After a moment, she continued. “It was just two days before Christmas when he asked for his sweater back. He needed it to give to his next girlfriend. I was so stupid.”
“No. You were sixteen and you’d fallen in love for the first time. And he was a class-A jerk.”
He felt her smile against his shoulder, and something inside of him eased. “I’m not going to hurt you, Fiona.”
“You said that before. And you won’t mean to. I know that. I’m not stupid enough to mix you up with Shawn.”
D.C. wanted to argue. But words weren’t going to work with her. And not everything could be settled with logic and language. He would just have to show her.
“Do you know the best way to develop a different attitude toward Christmas?”
She lifted her head to meet his eyes. “I’m sure you’re going to tell me.”
“Build new memories. I could help with that.”
She read his intention and felt her own immediate response. “By all means.” When she reached for him in invitation, all he did was frame her face in his hands.
“My lead this time.” Then his mouth brushed against hers lightly, once and then twice, as if he were savoring some new delicacy.
He didn’t touch her, not in the hard, hungry ways he’d done before. His hands remained on her face, but the pressure was light, as if she were a fragile piece of glass. She wasn’t. She should tell him that, but she didn’t want him to stop. He’d never kissed her this way before. No one had. His tenderness weakened her, blurring her thoughts and melting her muscles.
And still he continued to kiss her and kiss her. Time spun out as the whole world narrowed to the brush of his tongue, the nip of his teeth, and the seemingly infinite number of ways his mouth could meld with hers. He was taking her someplace she’d never been. But any fear she might have felt faded in the onslaught of pleasure. Even when his hands left her face to untie her robe and lower her to the carpet, his lips continued to caress her, soft, moist and so patient.
She felt him shrug out of his own clothes, heard him deal with the condom, and when he finally settled over her, she would have clasped him to her and demanded more, but her arms had grown so heavy.
“Look at me, Fiona.”
When she did, he continued, “I’m going to touch you, and I want to see what you feel when I touch you.”
With his fingertips only, he traced her shoulder blades and the length of her arms. Like his kisses, the caresses were featherlight. Sensation layered over sensation as his hands stroked and stroked. She’d felt his strength before and gloried in his demands. But this was different, and it was more than heat and passion that filled her. There was something in his eyes—something that had emotion welling up in her until it burned her throat.
“I want you, Fiona.”
“I know…You can…”
“I will.” He leaned down and touched his mouth to hers softly as his hands moved lower. And lower.
“I will have you.” The words were a promise, and as if to fulfill it, he slipped two fingers into her and began to stroke. This time the excitement built in a way it never had before. She felt as if she were caught up in a wave of pleasure that lifted her higher and higher.
She arched up, and as if he were waiting for that signal, he withdrew his hand and filled her. Still he moved slowly, taking her gently up the wave and keeping them on the crest. Lost in the world he had created for her, she matched his rhythm and they moved as one.
D.C. dug for control. This was what he’d wanted—to give her everything. But he hadn’t known that her surrender would take him beyond anything he’d experienced before. When she arched up against him and shuddered, he felt the power whip through him. But still he leashed it. His muscles trembled as the blood pounded at the back of his neck.
He had to taste her again. Her lips softened, gave, and filled him with a sweet, dark ache.
“Fiona.”
She opened her eyes.
“Come with me.”
“Yes.” Her hands found and gripped his, holding firm as they climbed together toward the next peak and flew over.
THE PHONE WOKE FIONA. When her eyes flew open, she found she was staring into D.C.’s. They were lying facing each other on the couch in her living room, and she couldn’t recall quite how they’d gotten there.
As bits and pieces returned, he reached over his head, lifted the handset of the phone and glanced at the caller ID.
“It’s Natalie,” he said as he clicked it on and held it so they both could hear.
At first, she thought that the baby might have come early. “Natalie?”
“Turn on your TV. Eleven o’clock news. Channel 5.”