be a real shortage of those these days.”
“Unicorns?”
“No, virgins.” But as he gazed down into her upturned face, the teasing light in his eyes darkened to something more intent.
When he bent to kiss her, Sara couldn’t help reflecting that there was going to be even one less virgin in the world after tonight. But that was the last thing Mike needed to know right now. Despite all his efforts at banter, Mike seemed skittish about being with her.
Which was odd. Considering it was her first time, she was the one who should have been nervous. But she had never felt so calm, so sure of herself. It was as though she’d been waiting for this night all of her life. Maybe even several lifetimes.
Her lips trembled beneath the warm pressure of his and she closed her eyes, threading her fingers through his hair, savoring the hard, unyielding strength of his body pressed to hers.
Mike broke off the kiss, resting his forehead against her with a deep sigh. “Sara, are you really sure this is what you want? Because we’re getting close to the point where I’m not going to be able to stop.”
“I don’t want you to stop,” she said.
Passion warred with a gentleness rarely seen in Mike’s rough-hewn features. “This is going to sound really dumb, angel, but I keep worrying I’m going to hurt you somehow. Destroy all that magic you believe in so fiercely.”
“You can’t.” She laughed. “I have too much of it. So stop worrying, Mike Parker.”
What a time for Mike to turn so solemn and serious on her. How could she convince this impossibly skeptical man that she knew what she was doing? That she was more sure about this than she’d ever been about anything in her whole life, even when she had flung everything aside to come here and take over her aunt’s shop?
Sara could think of only one way. Stepping back from him, with fingers that trembled slightly, she raised the hem of her nightgown and tugged it off slowly over her head.
As the candlelight skimmed over the outline of her bare breasts, she saw Mike swallow deeply. She knew more about the arts of the rune stones and crystals than she did about seduction, but she had a feeling she was on the right track.
With a gesture that was simple and direct, she reached down to her lace-trimmed satin underpants and dropped the last of her modesty to the bedroom floor.
Mike’s eyes dilated. He shuddered as though a sudden shock wave passed through his body. Sara trailed her hand down the breadth of his chest and she could feel the irregular thumping of his heart.
“Tonight,” she whispered, “let me make some magic for you.”
Her mouth curving into a soft, inviting smile, she pushed aside the tangle of sheets and coverlet and stretched out on the mattress, her hair fanning across the pillow. She gazed up at him with a look of such longing, such trust, Mike felt something constrict in his chest.
If he wasn’t such a selfish bastard, he’d leave now, before he did end up tainting her somehow with his dark cynicism, his bleak outlook on the world. But he was already too fargone, held spellbound by the delicate perfection of Sara’s naked form, the sweet promise in her eyes.
Eagerly, he started to lower himself to the bed when the thought occurred to him that he was somewhat overdressed for the occasion. Quickly, clumsily, he yanked at shirt, jeans, shoes, boxer shorts, sending the garments flying to the carpet.
He straightened to find Sara studying him through half-lowered eyes, a dream-ridden expression suffusing her flushed features.
“You’re a beautiful man, Mike Parker,” she murmured.
“Why, thank you, ma’am,” he said. “I try to keep fit.” But behind his teasing drawl, he felt a strange sensation sting his cheeks. He was blushing! He couldn’t remember when the last time was that he’d been embarrassed about stripping to the buff in front of a woman. Well, hell, he never had been.
But none of them had ever told him he was beautiful before. Clod! his inner voice railed. That was the kind of thing he should have been saying to her.
He eased himself down on the bed beside her, the mattress giving beneath his weight. Sara turned and curled into his arms like she belonged there, like she always had. The feel of her smooth, bare skin nestled close to him sent a charge through him like an electric current.
But he forced himself to simply hold her for a moment, wishing for once that he wasn’t such a wise guy. That he knew how to say some of the tender things a woman liked to hear at such a moment, some of the things he was thinking. Like how lovely she was. So lovely she made him feel like some humble mortal who’d strayed into the realm of a golden-haired enchantress. That he didn’t have much to offer by way of dreams or magic, but if she could find anything left in his jaded heart, she was welcome to it.
Incredible thoughts for a jerk like him. Small wonder he couldn’t seem to get any of them off the tip of his tongue. Lacking the words, he expressed himself the only way he could, with his touch, his kiss. the language of his body. Caressing back her hair, he cupped the nape of her neck, easing her forward to cover her mouth with his own. Her lips were soft and welcoming beneath his, parting like velvet petals, inviting him to taste of her honeyed warmth. His tongue joined with hers in a rhythm that was a tantalizing prelude to the mating yet to come.
