His One-Night Mistress(27)

Don't be an idiot, Lia scolded herself. You already share Marise with  Nancy; and love isn't something to be measured out in small doses.

If only Seth weren't so barricaded, so guarded. Sometimes it seemed to her that only in bed was he truly himself.

It had been a long time since he'd held her in his arms.

Seth had hauled himself out of the pool, swiping his soaked hair out of  his eyes. As the sun gleamed along the long line of his spine, Lia felt  desire uncurl in her belly and lazily stretch its limbs. Then he reached  down and lifted Marise out of the water, carefully putting her down  beside him. She was laughing at something he'd said.

Father and daughter, side by side. Grabbing a tissue, Lia wiped her eyes  and turned away from the window. The score was a blur of black notes.  How was she supposed to work when her world kept shifting beneath her  feet?

She did work for another couple of hours, partly to give Seth and Marise  more time together. After hanging up her violin, Lia went downstairs  and the three of them had dinner together, then watched The Lion King on  video. When it was over, Lia said, "Bedtime, honeybunch."

Marise said craftily, "You could both read me a story."

"I'll read one chapter and your father another," Lia said firmly.

Which is what they did, in Marise's pretty yellow bedroom. Seth read his  way steadily through his part of the story, keeping his eyes on the  page; he was finding his participation in an obviously much-loved ritual  almost unbearably moving. When it was time to say good night, he  contented himself with patting Marise on the shoulder. "I'll see you  tomorrow," he said.

"We could go and see Suzy," Marise said, giving a little bounce on the bed. "She thinks it's awesome that you're here."

"I'd like that. Night, Marise … I had a great time with you today."

Leaving Lia to kiss Marise good night, he ran downstairs, grabbed a  jacket and hurried outdoors. The stars looked very close. New leaves  were rustling gently in the breeze. His mother hadn't believed in  coddling her only son, and he couldn't imagine her sitting on his bed  and reading about the adventures of a mouse called Stuart Little. His  throat felt clogged; his shoulder muscles were tightly bunched.                       
       
           



       

As a boy, he'd been surrounded by money and the things money could buy. But Marise was by far the richer.

Seth set off down the driveway, walking fast. Too much had happened  today; not the least of which had been spending several hours at Lia's  beloved Meadowland. All day, with one part of his brain, he'd been  achingly aware of her nearness.

It was going to half-kill him to sleep alone in the guest bedroom under the eaves.

Half an hour later, he headed back to the house. Its lights shone gold  through the lacy network of branches. It would suit him just fine if Lia  had already gone to bed; he'd had enough emotion for one day. He didn't  need to add sexual frustration to the list.

As he went in the front door, Lia called to him from the kitchen.  Reluctantly he crossed the hall. She was standing by the stove, in faded  jeans and a baggy blue sweater, her hair tied back with a ribbon. "I  made hot chocolate-want some?" she offered.

"Think I'll pass, and head upstairs-it's been a long day."

She put down her mug and in a low voice said, "Will you come to bed with me?"

As had so often happened, she'd rocked him to the roots. "That's not in the cards-not with Marise here."

"She's sound asleep and I'll lock my bedroom door."

He raked his fingers through his hair. "What's up, Lia?"

"Please, Seth … come to bed. We can talk there."

She still looked tired, her mouth a vulnerable curve, her eyes full of  uncertainty. Any opposition he might have felt melted away. "I locked  the front door," he said matter-of-factly.

She switched out the kitchen light; from upstairs, the hall light  beckoned. She headed for the stairs, aware in every nerve of Seth  padding behind her. She'd lit two candles in her bedroom; as she closed  the door behind him, shadows flickered over his face. She had no idea  what she was going to do next.

Seth put his arms around her, drew her close and pressed her face to his  chest. She leaned against him. His body heat seeped through his cotton  shirt; the heavy stroke of his heart felt immensely comforting, and  slowly all the accumulated tensions of the day slid away. "Where's your  nightgown?" he asked.

