Chapter 10
She gave him a tour after they consumed the sumptuous tiramisu and excellent coffee.
A tour he could barely concentrate on. She went before him, forcing him to watch as the silk slid and slithered over her subtle curves.
He vaguely heard mention of the rooms they entered: a small, cozy library tucked under the stairs, a bright yellow salon with a piano beneath the window overlooking the garden, a teal blue powder room with scrupulously tidy decor and fancy-looking towels draped artistically over the hanger.
A back door led to a deck overflowing with flowers and herbs. Then they headed upstairs, and he wondered if this was the moment and whether or not he was ready.
Then she confounded him by opening the door to a room dedicated to art. Colors spilled out of every corner, and the space was surprisingly chaotic.
She laughed at the surprised look on his face.
"I'm usually as neat as a pin."
"Hard not to notice." He wandered in, picking up a canvas with a hauntingly beautiful landscape.
The colors were bold, bleeding into each other.
There were small treasures, objets d'art.
Small sculptures, glass, thin and transparent, a clash of colors again.
Quilts and rugs strewn in a heap on the solid board floor.
"Planning on having a garage sale?"
"No. I love antique shopping." She picked up a wooden rocking horse. "I bought this at a garage sale a few weeks ago."
"You surprise me," he murmured, tawny eyes studying her face.
"Why?"
"There are so many different facets."
"Are there?" Putting the rocking horse down, she walked to the door and waited for him to follow.
This time, the door she opened led to a sitting room with cool pastel colors of blush pink and the palest of yellow.
This was her, he thought. The throw pillows on the cream sofa, the frilly curtains at the window.
When she stepped into the bedroom, one with the same color scheme, he stopped dead.
"I thought I would set the mood." She walked to the middle of the room and turned to look at him. "What do you think?"
There were candles everywhere. Fat ones of varying colors. On the side tables, the dresser, a table in front of the love seat. A bucket of champagne was chilling on one of the tables, and flowers speared from a beautiful rose pink vase next to it. She had gone to a lot of trouble.
"It's-" He had to clear his throat and realized that he was clearly out of his depth. "It's a lot."
"Is that good?"
"Undoubtedly." He dragged his eyes to her face and saw that she wasn't as controlled as she pretended to be. "Kara, what exactly changed your mind about me?"
"Is that so important?"
"I want to know."
"I just decided that I want it to be you, that's all."
"Me as in-" The rest of the words died away when she simply tugged the sheath over her head.
He felt the spit drying up and his throat turning dry.
Moonlight spilled into the room, creating shadows along with the candles she had lit, and highlighted her curves.
His eyes wandered over the pert breasts with their already rigid nipples, down to her flat stomach and a scrap of red lace that really was not much covering at all.
"Do you like what you see?" Her husky voice had him dragging his eyes to her face. He felt the control slipping away from him. He was supposed to be taking the lead.
"I do. A lot. The champagne--" He gestured to the bucket, desperately thinking that if they slowed things down, he might just recover.
"After." She walked toward him, hips undulating, smile seductive. He wondered if this was how Adam had felt when Eve approached him in the garden. Powerless and speechless.
His limbs felt weak and lifeless. Her scent filled his nostrils, making it difficult to breathe. He felt gauche and stupid, having no idea what to do next.
When she placed her hands on his chest, he felt the burn straight to his bones.
It managed to jump-start his response, stir him from his daze.
Lifting his hands, he clamped them on her shoulders, fingers biting into her skin.
She slid her hands up his chest, admiring the flex of muscles as she wound them around his neck.
"I want to feel you against me," she whispered.
He reacted. The words were like a douse of fire pouring over him.
Jerking her closer, he took her lips and took back the control.
His hands wandered down her back, burning a fiery trail over the bare skin, skin that felt like silk.
Her breasts pressing against his chest branded him with heat, impossible heat.
Her mouth. Christ Jesus! Her mouth tasted like dark honey and was so addictive that he figured he would never get tired of sipping from her. She met his fierceness with a fire of her own, body arching against his. He half lifted her against him, hands wandering up and down her back.
Kara felt the tremors, like shockwaves throughout her body.
She also felt his arousal, rigid against her middle.
For a few seconds, fear replaced a desire so thick, so potent, she felt as if she was drowning.