Sara arched blissfully against him, each movement, each shift of her body pure sweet torment, bumping up his rising temperature another notch. Her small slender fingers fluttered over him, timidly at first, then growing bolder by the minute, exploring the contours of his chest, his muscles going taut beneath her caress, matching the hardness he felt stirring elsewhere. The woman always had been able to set him off with the merest touch, but he didn’t want this to happen between him and Sara too hot and fast. He wanted... The most corny thought he’d had yet filtered through his astonished brain. He wanted this night to last forever.
He sucked in his breath hard when Sara’s questing fingers strayed lower, over the flat plane of his belly, grazing against his rigid shaft. His pleasure was sharp, exquisite when she touched him there, and it took all his will to capture her hand, stop her.
“You—you don’t want to do that just yet, angel,” he breathed. “Unless you want the fireworks going off early.” He winced as soon as the words were out of
his mouth. Oh, right, Parker. Now there was a nice tender thought to whisper in a woman’s ear.
But Sara only smiled, a hint of unexpected wickedness creeping into her blue eyes. “That’s exactly what I want to do. Set off so many fireworks even you have to see them, Mike Parker.”
She pressed him on to his back, levering herself above him. Nipping playfully at the line of his jaw, Sara trailed a line of soft kisses down to his chest. He lay back, letting Sara weave her woman-magic over him, savoring all the sweet, warm, wonderful textures of her, her fresh, clean scent, the silky brush of her hair tumbling about him, the soft weight of her breasts grazing his chest, the gentle stroke of her hands, the hot moisture of her mouth.
It was a new thing for Mike, surrendering control of the situation. It was new for Sara, being the one in charge. She was more amazed by her own boldness than she’d ever been by the discovery of her peculiar psychic powers.
Magic. Fireworks. Rash promises for a woman to make to a man, especially a woman as inexperienced at this sort of thing as she was. Yet she felt guided by an instinct as strong and mysterious as the sensations awakening in her own body. Somehow she knew exactly what Mike needed—where to be touched, caressed, loved—for his needs were her own.
She was fascinated by the play of his muscles beneath his skin, his body so different from hers—coarser, rougher, harder. His very maleness excited her, making her more keenly aware of her own femininity, making her want to melt into him.
Mike tensed beneath her touch, his breath quickening, and Sara gloried in her power. He often teasingly called her his gypsy lady and she felt like one tonight, as wild as any sultry spirit who had danced, swaying barefoot around the flickering heat of a campfire. Witch. Siren. Temptress.
It was only when her fingers strayed too near the scar on his shoulder that she faltered. She’d never seen the jagged, raised streak of flesh outside of her visions, and the sight of it flooded her with tenderness, making her heart ache for him. No matter how tough he pretended to be, that one small mark on his skin would always be a reminder of his vulnerability.
She bent to kiss the scar, but Mike stopped her.
“Don’t do that, angel,” he said.
“Why not?”
“Because it’s ugly.”
“Not to me it isn’t.” She pressed her lips against his scar in a kiss that was more gentle than he’d ever imagined a kiss could be.
He felt something stir, tighten deep inside him in the region where he supposed his heart should have been. A warm, glowing feeling, deeper, different from the heat of desire. When Sara raised her head, it wouldn’t have surprised him to find that she’d exercised some of her strange gypsy power on him and the scar was gone, healed.
It was still there, but somehow it didn’t seem quite as ugly as before, as though some of the pain connected with it, the remembrance, had been conjured away.
Maybe because at the moment he was unable to remember the existence of anything in the world but Sara. He brushed back the golden sheen of hair from her face, capturing her mouth in a searing kiss. Although his body was more than ready, aching with the need to bury himself deep inside her, it wasn’t enough. He wanted her just as hungry, just as eager.
“My turn, now,” he murmured against her lips. “Let’s see if I can make a little magic for you.”
He sought and found her breast, possessing it in the callused warmth of his palm, molding, teasing, gently abrading her nipple in a way that sent heat singing through her veins. Sara thought her body had been responsive to Mike’s touch before, but as his fingers began a slow languid exploration of all her curves, her most intimate places, she fast realized how naive she had been.
He kissed the madly pounding pulse at her throat, his breath coming hot and quick between the valley of her breasts, moments before his lips fastened upon the bud of one nipple, enveloping that most sensitive point with the heat of his tongue.
Her whole body shuddered at the unexpected pleasure of this contact. She’d never given much thought to the mysteries of her own body. But Mike was unfolding those mysteries one by one, his hand skimming over the smooth curve of her stomach, delving lower still. Her muscles clenched in involuntary anticipation as his hand insinuated itself between her thighs, seeking out the tender spot from which all the fire, all the need seemed to radiate.
The spark of pleasure was so intense, Sara bucked upward bringing herself in full contact with Mike’s questing fingers. And she had imagined she could show this man anything about setting off fireworks. He’d probably been lighting the matches ever since puberty.
