Always - Iris Johansen [46]
He opened the door of a room at the end of the corridor and carried her into a large bedroom much like her own. Several crystal candelabra bearing long white tapers were scattered about the room, and the flames cast dancing shadows on the walls. Lisa was vaguely aware of tapestries in muted hues covering those walls, Aubusson area rugs on the stone floors, and a huge canopied four-poster bed across the room.
“Romance isn’t everything.” He set her on her feet and kicked the door shut behind him. “In a situation like this, stamina counts for a hell of a lot, too.”
“Clancy …” She gazed up at him helplessly. Why didn’t he realize how wonderful he was? “Don’t you know you don’t have to act romantic? You are romantic. You’re handsome, brave, and intelligent.”
“And sexy?” he suggested solemnly.
“And sexy.” She nodded. “Oh, yes, very sexy.”
“Just testing. I wanted to be sure you appreciated all my attributes.” Suddenly he put his arms around her and buried his face in her hair. “Oh, God, I didn’t think I’d ever make it.” His hands moved feverishly on her back. His lips were on her ear, her temple, her cheek in soft, hot kisses. “It seems as if I’ve been aching for this for at least a decade or so.”
Lisa could feel the hardness of his rigid muscles against her, but he wasn’t close enough. She cuddled nearer, rotating in a sinuous little movement into the cradle of his hips. He inhaled sharply. His heart was pounding so hard she could detect the movement through his white dress shirt.
His tongue darted in her ear and she moaned deep in her throat, arching against him as if he’d jerked a hidden string.
“Naked,” he muttered. “I’ve got to get you naked.” His unsteady hands were unfastening the barrette that held back her hair and then combing through the loosened tresses until they fell in a shimmering cloud down her back.
“Clancy, that barrette wasn’t exactly a significant body covering.” Lisa laughed shakily. “If you’ll let me go for a minute, I’ll see if I can improve on what you started.”
His hips moved slowly against her, rotating, stroking her sensuously, his hands cupping her buttocks to bring her in closer contact. Their lower bodies were pressed so close that she could feel the heat of his arousal with every breath. “I don’t want to let you go,” he said. She could hear his ragged breathing as he pressed his fevered cheek against her temple. Then he was pushing her away. “Quick. For God’s sake, be quick.”
He didn’t need to urge her to speed. When he had pushed her away she’d felt an aching sense of loss, as if they had been joined and were now severed by a surgeon’s scalpel. She needed that joining.
She moved swiftly, pulling the caftan over her head and then dispensing with her slippers and underthings with equal speed. Then she was back in his arms and was aware of the shock of naked flesh against her own. Clancy had stripped with the same frantic urgency she had.
“Clancy …” Her fingers dug into his shoulders as she rubbed her body against him with exquisite sensuous pleasure.
The cloud of hair on his chest was teasing her sensitive breasts, the hard muscles and bones of his thighs were locked and rigid with a leashed threat that was deliciously exciting. With every movement of her body he gave a little gasp that was almost a groan. She was gasping, too. Each breath was a shock of sensation as it brought her flesh in fresh contact with his. His left thigh insinuated itself between hers, and she could feel the thick muscles, lightly dusted with hair, pressing against her softness.
Her teeth clenched to suppress a cry that could well have turned into a scream. Heat. Wanting. His thigh moved with soft abrasiveness against her womanhood in an urgent, mindless rhythm that was making her mindless as well. “No more,” she whispered. “No more, Clancy.”
He nodded jerkily. “No more,” he agreed. His chest was heaving with the force of his breathing. “Come on.” He half pulled her across the room to the bed. Once there, he didn’t wait to jerk down