Inherited:OneChild(23)

"I was hoping you'd say that."

He froze at her words. A stinging slap couldn't have made a harsher impact.

"Earlier today I was positive that was what I wanted," she went on. "But I realize now that was just fear speaking."

"Fear?"

"Last time I was sixteen," she explained. "I don't even remember the act   itself. Now, the pain? That I recall. The embarrassment when it was   over is a particularly vivid memory, not to mention the humiliation when   the whispers started during the weeks and months afterward."

He regarded her with compassion. "I'm so sorry."

She shrugged. "I'm not sixteen anymore, Jack. My fear isn't logical.   It's more of a wispy memory than a rational emotion." Her mouth curved   into a smile full of feminine mystery and wry humor. "Don't you think   it's past time I changed all that?"

"Are you certain?"

"I'm positive." She shifted to face him. "Please, Jack. Help me replace   those other memories with new ones. Better ones. Special ones."

A short, harsh laugh was torn from him. "But no pressure, right?"

"I'm fairly certain most of the pressure is on me." She disengaged her   hand from his and slid her fingers along his arm to his neck. She tugged   gently. "Like this, for instance."                       
       
           



       

He bent closer and allowed her to take charge of the kiss. Her mouth   slid across his as light as a whisper. She moved in again, a slow,   thorough exploration. Then she slipped inward, giving him a taste of   such sweetness that it proved headier than the most potent drink. She   eased backward, breaking the contact.

"See what I mean? What if I do something wrong?"

He cleared his throat. "Not a chance."

"No? Why don't we test your theory."

She caught the edges of his bow tie and tugged. The scrap of silk slid   away and drifted toward the floor, vanishing into the shadows. One by   one she removed the studs from his shirt, placing each in turn on the   windowsill in a neat line. His shirt parted. Did she have any clue what   her slow, deliberate movements were doing to him? It took every ounce  of  willpower to allow her to take the lead, to follow instead of  dictate.

Her hand slid into his and she turned it in order to have access to his   cufflinks. First one and then the other joined his shirt studs on the   windowsill. He wanted her hands on his skin, to feel them move on him.   Warm him. Take him. Instead, she eased his shirt from his shoulders, not   once actually touching him.

His breathing grew harsh. "Anna-"

"Shh. It'll be all right."

With a soft rustle of silk, she stood in front of him and gently lifted   the circlet and veil from her head. She placed it on the window seat   beside him. The tulle and lace flowed over the edge like a waterfall, a   silent statement in the moonlit darkness. Never once taking her eyes   from his, she lowered the side zip of the gown.

Inch by glorious inch, the beaded silk fell away, revealing skin   beautifully gilded by their weeks at the beach. The gown slipped to the   floor in a soft cloud of surrender. She stepped free of it, as well as   her voluminous petticoats, and stood before him in a lacy bustier. He   leaned back against the coolness of the window with a groan. He'd caught   a glimpse of her stockings and garter when Madam had knocked them to   the ground, but it hadn't prepared him for this.

"Let me do the rest," he demanded.

He didn't wait for her agreement, but erupted from the window seat.   Gathering her into his arms, he kissed her. Claimed her. Told her   without words how beautiful he found her. And then he journeyed   downward, worshipping her with mouth and tongue and teeth.

Turning her so her back was to him, he swept the ebony tumble of curls   over her shoulder and unhooked her bustier, exposing the elegant sweep   of her spine. He traced his fingertip from the back of her neck down to   the dip just above her buttocks. Teasing her with the lightest of   caresses, he finished undressing her until she stood before him clad   only in the silvery rays pouring in through the window. She lifted her   arms and shook her hair free. The heavy ringlets cascaded toward her   waist. Then she turned ever so slightly and looked at him over her   shoulder. He could just make out the sweet curve of her breast.

"Please, Jack," she whispered. "Make love to me."





Eight




W ithout a word, Jack swept Annalise into his arms and carried her to   the petal-strewn bed. He lowered her to the satin duvet, the rich ruby   color a perfect complement to her hair and skin.

"Nudity becomes you, wife."

She laughed softly, just a hint of shyness evident in the deepening   color that swept across her cheekbones. "I suspect it would become you,   as well." She lifted an eyebrow. "Or were you going to make love to me   with your pants on?"

Following her example, he removed his remaining clothing, lingering over   the process the same way she had, despite the urgency to simply finish   the job and get down to business. He wanted to go slow, to ease toward   the moment when they became one. To build the memories one blistering   touch at a time.

When he finished stripping, she moistened her lips and lifted up onto   her elbows. "Jack … I think I should warn you that I've just started birth   control but it's not effective yet. I guess I should have said   something sooner."

"I'll take care of everything."

He made short work of the matter and then joined her on the bed.   Candlelight flickered across her, gleaming on the sweet, rounded curves   of her body and chasing darkness into the dips and valleys. He traced   his index finger across the dusky tip of her breast, watching the nipple   bead beneath the light caress.

"What should I do?" Annalise asked.

"Whatever you feel like. Nothing you do will be wrong."

"Show me how," she insisted. "Show me what you like."

Jack took her hands in his and guided them to his chest, pressed them   there, close to his heart. Her fingertips danced across his flesh. Where   once there was ice, each lingering stroke melted the coldness, turned   it to warmth. Then to heat. He sank backward and gave himself up to  her.  Her undisguised pleasure and curiosity were a joy to witness.  Little by  little her inhibitions fell away and her stroking touch grew  bolder.                       
       
           



       

She cupped him, then measured his length and width with her fingers and   he closed his eyes, fighting to retain some vestige of control. This  was  a first for her, he reminded himself-her first memory of being with  a  man, of having free rein to indulge the sensuous side of her nature  and  explore to her heart's content-and he wanted it to be perfect. When   she'd driven him as far as he could handle, he gathered her up and   flipped her onto her back, caging her within his arms.

"Jack," Annalise whispered, her voice rife with emotion. "Make love to me."

He couldn't help but smile. "I'm working on it."

A soft laugh escaped. "Work faster."

Jack didn't listen. He took his time, not wanting to alarm her or do   anything that might remind her of that long-ago event. He needn't have   worried. With each touch she loosened, opening more and more of herself,   both physically and emotionally. Shards of moonlight caught in her   eyes, allowing him to witness her intense pleasure.

He cupped her breasts, filling his hands with the delicious weight of   them while he teased the tips into excited buds. Then he tasted,   reveling in the unique flavor of her. He felt the pounding of her heart   against his cheek and the swift burst of her breath ruffling his hair.   Sliding lower, he delved across the tensed muscles of her abdomen to  the  protected delta below. Cautiously, he drifted inward. Her small  gasp of  pleasure was all the encouragement he needed. He pleasured her  until he  felt the early ripples of impending climax. Only then did he  pull back  and settle himself between her thighs.

Cupping her bottom, he lifted her and slowly surged inward. Her hips   shifted to meet his, fighting to find the appropriate rhythm. It took   her only a moment to discover it. And then instinct kicked in and she   followed the beat. Moved with it. Drove it. Caught within her rapture,   she was sheer radiance. She rode them toward a peak, further and higher   than anything he'd thought possible. They teetered there for an endless   moment before the first tiny convulsions shimmered through them. And   then they shattered.