Born in Ice
Page 49
Just like the ever-popular Rory.
What was he supposed to do? How could he have taken her to bed when all that hurt and fear and confusion had been shimmering around her? He didn’t need other people’s complications.
He didn’t want them.
He wanted her.
On an oath he rested his head against the window glass. He could walk away. He’d never had any trouble walking away. Just sit down again, pick up the threads of his story, and dive into it.
Or . . . or he could try something that might clear the frustration out of the air for both of them.
The second impulse was more appealing, a great deal more appealing, if a great deal more dangerous. The safe route was for cowards, he told himself. Snatching up his keys, he walked downstairs and out of the house.
CHAPTER TWELVE
If there was one thing Gray knew how to do with style, it was set scenes. Two hours after he’d left Blackthorn Cottage, he was back in his room and putting the final touch on the details. He didn’t think past the first step. Sometimes it was wiser—safer certainly—not to dwell on how the scene might unfold or the chapter close.
After a last glance around, he nodded to himself, then went downstairs to find her.
“Brianna.”
She didn’t turn from the sink where she was meticulously frosting a chocolate cake. She was calmer now, but no less ashamed of her behavior. She had shuddered more than once over the past two hours over the way she’d thrown herself at him.
Thrown herself, she remembered again, and not been caught.
“Yes, dinner’s ready,” she said calmly. “Would you want it down here?”
“I need you to come upstairs.”
“All right, then.” Her relief that he didn’t ask for a cozy meal in the kitchen was tremendous. “I’ll just fix a tray for you.”
“No.” He laid a hand on her shoulder, uneasy when he felt her muscles stiffen. “I need you to come upstairs.”
Well, she would have to face him sooner or later. Carefully wiping her hands on her apron, she turned. She read nothing in his face of condemnation, or the anger he’d speared at her earlier. It didn’t help. “Is there a problem?”
“Come up, then you tell me.”
“All right.” She followed behind him. Should she apologize again? She wasn’t sure. It might be best just to pretend nothing had been said. She gave a little sigh as they approached his room. Oh, she hoped it wasn’t the plumbing. The expense just now would . . .
She forgot about plumbing as she stepped inside. She forgot about everything.
There were candles set everywhere, the soft light streaming like melted gold against the twilight gray of the room. Flowers spilled out of a half dozen vases, tulips and roses, freesia and lilacs. In a silver bucket rested an iced bottle of champagne, still corked. Music came from somewhere. Harp music. She stared, baffled, at the portable stereo on his desk.
“I like the curtains open,” he said.
She folded her hands under her apron where only she would know they trembled. “Why?”
“Because you never know when you might catch a moonbeam.”
Her lips curved, ever so slightly at the thought. “No, I mean why have you done all this?”
“To make you smile. To give you time to decide if it’s what you really want. To help persuade you that it is.”
“You’ve gone to such trouble.” Her eyes skimmed toward the bed, then quickly, nervously onto the vase of roses. “You didn’t have to. I’ve made you feel obliged.”
“Please. Don’t be an idiot. It’s your choice.” But he moved to her, took the first pin from her hair, tossed it aside. “Do you want me to show you how much I want you?”
“I—”
“I think I should show you, at least a little.” He took out another pin, a third, then simply combed his hands through her tumbling hair. “Then you can decide how much you’ll give.”
His mouth skimmed over hers, gentle as air, erotic as sin. When her lips trembled apart, he slipped his tongue between them, teasing hers.
“That should give you the idea.” He moved his lips along her jaw, up to her temple, then back to nip at the corner of her mouth. “Tell me you want me, Brianna. I want to hear you say it.”
“I do.” She couldn’t hear her own voice, only the hum of it in her throat where his mouth now nestled. “I do want you. Gray, I can’t think. I need—”
“Just me. You only need me tonight. I only need you.” Coaxing, he smoothed his hands down her back. “Lie down with me, Brianna.” He lifted her, cradled her. “There are so many places I want to take you.”
He laid her down on the bed where the sheets and quilt had been folded down in invitation. Her hair spilled like fired gold over the crisp linen, subtle waves of it catching glints from the candlelight. Her eyes were stormy with the war of doubts and needs.
And his stomach trembled, looking at her. From desire, yes, but also from fear.
He would be her first. No matter what happened after, through her life, she would remember tonight, and him.
“I don’t know what to do.” She closed her eyes, excited, embarrassed, enchanted.
“I do.” He laid beside her, dipped his mouth to hers once more. She was trembling beneath him, a fact that had a hot ball of panic tightening in his gut. If he moved too fast. If he moved too slow. To soothe them both he pried her nervous fingers apart, kissed them one by one. “Don’t be afraid, Brianna. Don’t be afraid of me. I won’t hurt you.”
But she was afraid, and not only of the pain she knew went hand in hand with the loss of innocence. She was afraid of not being capable of giving pleasure, and of not being able to feel the full truth of it.
“Think of me,” he murmured, deepening the kiss degree by shuddering degree. If he did nothing else, he swore he would exorcise the last ghost of her heartache. “Think of me.” And when he repeated it, he knew, from somewhere hidden inside that he needed this moment as much as she.
Sweet, she thought hazily. How odd that a man’s mouth could taste so sweet, and could be firm and soft all at once. Fascinated by the taste and texture, she traced his lips with the tip of her tongue. And heard his quiet purr in answer.
One by one her muscles uncoiled as his flavor seeped into her. And how lovely it was to be kissed as if you would be kissed until time stopped. How solid and good his weight was, how strong his back when she dared let her hands roam.
