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Her eyes were horrified. The drawn look on her face stopped him in mid-sentence.
“You don’t ever want children, do you?” she asked, choking on the words.
He looked hunted. “Hell,” he bit off. Why had she brought up the subject! He watched her scramble out of the tub and fumble a towel around herself.
“We aren’t even married yet, and you’re harping about a family,” he burst out, rising to his feet, his handsome face hard with anger. “What the hell do we need kids for? They’re a permanent tie. A bond.”
“Isn’t marriage?” she asked huskily.
“Of course,” he grumbled, grabbing up a towel. “But not like kids.”
“You never answered me,” she said quietly. “You don’t ever want them, do you?”
“No,” he said flatly, tired of the pretense, hating the memories the discussion was bringing back. “Not ever.”
She turned and walked back into the bedroom. She didn’t know him at all. And the first thing she was going to do was cut her losses. She’d go back to her room and forget him. How could she expect to live all her life without a child? What kind of man was he?
Tears blinded her. She got as far as the bed and sat down, feeling empty and sick and alone. She’d dreamed of children. Since she was eighteen she’d haunted baby shops, quietly touching the little crocheted things and imagining her own baby in her arms. She had no one of her own, but a baby would be part of her. The tears rippled down her cheeks in silvery streams, and she closed her eyes.
The man at the bathroom door, watching her, saw them, and something painful exploded inside him. She was snaring him, he thought furiously. Swallowing him up whole with her unexpected vulnerabilities. With a muffled curse he threw the towel aside and went to the bed.
He caught her by the waist, lowering her back against the rumpled covers so quickly that she gasped.
“Eric!” she called uncertainly.
His mouth covered hers, but there was none of the violence she’d expected. His lips played with hers, so gentle that she barely felt them, while his hands removed the towel and whispered over her body until she trembled.
“Draw your legs up,” he breathed. He helped her, positioning his body so that they were curled together, his knees beside her, his chest on hers, his hips against her hips and thighs.
She looked up, fascinated at the look in his dark eyes.
His big, warm hands cupped her face. “Open your mouth now,” he whispered, bending, “and kiss me the way I taught you last night.”
She obeyed him, liking the way her tongue tangled softly with his, liking the intimacy of this slow, tender kissing.
His knuckles brushed over her breasts, making their tips hard and sensitive, and when she gasped, his mouth took advantage of it to make the kiss even deeper. His hands searched over her, sliding under her hips to lift her to the slow descent of his body.
She felt his fingers contract on her thighs and caught her breath at their steely strength. And still he kissed her, whispery contacts that drained her of will, that made her weak. Her body trembled as he explored it with even more intimacy than the night before, each new touch intensifying her hunger for him.
He paused, hesitated, his lips touching hers. His eyes opened, holding hers, and his body lowered.
She caught her breath at the intensity of feeling she knew as he let her experience the very texture of his body with the slowness of his movement.
“Now,” he said, closing his eyes, “we really make love for the first time.”
She didn’t understand at first. And then it began to make sense. He was so tender, so exquisitely gentle, that every movement seemed to stroke a nerve of pleasure. She clung to him, matching his tenderness, trying to give him back the beauty he was giving her. Her eyes fluttered closed and her fingers tangled in his cool blond hair, her body trembling under the expert movements of his. As the pleasure built slowly she began to writhe helplessly. And as fulfillment came closer, she wondered if she was going to survive it.
“Eric?” she whimpered against his mouth.
His own body was trembling, too. “Lieveling,” he said huskily. “Mijn lieveling, mijn vrouw!”
The hands holding her clenched, and he rocked with her, smooth, tender movements that were exquisitely soft. He whispered to her in Dutch, words that she couldn’t understand, but they were breathlessly tender.
She kissed his tanned cheek, his mouth, his chin, and he lifted his head for an instant, his dark eyes glazed, his lips parted.
“Yes,” he told her. “Yes, like that.”
He closed his eyes and let her kiss him, savoring the softness of her mouth on his eyes, his cheeks, his straight nose, his lips.
She moved, trembling with need, letting him feel her body as she drew it with smooth sweetness to either side.
His eyes opened again, reading the intensity of hunger in hers.
“Yes,” he said. “Yes, now it happens. Now…”
His voice didn’t change, but his breathing did. He looked down at her, lengthening his movements, deepening them, so that although the tenderness remained, the urgency grew.
Something was happening to her that she didn’t understand. Terrifying tension, hands buffeting her, a blazing tide of warmth that speared through her like tiny needles. Her mouth opened because she could no longer breathe. Her body began to shudder helplessly, tiny little shudders that matched the tenderness that was devouring her.
