Page 32 of A Treasure Worth Seeking

Then he was beside her, leaning down, supporting himself on still arms spread wide on either side of her. “Erin, why are you crying?” he demanded softly.

“I don’t know,” she breathed.

“Yes, you do. Why, Erin? Tell me.”

She couldn’t face him with the knowledge of her love so evident in her eyes. She bowed her head, shaking it again. “I don’t know,” she said with the barest expulsion of breath.

He lifted her chin with his index finger, forcing her to look at him. “Tell me to go away. Tell me this is insane.”

“This is insane,” she whispered. Her heart was thudding. All she could see, wanted to see, was his face

only inches from hers.

“Tell me to go away,” he grated.

“No,” she said, shaking her head in refusal. “I can’t.”

“Then God help us.” The words were scarcely out of his mouth before it was fused with hers.

The mattress sank under his weight as he lay down beside her and gathered her to him. Wasting no time with subtleties, he covered her mouth with his. An insistent tongue pushed past her lips and pillaged the honeyed crevices of her mouth, claiming it as his.

When the initial hunger had been appeased and ownership established, he sipped her slowly. His tongue lifted the remnants of tears off her face, then lingered to taste each feature of her face, her ears, her neck.

She cradled his face between her hands and looked up at him with dark, liquid eyes, swimming with unstemmed, but as yet unshed, tears. “Lance,” she luxuriated in saying his name. “Lance, Lance.” Raising her head slightly, she kissed the cleft in his chin and aggravated his bottom lip with her teeth until he groaned and pressed her down into the pillows once again, covering her with his body, his mouth fastened onto hers.

Holding her tightly, he rolled them over until Erin was looking down into his face. His hands roamed her back, along her thighs, and over her hips, pressing her ever closer. She adjusted herself over him with a precision so maddening that it forced the breath out of his lungs only to be caught in his throat.

She nibbled at his neck and the triangle at its base was thoroughly explored by a rapacious tongue. Unable to stand any more, he entwined his fingers in her dark hair and raised her mouth to his. Breathless and laughing from sheer joy, he rolled them over onto their sides until they were facing each other. Their heads shared the same pillow. Fingers traced; noses nuzzled; mouths nibbled. They relished each other.

Timidly, Erin raised her hands to the necktie knotted below his top shirt button. With awkward fingers, she loosed it until she could ease it over his head. He accommodated her by raising his head off the pillow. He could be patient with her blunderings. He had all the time in the world.

Her fingers worked with the buttons on his shirt until they were all undone. Then she pushed the smooth cotton aside. She studied him for a moment. He was so boldly virile that she knew a moment of shyness. “I think you’re beautifully made, Lance,” she said unevenly.

Still timid, but tempted beyond endurance, she placed her hands on him and combed through the thick mat of tawny hair on his chest with her fingers.

“You have a gray hair!” she exclaimed. “Right here,” she said, tweaking the novelty.

“Ouch! That’s attached, you know.”

“How old are you?” she asked, soothingly rubbing the spot where she had pulled the hair.

“Thirty-seven.”

“I thought you were thirty-three. But that’s when I thought you were Ken.”

“Nope. I’m an old man. Much too old for you.” His fingers were memorizing her collarbone.

“I’ve always had a penchant for antiques,” she teased, as her hands smoothed over the hard muscles beneath the furred skin.

He indulged her idle, playful exploration until she touched his nipples with inquisitive fingers. His breath hissed out from between his lips and he caught her hands and pressed them over the hard, distended buds.

“You’re not playing fair,” he scolded her tenderly and kissed her briefly on the mouth.

“Teach me the rules,” she taunted softly.

He raised her hands and wrapped her arms around his neck. The twelve tiny pearl buttons that formed a neat row from the yoke of her nightgown to her waist taxed his patience. But when he was finished, he paused for a moment, savoring the anticipation before he separated the folds of wispy fabric.

His eyes wandered leisurely over her, and Erin wondered at her own immodesty. Even when his fingers followed the path his eyes had charted, she could conjure up no inhibitions.

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