she said, swallowing, lashes falling.
“You don’t need to,” he said, and he swept her up, his arms firm and strong, his eyes a shade of cobalt so dark they might have been pure ebony. He moved the few steps through the hall, eyes upon her all the while, pressed open the bedroom door and carried her in. And still he watched her, and in the long gaze he gave her, she felt the stirring in her quicken to a deeper hunger, urgency, desperation. It was almost as if he could physically stroke her with that gaze, touch every erogenous zone, reach inside her, caress her very essence.
She breathed his name again. “David.”
At last he set her down, and though she longed just to circle her arms around him, feel him inside her, he had no such quick intent. He captured her mouth again, kissed her with a hot, openmouthed passion that left her breathless. And while she sought air in the wake of his tempest, he moved against her again, mouth capturing her breasts, tending to each with fierce urgency. She felt the hardness of her own nipples, felt them peaking against his mouth and tongue, and then the cold of the air struck them and brought shivers as he moved his body against hers. This time he didn’t tease, but parted her thighs and used his mouth to make love to her with a shocking, vital intimacy, until she no longer arched and whispered his name, but writhed with abandon and desperation, unable to get close enough, unable to free herself, ravenous for more and more.
Sweet familiarity. He knew her. Knew how to make love to her. Time had taught him to play her flesh and soul, and he gave no quarter, ignored the hammering in his own head, the frantic pulse in his blood, a drumbeat she could feel against her limbs. She cried out at last, stunned, swept away, crashing upon a wave of physical ecstasy so sweet it left her breathless once again, almost numb, the beat of her own heart loud in ears. But before she could drift magically back down to the plane of real existence, he was with her, as she had craved, body thrusting into hers, their limbs entangled. The roller coaster began a fierce climb once again, driving upward with a frenetic volatility that made all the world disappear and, in time, explode once again in a sea of sheer sensual splendor, so violent in its power that she saw nothing but black, then stars…then, at last, the bedroom again, and the man still wrapping her with his arms. Shudders continued to ripple through her, little after currents of electricity, and as they brought her downward, she couldn’t help but marvel at the sheer sexual prowess of the man and the almost painful chemistry they shared.
He rose up on his elbow, slightly above her, and used his free hand to smooth a straying lock of damp hair from her face. She was startled to see the tension that remained in his eyes as he studied her. And she was more startled still by the husky tone in his voice when he suddenly demanded, “Why?”
“Why?” she repeated.
“Why did you do it? You didn’t call…you didn’t write. You sent divorce papers.”
She stared back at him. Why?
Because I couldn’t bear the thought of you having this with any other woman—ever. Because I was losing you. Losing myself. I was happy at your side, but I needed my own world, as well. And I was sure that one day you would realize I wasn’t the kind of woman you could spend forever with.
She didn’t speak the words. It wasn’t the time. She was far too off balance. She moistened her lips, desperately seeking for something to say.
“Sex doesn’t make a marriage,” she managed at last. He frowned slightly, staring at her still.
She pushed him away from her. “David…you’re heavy,” she said, though it wasn’t true.
But he shifted off her. She rose and sped into her bathroom, where she just closed the door and stood there, shivering. Finally she turned the shower on and stepped beneath it. If they had really still been married, he would have followed her. He could do absolutely incredible things with a soap bar in his hands, with suds, with water, with teasing, laughing, growing serious all over again, heated…
He didn’t follow her. She didn’t know how long she stayed in the shower, but when she emerged, he had left her bedroom.
She found a long sleep shirt and slipped into it, then paused to brush out the length of her now twice-washed hair. She realized that she was starving, yet opted not to leave her room.
She set the brush back down on her dresser and noted that her array of toiletries was out of order. The women in housekeeping never touched her dresser, which she kept in order herself, or her desk and computer, in the spare bedroom. Had David been going through her things?
She had a dolphin perfume dispenser. It wasn’t valuable, but it was pretty and meant a lot to her, because her parents had given it to her for her tenth birthday. It was porcelain, about five inches high and beautifully painted. She always set it in the middle and arranged the rest of her toiletries around it. Now the dolphin was off to the side and a fancy designer fragrance was in the center. By rote, she rearranged the perfumes, talcs and lotions.
No big deal. Just…curious.
She shrugged, still thinking about making love with David. One part of her wondered how the hell she had lived without him, without being together like that, for an entire year. The other part of her was busy calling herself the worst kind of fool in the world.
Then she reminded herself that she shouldn’t be dwelling on personal considerations at all. A man had died today. This time there was no doubt that she had found a body.
In her own mind—and, apparently, in David’s—there was no doubt that she had found a body on the beach, as well. And in David’s mind, that body had belonged to Alicia Farr. His friend? His sometime lover? Either way, it had to disturb him deeply, and yet…
And yet, there they had been tonight.
She set her brush down, completely forgetting that the toiletries on her dresser had been rearranged.
Then she crawled into bed. Somehow, she was going to make herself sleep.
Alone.
She really could look like an angel, David thought, opening the door to her bedroom. She was sound asleep in a cloud of sun-blond hair, her hand lying on the pillow beside her face. Just seeing her like that, he felt both a swelling of tenderness…and a stirring of desire.
Determinedly, he tampered down both.
He had the coffee going; he’d returned to his own place in a flash for clothing, and then put out cereal and fruit for breakfast. He hadn’t forgotten that he’d promised Zach that he would show him—and his mother—the Icarus, and mentioned to the boy that they might meet for breakfast, but it was too early to meet them, and if Alex had maintained her old habits, she would forget to eat during the day, so she needed to start out with something.
And he needed to talk with her.
He walked into the room, ripping the covers from her and giving her shoulder a firm shake. She awoke instantly and irritably, glaring at him as if she were the crown princess, and he a lowly serf who had dared disturb her.
“Breakfast,” he said briefly.
She glanced at her alarm. “I don’t have to be up yet,” she told him indignantly.
“Yes, you do.”
“No, I don’t.”
“Trust me, you do.”
She groaned, resting her head in her hands. “Really, David, this is getting to be too much. Listen, last night was…nothing but the spur of the moment. You need an ego boost? It was just the fact that you do have nice buns and you’ve managed to ruin my one chance for a nice affair here. At any rate, you can stay here if you want to, so knock yourself out. But I’ve just about had it with you acting like a dictator.”
“Then maybe you should quit lying to me.”
“About what?” she demanded, looking outraged.
“Danny Fuller.”
She groaned. “Now I really don’t know what you’re talking