“I’m…afraid…” she managed, and her fingers clenched at his back as she felt her body beginning to contract.
“Hush,” he said softly. His movements deepened, and still he watched. “Yes, feel it. Feel it now. There’s nothing to be…afraid of, lieveling. No, don’t turn away, let me see you….”
He turned her head back to him, and his face blurred. She thought he smiled, but she was all bursting fireworks, a flare lighting up the night sky. She felt gentle explosions all through her body, and for a moment her heart stopped, her breathing stopped. And then she cried, because it had been so beautiful, and so brief.
Even as the tears came, she felt his own body go rigid, heard the tender, surprised exclamation at her ear, and then her name….
He didn’t move for a long time. Neither did she. She felt incapable of movement. What had happened surprised her. He’d said they wouldn’t make love again until they got married, so why had he done it? And why that way? So tenderly, so gently, as if he cared about her.
Experimentally, her hands moved on the damp muscles of his shoulders.
He lifted his head and searched her eyes slowly. He touched her face with gentle fingers. “In my life there was never such a tender loving before,” he said. “I didn’t know that men and women were capable of it.” He brushed away the tears. “I hurt you?” he asked.
“No.” She swallowed. “It was…so beautiful,” she faltered.
“Yes. For me, too.” He drew away from her with exquisite slowness, watching her. He sighed heavily, and frowned. After a minute he turned back to the bathroom. “We’d better get dressed.”
She got up, too, a little shaky and puzzled by his odd behavior. He’d meant to comfort her, she was certain of it. But the comfort had gotten out of hand. And the way he’d loved her…
As she dressed she wondered if she was doing the right thing, marrying a total stranger. Then he came out of the bathroom, wearing nothing except his slacks, his blond hair neatly combed, his face slowly curving into a smile. And she knew that she’d die to wear his ring, babies or no babies. She smiled back.
They were married in a small chapel, with people all around them who spoke little English. The minister beamed at them when it was over, inviting the new husband to kiss his bride.
Dutch bent and brushed his mouth softly against hers, smiling at his own folly. Well, it was done now. And it wouldn’t be so bad, he told himself as he studied her radiant young face. She could wait for him at home, and they’d see each other whenever he was there. It might even be good that way. No routine to bore him. She could go on with her life, and there would be no ties. He frowned for a minute as he thought of what had happened this morning, then he shook off the instant fear of consequences. Surely to God, he hadn’t made her pregnant. He’d just have to be careful from now on. No more lapses. The thought of a child terrified him. That would make a tie he couldn’t break.
Dani saw that frown, and worried about it. She wondered why he’d really married her, when he seemed the kind of man who was self-sufficient and didn’t need anyone else.
“You aren’t sorry?” she asked finally when they were walking back to the hotel.
He stopped, lifted his blond head and smiled, a little puzzled. “What?”
“Sorry that you married me,” she continued. She searched his eyes nervously. “You’ve been so quiet. I know I’m not much to look at, and we don’t know each other at all. I…we can always get a divorce,” she finished miserably.
“I’m quiet because I have a logistical problem to work out,” he said then. “Not because I’m regretting that we got married. When you know me better, you’ll learn that I never do things unless I want to. I can’t be pushed or coerced.” He reached out and curled her fingers into his. “I like being with you,” he said, meeting her eyes. “Like this, and in bed. We’re both old enough to want someone to be with.”
“Yes,” she confessed. Tears stung her eyes and she lowered her lids before he could read her thoughts. “I never thought it would happen to me,” she added. “I thought I’d be alone all my life.”
“So did I.” He smoothed his fingers across the back of her hand. She had pretty hands, he mused. “Do you play anything?” he asked unexpectedly.
She laughed. “The piano. Badly.”
“I like piano. I play a little, too.” He slid his fingers in between hers, feeling oddly possessive as he saw the bright little gold band that encircled her ring finger. “A wedding ring suits you. Feel better now about what we did last night?” he asked with a slow smile, as if he understood her uneasiness about intimacy without marriage.
“I’m old-fashioned.” She sighed miserably.
“You don’t have to apologize for it, not to me.” His eyes gleamed suddenly as he looked at her. Short brown hair, creamy, oval face, wide gray eyes. “I liked being the first.”
There was a deep, possessive note in his voice that surprised her. She smiled slowly. Her fingers squeezed his, and she looked into his eyes for so long that she flushed.
