Page 77 of This Loving Feeling (Mirror Lake)

“Everywhere?”

“Yeah. Because full disclosure here, Samantha, I’m not leaving a single inch of you unkissed tonight.”

Good thing she was lying down, because his words made her stomach drop and her legs turn to jelly. He traced a finger along the edge of her lacy panties, a move that made her quiver. Again, that smile. The smile of a man who knew exactly what he was doing and couldn’t wait to continue. One that promised much, much more. He whispered in her ear as his long, beautiful fingers began to wander, along the waistband, tracing the sensitive skin below her waist. Dropping featherlight kisses along her neck, then along her ear, finally whispering, “You are so beautiful, Sam. You have no idea what you’re doing to me. Take a look up there at that sky. Take a good look, and then close your eyes. Because I’m going to make you see a whole different kind of stars.”

Then he swept the thin lacy scrap of her panties aside and touched her, slowly tracing the sensitive flesh, the silky folds.

“Are you ready to make beautiful music together?” he murmured against her mouth.

“Quit talking like a rock star,” she said, grabbing his amazing ass. Running her hands up his spectacular back, feeling the elegant planes of muscle. Kissing him deep, their tongues wet and tangling.

He drew his face back from her a little so she could see his eyes. Suddenly there was no trace of a joke, no smirk, no dance of amusement. Just naked, raw feeling. Tears blurred her eyes.

“Don’t cry, sweetheart,” he said in a raw whisper. “Just enjoy it.”

“Lukas,” she said, surrendering her body to him. He dropped his head to her breast, circling her nipple with his tongue. The sky above her blurred, and she let go, crying out his name. He was still kissing her, dropping tiny kisses all over, and then suddenly he was standing up and tossing off his briefs and helping to slide her panties off—and oh! stars in heaven, that body!—and rummaging somewhere in the scrub pockets for his wallet and sheathing himself with a condom. Then he was back, his delicious weight over her, his chest with that proud eagle and fearsome snake flexing in unison with his taut, hard muscles.

“Do you always cry like this when you make love?”

She couldn’t speak. Could only shake her head. How could she tell him she was simply overcome? That everything he’d done to her, every tender touch, every gesture, and God, that killer smile—it all just slayed her. She’d never felt anything so right, so perfect. She couldn’t look back at the past or dare to imagine the future. She was just so grateful for him, for now, for this moment. She pulled him over her, slid her fingers through the coal-black silk of his hair.

Words formed on her tongue, but she did not say them, for fear they would ruin everything. But they made her cry even more.

She felt them down to her marrow. Never had anything felt so right, so complete. It was all suddenly so clear. Sam knew now what she’d really known all along. She loved Lukas Spikonos. She’d fallen in love with him when she was nineteen and she’d never really stopped.

He expelled a hard breath as he entered her, rested his forehead against hers as their bodies joined. Looked at her with a tenderness in his eyes like she’d never seen. Then he was kissing her and loving her, and she wrapped her legs and arms around him and loved him back with every last piece of her soul until they both cried out, their voices floating down the rows of the exotic proud old theater.

And much, much later they both realized that the pizza had gotten cold.

Good thing Lukas had caught that nap in the ER. Considering the day he’d had (anguish, head trauma, and lots of lovemaking), it had served him well. At 3:00 a.m. they got dressed and ate the pizza, and Lukas finally began to feel the effects of the long day. His head was throbbing and his stitches were sore. So was his neck and back, but it was all worth it, and really, he had nothing to complain about. Because he had Sam, and any other little ache or pain was meaningless. Lukas half zipped the sleeping bag and crawled in. “You get in, too.” He patted the silver-quilted material invitingly.

“It’s going to be hot in there.”

“It sure is,” he said. “But come in anyway.”

“What about my cast?”

“Plenty of room for that.”

Sam unzipped her dress, letting it fall in a puddle of sparkles to the floor, and slowly slid in, until they were very close, their bodies lined up in the halfway-zipped bag. “Snug as two bugs in a rug,” he said. He pulled the rest of the zipper up, which brought her soft, lovely breasts against his chest, and her hips resting lightly against his. He might as well have died and gone to heaven, because this was every fantasy he’d ever had come true, every inch of her luscious body aligned with his.

“Squishedas two bugs is more like it,” Sam said. “Except that a certain part of you is not very squishy at all.” Her hand groped deep down under in the bag, and found her target, and he loved it. “Nope,” she said. “Hard as a rock.”

“Is that a complaint? Because if that’s a complaint, I’m going to have to get frisky.”

He kissed her forehead, the bridge of her nose, her cheeks. Then he just lay there, resting on his crooked arm, staring at her in the soft glow. Memorizing the arch of her brow, and the way her full lips tilted up when she smiled. “Samantha,” he whispered, tracing her cheek, “I could stare at you all night.”

“Well, you just go ahead because I’m going to sleep.” She closed her eyes and pretended to sleep. But her hands wandered gently over his back, his chest, his legs in a very unsleepy fashion.

“Tell me a story,” she said after a minute, her soft lips curving up in a grin.

“About what?”

“About how much you want me.”

“I couldsingyou a story. Would you like that?”

He sang her a few bars, sexy and low, of a song he’d written about a year before when he’d imagined a moment like this, with her eyes full of tenderness, her hair softly mussed. A moment of peace and awe where they could lie tangled up with one another with all the time in the world. Funny how he never in his wildest dreams believed it would come true.

“That’s beautiful,” she whispered, and edged a little closer. Now her velvety legs grazed his, and he couldn’t resist reaching a hand around to cup her sweet ass. He let his hand wander, up the curve of her butt, over the valley of her back. Every inch of her skin was soft and sweetly fragrant, and he reveled in every touch. She leaned into him a bit more.

“I thought you said you were tired,” he said.

“Maybe not so tired.”

“So then singing’s my secret weapon. I’ll have to remember that.”

“It’s always been your secret weapon as far as I’m concerned,” she said. Then she kissed him. And he really did think he’d died and gone to heaven.

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