Chapter 5 #4
And it wasn’t only his kiss that was doing me in.
It was his body. The way he’d drawn me to him had brought us together in a way we hadn’t been before.
Our coats were open; our bodies touched, more than touched, pressed, strained.
His arms were around me inside my coat. One splayed hand was exploring my upper back, the other was open on the seat of my jeans, holding me close.
I could feel the hard muscles of his chest, the hard muscles of his arms, the hard muscles of his thighs.
City man though he was, he was ruggedly male. That maleness made me buzz.
I’d never been as turned on by a man’s body before.
Through a haze of light-headedness, I was aware of the length of his legs, which gave him the height to make me feel delicate, and the breadth of his chest, which made me feel feminine.
I was aware of the leanness of his waist beneath my hands, then the ropey muscles of his back when I slid them higher.
I was aware of the angle of his chin and the firmness of his lips and the fact I was tipping up my head to better grasp his kiss.
Along with all of these things, I was aware of a growing need, a rising expectancy in my body that cried for assuagement.
Peter was giving me a taste of heaven, but a taste was no longer enough.
So I went looking for more. For the first time, I took part in the kiss.
I nipped at his mouth as he’d done to mine, stroked his tongue, sucked his lips.
I discovered that being an active player in the lovemaking was heady, but it didn’t give me the relief I sought.
When the tingling in my breasts became uncomfortable, I rubbed against him to ease the ache, and when he backed me to the doorjamb and leaned into me, I made room for his leg between mine.
There was an ache there, too. He ministered to it with the insistent pressure of his thigh, while he brought his hands forward and covered my breasts.
I cried aloud at the explosion of sensation and was panting when his mouth left mine. His own breathing was rough against my cheek as he held me still for a long, painful moment. The last thing I felt before he levered himself away was the lustiness of his desire.
He stood before me with his hands by his sides, his weight on one hip and his head bowed.
It was a minute before I returned to earth enough to realize how far gone I’d been.
Looking up at that bowed head, knowing that if he’d backed me into the living room and lowered me to the sofa, I’d probably have been the one to reach for his belt, I didn’t know what to say.
After all I’d said about loving Adam and not wanting to be involved with another man, I’d put on quite a show. He’d have been right to call me a fraud.
He wasn’t calling me anything, though, but continued to silently stand there with his head hung low, while the pace of his breathing gradually slowed. Only then did he lift his gaze to mine.
“I have to leave,” he said. The lingering thread of hoarseness in his voice was the only remnant of passion. Though his eyes were as compelling as ever, the sexual drive that had darkened their spokes was gone. “See ya.”
With neither a smile nor a touch nor a single other word, he left me at the door, walked straight to his car, climbed in, backed around and drove off.
I watched in disbelief, waiting for him to step on the brake, roll down his window and call out something sweet like, “I’ll phone you tonight,” or, “Take care of yourself until I get back,” or, “Wow, what a kiss!” But he didn’t stop.
The Saab continued on down my drive, rounded a curve and disappeared.
By that time, I’d run to the side of the house and had my eyes glued to that curve.
I held my breath and waited. I blinked. My mouth dropped open.
“See ya?” I murmured dazedly, then, “See ya!” After a second, I put my hands on my hips and cried, “See ya! Is that all you have to say after what just happened? You kiss me to oblivion, put your hands all over me, and all you have to say is, See ya?” I whirled around and stormed back to the house.
“You are a first class jerk, Peter Hathaway. No wonder you’ve never been married.
No woman will have you. Women don’t want a man who takes what he can get and then pulls on his boots and says—” I dropped my voice to imitate Peter’s “—See ya.” My voice shot up again.
“Goodbye and good riddance,” I yelled to the wind.
Stalking inside, I gave the old oak door a mighty shove.
“Who does he think he is?” I muttered. I paced in a small circle, gesturing with my hand as I ranted, “Who does he think I am? A princess—hah! The Madigan heiress—hah! Does he think I’m made of stone?
Does he think I turn myself on and off like a faucet?
Doesn’t he know I’m human? Doesn’t he know what he’s done to me?
” Feeling suddenly deflated, I stopped pacing and stood in the middle of the floor.
I saw nothing but shades of bleakness. In a weak voice I said, “Doesn’t he know what I’ve done to myself? ”
My legs wobbled. I sank to the floor, pulling my knees to my chest and cinching them in with my arms. Then I buried my face and cried.