Private Scandals

been able to get back what I lost. Until you.” She turned back slowly. The nerves were vicious. She could feel her heart pounding strong and hard in her breast. “I think, until you. And I’m afraid of that. And afraid that I might spoil it.”
    Though he stood, he didn’t approach her. “Whatever happens between us happens to and because of both of us. It’ll wait until you’re ready.”
    She looked down at her hands, linked tight in front of her. “I’d like to ask you a question.”
    “All right.”
    “Are you afraid of me?”
    She stood there, lashes concealing her eyes, slim and fragile-looking in the oversized shirt. A log shifted lazily behind him and sent out a short, small burst of sparks.
    “Deanna, I’ve never been so afraid of anything in my life as I am of you, and what you can make me feel.”
    Her lashes lifted then. And she was no longer so fragile, not with her eyes huge and smoky, her lips softly curved. The first step toward him was the hardest. Then it was easy, to walk to him, to slip her arms around him, to rest her head on his shoulder.
    “I couldn’t have asked for a better answer. Finn, I don’t want to lose what I’m feeling right now.” When he didn’t move, she looked up, lifted her hands to his chest. “I don’t think I will if you make love with me.”
    Of all the emotions he’d expected to feel, alarm was the last. Yet it was alarm that came first, swiftly, overpoweringly, as she looked up at him with trust and doubt warring in her eyes. “There’s no pressure here, Deanna.”
    “There is. Not from you. In me.” Was that his heart racing under her palm? she wondered. How could it be beating so fast when he was watching her so calmly, when his hands were so light on her shoulders. “I need you.”
    It wasn’t merely desire that stabbed through him at the words. There was something sharper and hotter fused with it. His hands slid from her shoulders to her face, cupping it as he lowered his mouth to hers.
    “I won’t hurt you.”
    “I know,” she said, but trembled nonetheless. “I’m not afraid of that.”
    “Yes, you are.” And he regretted that, bitterly. “But you won’t be.” He promised that, fiercely. “You only have to tell me to stop.”
    “I won’t.” There was determination in her eyes again. He swore to himself he would change it to pleasure.
    Her mouth went dry when he unbuttoned her shirt. Slowly, his eyes on hers, he peeled away the first layer, cast it aside. Then smiled. “This is going to take a while.”
    Her laugh bubbled out, nervous and shaky. “I’ve got plenty of time.”
    Her eyes closed, her mouth lifted to his. It was right, so simply, so easily right to press her body to his, to lift her arms and take him to her. She shivered again when he tugged the turtleneck away. But it wasn’t from cold. Nor was it from fear. Still her breath caught when he lifted her into his arms and laid her on the thick pelt of the hearthrug.
    “I don’t want you to think of anything but me.” He kissed her again, lingered over it before sitting back to tug off her boots. “No one but me.”
    “No, I’m not. I can’t.”
    Sun and firelight danced over her closed lids. She listened to it hiss and spark, heard the rustle as he removed his own shirt, pried off his boots. Then he was beside her, gently stroking her face until she opened her eyes and looked at him.
    “I wanted you from the first moment I saw you.”
    She smiled, willing herself to relax, to beat back those little frissons of doubt. “Almost a year ago.”
    “Longer.” His lips toyed with hers, warmed them, waited for hers to respond. “You came running into the newsroom. You headed straight for your desk, then you pulled back yourhair with this red ribbon and started beating out copy. It was a few days before I left for London.” He skimmed a hand over the insulating silk covering her torso, barely touching her, hinting only of what could be. “I watched you for a while. It was like someone had hit me with a hammer. All those months later, I saw you standing on the tarmac in the rain.”
    “And you kissed me.”
    “I’d saved it up for six months.”
    “Then you stole my story.”
    “Yeah.” He grinned, then lowered his mouth to her curved lips. “And now I’ve got you.”
    She stiffened instinctively when his hand slipped under the silk. But he didn’t grope, didn’t rush. In moments, the easy caress of his fingers on her skin had her muscles loosening.