Black Rose

and only wanted more. More of his hands, his mouth. She arched to him, demanding, exalting when those hands, that mouth claimed her breast. The thrill of it stabbed through her, the bliss of giving her body, of having it used .
    They rolled together, tugging each other free of clothes, sliding together naked as flesh began to slick from heat and passion.

    The blankets fell away, so firelight flickered over them. And if in some dim corner of her brain she heard someone weeping, she could feel only that steady rise of excitement. She could see only him, in the glow of the fire, rising over her.
    She lifted to meet him, opened to take him. And sighed, sighed, when he slipped inside her.
    He watched her now as she watched him, gazes and bodies locked. Then the movement, slow, intensely focused as her breath came short and ragged, as dark, deep pleasure flooded her, swept her away.
    He watched her crest, the arch of her throat, the blur of her eyes, felt her fly over as she squeezed around him. He fought to hold on another moment, just another moment while she quaked under him, while her breath hitched, then released on a long, low moan. And her body went soft and limp in surrender.
    He kissed her then, one last, desperate kiss before he plunged, and emptied.
    THE DOORS WERE closed as they should be. The fire crackled and simmered. And the house was quiet, settled, and warm.
    She was cocooned with him in the center of the bed, allowing herself to enjoy the bliss and the glow. With very little effort, she could have drifted straight off to sleep.
    “Looks like she gave up,” Mitch commented.
    “Yes. For now, anyway.”
    “You were right about the fire. It’s nice. Very nice.”
    Then he rolled so that she was under him again, and he could look down at her face. “Being with you,” he began, then shook his head, touched his lips to hers. “Being with you.”
    “Yes.” Smiling, she stroked her fingers through his hair. “That’s very nice, too. I haven’t wanted to be with anyone in a very long time. You know, you’ve got good arms, for a scholar.” She gave his biceps a squeeze. “I like good arms. I don’t like to think I’m shallow, but I have to say it’s a pleasure being naked with a man who keeps in shape.”
    “I’ll change that to a woman, then say the same. The first time I met you, I stood and watched you walk away. You’ve got one excellent ass, Ms. Harper.”
    “It happens I do.” With a laugh, she gave his a light slap. “We’d better get dressed, go on down before everyone starts coming home.”
    “In a minute. It was your eyes that hooked me—hooked right through me.”
    “My eyes?”
    “Oh yeah. I thought maybe it was because they’re the color of good aged whiskey—and I did love a good whiskey. But that’s not it. It’s the way they look straight at me. Straight on. Fearless, and just a little regal.”
    “Please.”
    “Oh yeah, there’s lady of the manor in there, and it beats the hell out of me why it’s so sexy. Ought to be irritating, or intimidating at least. But for me, it’s just... stimulating.”
    “If that’s the case, I’m going to have to start wearing dark glasses so I don’t get you heated up at inappropriate times.”
    “Won’t matter a damn.” He gave her a light kiss, then shifted. Took her hand. “This mattered. This was important. There isn’t anyone else.”
    Her heart trembled a little, made her feel young and just a little foolish. “Yes, this mattered. This was important. There isn’t anyone else.”
    “Serious business,” he said, and drew her hand to his lips. “I’m going to start wanting you again, real soon.”
    She squeezed his hand. “We’ll have to see what we can do about that.”

TWELVE

    ROZ FOLLOWED THE scent of coffee, and the noise, into the kitchen. The dreary gray rain had canceled her morning run, so she’d channeled the energy into three miles on her treadmill. It was an alternative that usually bored her senseless, but today she’d found herself singing along with commercial jingles during the Today show breaks.
    In the kitchen the baby was banging away on her high chair tray with the enthusiasm of a heavy metal drummer, and Stella’s boys were whining over their cereal.
    “Yes,” Stella announced with the snap of motherly frustration in her voice, “you both have to wear your raincoats, because I’m mean and bossy and I want you to be miserable.”
    “We hate the raincoats,” Gavin informed