What was he supposed to do? How could he have taken her to bed when all that hurt and fear and confusion had been shimmering around her? He didn’t need other people’s complications.
He didn’t want them.
He wanted her.
On an oath he rested his head against the window glass. He could walk away. He’d never had any trouble walking away. Just sit down again, pick up the threads of his story, and dive into it.
Or . . . or he could try something that might clear the frustration out of the air for both of them.
The second impulse was more appealing, a great deal more appealing, if a great deal more dangerous. The safe route was for cowards, he told himself. Snatching up his keys, he walked downstairs and out of the house.
CHAPTER TWELVE
If there was one thing Gray knew how to do with style, it was set scenes. Two hours after he’d left Blackthorn Cottage, he was back in his room and putting the final touch on the details. He didn’t think past the first step. Sometimes it was wiser—safer certainly—not to dwell on how the scene might unfold or the chapter close.
After a last glance around, he nodded to himself, then went downstairs to find her.
“Brianna.”
She didn’t turn from the sink where she was meticulously frosting a chocolate cake. She was calmer now, but no less ashamed of her behavior. She had shuddered more than once over the past two hours over the way she’d thrown herself at him.
Thrown herself, she remembered again, and not been caught.
“Yes, dinner’s ready,” she said calmly. “Would you want it down here?”
“I need you to come upstairs.”
“All right, then.” Her relief that he didn’t ask for a cozy meal in the kitchen was tremendous. “I’ll just fix a tray for you.”
“No.” He laid a hand on her shoulder, uneasy when he felt her muscles stiffen. “I need you to come upstairs.”
Well, she would have to face him sooner or later. Carefully wiping her hands on her apron, she turned. She read nothing in his face of condemnation, or the anger he’d speared at her earlier. It didn’t help. “Is there a problem?”
“Come up, then you tell me.”
“All right.” She followed behind him. Should she apologize again? She wasn’t sure. It might be best just to pretend nothing had been said. She gave a little sigh as they approached his room. Oh, she hoped it wasn’t the plumbing. The expense just now would . . .
She forgot about plumbing as she stepped inside. She forgot about everything.
There were candles set everywhere, the soft light streaming like melted gold against the twilight gray of the room. Flowers spilled out of a half dozen vases, tulips and roses, freesia and lilacs. In a silver bucket rested an iced bottle of champagne, still corked. Music came from somewhere. Harp music. She stared, baffled, at the portable stereo on his desk.
“I like the curtains open,” he said.
She folded her hands under her apron where only she would know they trembled. “Why?”
“Because you never know when you might catch a moonbeam.”
Her lips curved, ever so slightly at the thought. “No, I mean why have you done all this?”
“To make you smile. To give you time to decide if it’s what you really want. To help persuade you that it is.”
“You’ve gone to such trouble.” Her eyes skimmed toward the bed, then quickly, nervously onto the vase of roses. “You didn’t have to. I’ve made you feel obliged.”
“Please. Don’t be an idiot. It’s your choice.” But he moved to her, took the first pin from her hair, tossed it aside. “Do you want me to show you how much I want you?”
“I—”
“I think I should show you, at least a little.” He took out another pin, a third, then simply combed his hands through her tumbling hair. “Then you can decide how much you’ll give.”
His mouth skimmed over hers, gentle as air, erotic as sin. When her lips trembled apart, he slipped his tongue between them, teasing hers.
“That should give you the idea.” He moved his lips along her jaw, up to her temple, then back to nip at the corner of her mouth. “Tell me you want me, Brianna. I want to hear you say it.”
“I do.” She couldn’t hear her own voice, only the hum of it in her throat where his mouth now nestled. “I do want you. Gray, I can’t think. I need—”
“Just me. You only need me tonight. I only need you.” Coaxing, he smoothed his hands down her back. “Lie down with me, Brianna.” He lifted her, cradled her. “There are so many places I want to take you.”
He laid her down on the bed where the sheets and quilt had been folded down in invitation. Her hair spilled like fired gold over the crisp linen, subtle waves of it catching glints from the candlelight. Her eyes were stormy with the war of doubts and needs.
And his stomach trembled, looking at her. From desire, yes, but also from fear.
He would be her first. No matter what happened after, through her life, she would remember tonight, and him.
“I don’t know what to do.” She closed her eyes, excited, embarrassed, enchanted.
“I do.” He laid beside her, dipped his mouth to hers once more. She was trembling beneath him, a fact that had a hot ball of panic tightening in his gut. If he moved too fast. If he moved too slow. To soothe them both he pried her nervous fingers apart, kissed them one by one. “Don’t be afraid, Brianna. Don’t be afraid of me. I won’t hurt you.”
But she was afraid, and not only of the pain she knew went hand in hand with the loss of innocence. She was afraid of not being capable of giving pleasure, and of not being able to feel the full truth of it.
“Think of me,” he murmured, deepening the kiss degree by shuddering degree. If he did nothing else, he swore he would exorcise the last ghost of her heartache. “Think of me.” And when he repeated it, he knew, from somewhere hidden inside that he needed this moment as much as she.
Sweet, she thought hazily. How odd that a man’s mouth could taste so sweet, and could be firm and soft all at once. Fascinated by the taste and texture, she traced his lips with the tip of her tongue. And heard his quiet purr in answer.
One by one her muscles uncoiled as his flavor seeped into her. And how lovely it was to be kissed as if you would be kissed until time stopped. How solid and good his weight was, how strong his back when she dared let her hands roam.