"Under the pillow."

He edged her over to the bed. His face intent, he slowly undressed her,  his fingers lingering on the slope of her shoulders and the lift of her  breasts, smoothing the long curve of hip and thigh as he drew her jeans  down her legs; and all without saying a word. Finally he slipped her  white silk gown over her head.

Her whole body felt liquid; she swayed toward him. But Seth was in no  hurry. He took off his own shirt and jeans, tossing them on the rattan  rocker. Then he drew her down on the bed beside him. Only then did he  kiss her, a lingering kiss with none of the frantic hunger of their  other couplings.

Catching his mood, Lia edged one thigh over his, linked her arms around  his neck and surrendered. Slowly and surely he drew her deeper and  deeper into a place lit with golden sunlight rather than with the whip  of fire. Heat, yes, that melted her bones and bathed her in intimacy. A  warm light that dazzled her. But instead of being caught up in a  desperate drive to completion, she was surrounded by caring and  sensitivity. By gentleness, she thought in wonderment.

Engulfed in the slow, sure currents of yearning, she sighed his name,  her lips buried in his shoulder, then moving to caress the hard curve of  his ribs. She twisted gracefully in his arms, her breasts to the  tautness of his belly, and felt him slip inside her, silky and hard.

As she made a small sound of delight, Seth began to move with long, slow  strokes. She moaned softly, her hips moving with him. His eyes were  trained on her, molten with what she could only call tenderness. Like  the green leaves of spring, she thought. Tender, vulnerable, opening to a  new life.

Her heart opened in response even as her body gathered to its crescendo.  Her breath was rapid in her throat, her hips pumping to bring him  closer and closer; yet still her gaze held his. His own eyes had  darkened to a forest-green; the thud of his heartbeat was like a  primitive drumming. Caught in its rhythm, she rushed toward him, her  tiny cries like the echoes of faraway music. He groaned deep in his  chest. Together they fell, entwined as one.

Lia lay very still. Her cheek was pressed to his breastbone, his arms  wrapped around her as though he never wanted to let her go. Like the  slow unfolding of a leaf, emotion filled her heart. I'm falling in love  with you, she thought. Oh, Seth, I'm falling in love …

She closed her eyes, and knew her own words for the truth. For now they  were enough; and too new to be shared. Feeling utterly peaceful, she let  herself drift off to sleep.                       
       
           



       





CHAPTER TWELVE





SETH had to leave right after lunch on Sunday, to prepare for a business  trip to Venezuela. Marise unaffectedly hugged him goodbye, then skipped  off to play in the shrubbery. Lia, tongue-tied, watched him put his  leather overnight bag into the back seat of his red Porsche.

She hadn't told him she loved him; the thought terrified her. But when  would she see him again? "That's a very jazzy car," she said.

He straightened and grinned at her. "You can drive it. Anytime."

"Flat out?"

"It's the only way. I've got a suggestion, Lia. Why don't you stay at my  place this week while you're doing the recording? I'm away until  Saturday, you'd have free run of the place."

She could see where he lived: perhaps learn more about the guarded man she'd fallen in love with. "I'd like that."

He hadn't expected her to agree so readily. Giving her the extra key, he  said, "Make yourself at home. Perhaps Marise could come up next  weekend?"

"Sure."

He might as well push his advantage. "My father would really like to meet her."

Lia's eyes clouded. "Your father lives with your mother. I don't want your mother anywhere near Marise."

"I'm not suggesting you invite my mother."

"I'll see," Lia said, her lips set mutinously.

Seth scribbled Allan's personal number on his card. "My father wants to  mend, not to destroy," he said, lifting his hand and tracing the smooth  hollow under her cheekbone. "If Marise weren't cavorting in the  forsythia bushes, I'd be kissing you blind. See you Saturday-late  afternoon."

He put the car in gear, beat a tattoo on the horn for his daughter's benefit, and drove away.