Fear of the unknown. She was giving herself to this man, throwing away her innocence, and he had no idea.
Zane was so lost in the kiss, in the scent of her, that it took a minute or two to realize that she was pushing against him, that her hands were wedged between their bodies as she tried to create some space.
With a supreme effort, he ended the kiss. His body was thrumming, the blood rushing through him like a tidal wave.
"I have to tell you something. We have to talk."
"We will," he lied. "Just-" When he dipped his head to resume the kiss, she turned her head away so that his lips brushed her cheek.
"Please."
He had to shake his head to get rid of the cloud that had settled there. "I don't think this is the time-"
"It is." She came all the way out of his arms, leaving him bereft.
With a frown, he watched her walk to the bed and turn the colorful quilt down. He wasn't surprised that he hadn't noticed the mound of pretty pillows piled against the sturdy headboard. He had been too busy looking at her.
When she settled back on the pillows and aimed those eyes at him, he felt weak.
"Can you come here?" She held out a hand, and he went to her.
"I just wanted you to know that-" She twined her fingers through his as he sat at her hip. "I'm twenty-eight."
"All right." He stared at her, puzzled. "I'm thirty."
She huffed out a laugh. "Good to know." She stared at their joined hands. "I know you're very experienced."
"Pardon?" He could not believe she was asking about his past relationships.
"I mean, I've read the gossip columns and know you've been with a lot of women," she prodded.
"Kara-"
"That means you're experienced."
"This is not-"
"I'm not."
"I already figured that out."
She nodded and took a deep breath. "I have no experience at all."
He shook his head. "I don't-" He started when her words hit him. She saw when he realized what she was trying to say. "I- you-"
"This is my first time."
He sat there staring at her for so long, she wondered if he was ever going to say anything.
"I just wanted you to know."
He needed space and time to think. With that in mind, he pulled his fingers from hers and rose slowly, like a man who had lost most of his faculties.
"You're a virgin."
"Yes."
"You were with the guy for two years." He took a step back as if to distance himself.
"Two years and several months. We were waiting until after the wedding."
"I see." He took another step back. "And you want your first time to be with me. Why?"
She shrugged and thankfully pulled the sheet over her breasts. He felt as if his brain had been scrambled.
"When you kissed me in the garden, I felt something. After I decided that I wanted to pop my cherry, I wanted it to be you."
"Pop your-" Zane shook his head and wondered if he was in an alternate time zone.
"Isn't that the right term for it?" Her combination of innocence and seductive pose was designed to drive him crazy. He might just be losing his mind, he mused.
"That's one way of putting it. Let me get this straight. You want me to take your virginity."
"Yes."
Emotions he couldn't or didn't want to identify at that moment swirled and threatened to overwhelm him. His first time was when he was fourteen, and the sixteen-year-old cheerleader had certainly not been a virgin. This would be his first too.
"You're upset."
"No." He shook his head.
"Then why are you all the way over there?"
"I- we need to think this through."
"I already have. Are you saying no?"
"No!" His brain felt muddled. "Look, we need to- Are you sure this is what you want?"
What the hell was he debating about? He wanted her with an intensity that was searing right through him. Yet here he was, debating. She was naked and willing and... and a bloody virgin!
"I'm positive."
"Why?" Some demon inside him wouldn't let up with the questions. Christ!
She regarded him steadily.
"William proposed."
He started slightly. "The guy. He asked you to marry him."
She nodded. Bending her head, she plucked at the quilt restlessly. "It was expected. Everyone at the church we attend, including my mother, expected us to get married."
She lifted her head to look at him. "I think Mother started pressuring him. You see, she was convinced he was the perfect match. From a good family, clean-shaven, and voila! He has a lucrative career. A lawyer to boot. What more could one ask for?"
He approached the bed a little cautiously and sat at the edge. "Love? Mutual respect? Passion?"
She smiled slightly. "All of those."
"You turned him down, I presume?"
"Yes. He proposed right there in the restaurant in front of my mother. Right after services." She shrugged. "I started having doubts a week or so ago."
Her eyes slid to his and held. "You had something to do with that. Or at least part of the something. I just sat there while he took out the ring and realized that I was drowning, that there was no way I could do it. I couldn't marry him."