“This morning,” he said softly, holding her eyes, “was my first time. I didn’t realize that I was capable of tenderness. I let go with you in a way I never could before with a woman. I trusted you.”
Her face was bright red, but she didn’t look away. “I…trusted you.” She let her eyes fall to his hard mouth, remembering with a surge of desire how it felt on her body. “One of my friends got married two years ago. She said her husband shocked her speechless on her wedding night, and made fun of her….”
His fingers contracted. “I think it would kill something in you to have a man treat you so,” he remarked.
Her eyes came up, stunned at the way he understood.
He nodded. “Yes. It’s that way with me, too. I don’t like ridicule.”
Her expression said more than she wanted it to, and she knew that he could read the worshipful look in her eyes. But she didn’t care. He was her whole world.
His breath caught at that look. It bothered him, and he let go of her hand. “Don’t ever try to build a wall around me,” he said unexpectedly, staring at her. “I’ll stay with you only as long as the doors remain open.”
“I knew that the first time I saw you,” she said quietly. “No ties. No strings. I won’t try to possess you.”
He started walking again. He wondered what she was going to do when she knew the truth about him. He glanced up, searching her face quietly. She was so damned trusting. She probably thought he was in the army reserves or something. He almost laughed. Well, she’d just have to get used to it, he told himself, because he didn’t know how to change.
After they’d changed their status at the hotel desk and switched everything to his room they went downstairs for lunch. Dani picked at her food, wondering at the change in Eric. Something was on his mind, but she didn’t know him well enough to ask what it was. She glanced at him with a slow-dawning mischief in her eyes. Well, she couldn’t dig it out of him, but she could help him forget it.
“Hey,” she called.
He glanced up, cocking an eyebrow.
“I have this great idea for dessert,” she murmured, making her first attempt at being a siren.
Both eyebrows went up. “You do?”
She dropped her eyes to his throat. “I could smear whipped cream all over myself…”
“Honey tastes better.”
She blushed furiously, and he laughed. He leaned forward, moving his plate aside, and lifted her fingers to his mouth.
“Do you want me?” he asked bluntly, smiling at her averted face.
“Yes,” she confessed.
“Then say so. You don’t have to play games with me.” He got up, helped her up, and paid the check. They were back in the hotel room before he spoke again.
He backed her up against the door and pinned her there with just the threat of his body. “You can have me anytime,” he said quietly. “All you have to do is tell me. That’s what marriage should be. Not some kind of power game.”
Her eyes narrowed. “I don’t understand.”
He brushed the hair away from her face and curled it behind her ear. “Bargaining, with sex as the prize.”
“I’d never do that,” she said. She watched him, amazed that this handsome man was actually married to her. “You were worried about something. I wanted to…to give you peace.”
He seemed to freeze. His lips parted on a hard breath. “I constantly misread you, don’t I?” He touched her throat with the lightest touch of his fingers and lifted his eyes to hers. “Do you want me?”
“I’ll want you on my deathbed,” she said shakily.
He bent and kissed her softly, tenderly. “I’m more grateful than I can tell you, for such a sweet offer. But I don’t think you can take me again today, not without considerable discomfort.” He lifted his head. “Can you?”
She bit her lower lip. “Well…”
“Can you?”
She dropped her eyes to his chest. “Oh, shoot!” she mumbled. “No.”
He laughed softly and drew her into his arms, rocking her slowly. “That’s why I was so gentle this morning,” he murmured into her ear, lying a little. He didn’t want to admit that she’d been the victor in that tender battle.
“Oh.” That was vaguely disappointing, she mused. She slid her arms around him with a sigh, delighting in his strength, the corded power of his warm hard body. “It isn’t like this in books,” she concluded. She smiled as her eyes closed. “Women always can, and they never have discomfort, and—”
“Life is very different,” he said. He smoothed her hair. “We’ll wait a day or so, until you recuperate. Then,” he added, tilting her face up to his amused eyes, “I’ll teach you some more subtle forms of sensual torture.”
She laughed shyly. “Will you?”
He took a deep breath. “I’ve never known anyone like you,” he said, the words reluctant. He drew her up on her tiptoes and kissed her very softly. “Feel what’s happening already?”
“Yes,” she answered him.
“We’d better cool it, if you don’t mind. I hate cold showers.”
She laughed. “You’re terrific.” She sighed.
“So are you. Get on a bathing suit and let’s go swim.”
She started into the bathroom, met his mocking eyes, and stuck out her chin. “You’re my husband,” she said aloud, to remind both of them.