“Oh—oh, my,” she gasped. “You—you have very gifted hands, Michael.”
She immediately felt foolish, but Mike chuckled.
“Yeah, I had a music teacher once who said I should take up the violin, but I was too busy learning other things.”
He demonstrated by setting up a rhythmic stroking, his fingers moving lightly, deftly over the sensitive nub. A low moan escaped Sara and she dug her hands into the mattress.
Mike had never realized a man could find such pleasure just watching the face of the woman he was making love to. The flush of passion bloomed along the delicate arch of Sara’s cheeks, burned bright in her eyes.
“Oh, Michael,” she panted. “I—I want—”
“What do you want, Sara?” he whispered.
“I—I want you. I want you to be part of me.”
“I already am.” Mike wasn’t sure whose husky voice had breathed such wildly romantic nonsense. He was startled to realize it was his, equally startled to discover he almost believed it was true. That he was linked to Sara in some undefinable way, and would have been even if they’d never kissed or touched. If only their eyes had met across a room.
Crazy thoughts, he told himself, when the only sort of joining he really understood was the kind his body cried out for now. She buried her fingers in his hair, breathing out his name in a ragged plea he could no longer deny, the urgency too like his own. He answered her with a kiss, drawing her tight into his embrace, filling his hands with her softness, his heart with the beauty that was Sara.
Levering himself above her, he parted her thighs gently, preparing to ease himself inside. She was moist and ready for him, but he’d never known any woman to be so tight. A vague suspicion filtered through his head. Could it be possible that she was still—
The thought was gone the next instant as she clamped her hands tight around his hips, arcing upward, making their union complete.
Sara stifled her cry against Mike’s shoulder. The brief moment of pain she’d experienced at his entry ebbed, leaving her lost to the sensation of Mike filling her with his pulsing heat. Strange, wonderful.
It felt so right, so natural that their bodies should become one, no more barriers between them, two halves of the same whole. As Mike began to move inside her, the initial pain gave way to a throb of pleasure. Sara writhed beneath him, eyes half-closed, Mike’s face flashing before her, his eyes dark, storm-ridden.
Mike tried to go slow, be gentle, but Sara wouldn’t let him. She matched each powerful thrust of his body, pleading, urging him on, her kisses hot, feverish, demanding he hold nothing back—not just the rhythms of his body, but of his very heart and soul.
Every sense she possessed was attuned to him so it didn’t surprise her when her world exploded in a flash of light. But there were no terrifying psychic images this time, only a single revelation crystal clear.
Love... She loved Mike Parker, would love him forever.
With a muffled sob of joy, Sara clung to Mike tightly as her passion reached its peak, shattering inside of her, leaving her trembling.
It was impossible, Mike knew that, but he could swear that he realized the exact moment when Sara found her release. It was the same moment his own pleasure intensified to the point of pain. The feeling was too strong to resist, and he had to surrender, the sweetest surrender he’d ever known. His entire body shuddered as he spilled his seed
deep inside her.
Panting, he collapsed back to the mattress, the two of them still clutching each other like people who had just survived a storm. As he struggled to catch his breath, he almost felt that he had.
He could hardly believe what had just taken place between him and Sara. Sex was usually a hit-and-miss affair. No two people ever got it so right on the first try... so perfect. It was like they’d done it together dozens of times, knew each other’s bodies better than they did their own.
You couldn’t even call it sex. It was—hell, he didn’t know what it was. Magic. Fireworks. He could swear to God he’d seen fireworks and—
And he could also swear if he believed that, then he’d lost his mind at last. But at the moment, with Sara cradled close in his arms, he didn’t even miss it.
Her head burrowed deep against his shoulder, he could feel the mad race of her heart, slow to beat in a more steady rhythm along with his own. All was silent except for the soft stir of her breathing and the continued tap of the rain against the windows.
He pressed a kiss into her hair, his heart so curiously full, he felt he ought to say something, but damned if he knew what.
“The power’s back on,” he murmured at last, noticing the alarm clock light blinking. He almost groaned aloud. Another great romantic one-liner from Mike Parker.
Sara shifted enough to look, then nestled back against him. “So it is. But I don’t care,” she said in a voice of muzzy contentment. “I still prefer my candle.”
Strangely enough, so did he. He’d never noticed before what candlelight could do for even the simplest of rooms. Transform it into a place of romance or sinister shadow. Sara’s candle seemed to do a little of both, giving him the feeling of being lost with her in some intimate glowing circle while holding a very dark world at bay.
He wanted to thank her for giving him one night of peace away from his blasted nightmares, from the horrible implications of the note crushed in his coat pocket. But when a heavy sigh escaped her, he wondered if it had been quite as good for her as for him.