“Yes,” she blurted.
The bravado died from her face. She looked appalled; she looked as though she might change her mind any moment. Luke pushed back his chair with a jarring scrape of wood on wood. “Don’t look so frightened…it’ll be fine. You’ll see.” He walked around the table, took her cold hands and chafed them within his warmer ones. “Where’s your bedroom?”
“Down the hall.”
He pulled her to her feet and led the way, still clasping her by the hand. If ever there was a time for him to keep a lid on his own needs, it was now. No matter that Katrin had said Donald wasn’t unkind; Luke would be willing to swear in any court in the land that her husband had been an inconsiderate and ungenerous lover. After all, he’d seen photos of the man. So it was up to him, Luke, to undo any damage that had been done. He was used to subduing his needs; it wouldn’t be a problem.
The bedroom faced the woods behind the house, and was painted a clear green with white trim; the old-fashioned double bed was also painted white, covered with a woven throw. Luke drew the curtains, left his shoes by the wicker chair and hauled his shirt over his head. Then, casually, he put a couple of foil packets on the side table and turned to face Katrin.
She looked like the china doll on her bookshelves, stiff, immovable and wide-eyed. He wanted to sweep her into his arms and cover her with kisses. Instead Luke rested his hands on her shoulders, kneading them lightly, and let his lips wander from her cheekbones to her mouth. With infinite gentleness he dropped the lightest of kisses along its soft curve. “You taste nice,” he murmured.
“I don’t know what—”
“Hush,” Luke said softly, kissing her again, gossamer kisses that made his blood race in his veins. “Everything’ll be fine…we have the whole night just for ourselves. And all I want to do is give you pleasure.”
“But—”
He closed her mouth with his, stringently reining in his own appetites. This was for Katrin, not for him. With deliberate eroticism he slid his lips down her throat, and felt her shiver in response. Very delicately he traced the arc of her brow and the sweep of bone beneath her eye, letting his fingers slide down her smooth cheek to her lips, so exquisitely warm. With a shock of intimacy he felt the tiny puff of her breathing against his skin; and wondered if he’d be able to maintain his self-control.
Take it slow, Luke. Take it slow.
Suddenly and wholeheartedly, taking him by surprise, Katrin capitulated. With lingering pleasure, she kissed his fingers; then she cupped his face in her hands, kissing him full on the mouth. Like wildfire, the tantalizing pressure of her lips streaked through his body. Her palms moved to his bare chest, stroking it, brushing his nipples, then wrapping themselves around the taut muscles of his shoulders. Her body curved to meet his. And all the while she was nibbling at his lips with a sensual gentleness that set Luke’s heart pounding in his chest. “There’s no rush,” he muttered, and kissed her more deeply, her heated response hardening his groin.
He couldn’t afford to lose his restraint. With all the skill he possessed, Luke set about showing her that he wasn’t Donald Staines. His tongue dancing with hers, he carefully pulled the pins from her hair, so that it slid in a pale cascade down her back. Burying his fingers in its shiny weight, he kissed her throat, the line of her jaw, then her mouth again, plunging to taste its sweetness.
Her hands were probing the hard planes of his back, sliding down his spine; the press of her breasts against his rib cage set his head spinning. He struggled to slow the pace, when every nerve in his body was longing to throw her on the bed, throw himself on top of her, and bury himself within her. Because she was Katrin. Because he wanted her as he’d never wanted a woman before.
Don’t be ridiculous, he told himself sharply. She’s just a woman.
Against his lips, Katrin murmured, “I’ve got too many clothes on.”
It had been part of Luke’s plan to undress her slowly and deliberately, every move part of his seduction. But he could feel her tugging impatiently at her sweater; when he reached for the hem, his fingers met the warm, silky skin above the waistband of her jeans, and he forgot his plan in the fierce need to see her naked. He pulled the sweater over her head, tossing it on the chair. Her bra was white lace, cupping the sweet curves of her breasts, her skin like cream in the soft light from the hallway.
He almost lost it. He said hoarsely, “You’re so beautiful, you take my breath away.”
She gave a sudden laugh of delight. “I do?”
He drew her hips to his. “Indisputable evidence,” he said; and watched her lips curve in a smile in which shyness and pride were irresistibly mixed.
She was showing her feelings, he realized; and knew he wasn’t going to do the same. He didn’t operate that way. He kissed her again, determined to control the moves. To control himself as he always did.
She was fumbling with his belt. “Take me to bed, Luke,” she said impetuously. “I’m not nervous anymore, can’t you tell?”
Her eyes were a brilliant, depthless blue; her hips were swivelling suggestively against his body, in a way that made a mockery of technique and restraint. Luke reached for the metal button on her jeans, and drew the zipper down. Insensibly her eyes darkened. The pulse at her throat was throbbing against her skin. As he pushed the denim fabric down her hips, she helped him, laughing softly as it caught in her delicate lacy underwear.
He loved her laughter.
Loved it? thought Luke. What the hell kind of statement was that? He didn’t know the meaning of the word love, and had no intentions of investigating it. So Katrin had a pretty laugh. So what?
“Luke?” she whispered.
Inwardly cursing himself for losing his focus, Luke eased the denim down her thighs, his fingers pausing to stroke their slender length. Awkwardly she stepped out of her jeans. “Your turn,” she said breathlessly.
Standing very still, Luke watched as she fumbled with his zipper, her head bent; the light shone in her hair. Of its own accord, his hand caressed its silken sheen. Like moonlight on water, he thought; and stopped himself from saying the words out loud. He’d never thought of himself as being at all poetic. What was happening to him? Then his trousers dropped to the floor. For a moment outside of control, Luke pulled Katrin against the length of his body, feeling the warm swell of her hips, the concavity of her spine, the push of her breasts to his torso as though he’d never been with a woman before. As though words like hunger and need were newly coined for this woman and this coupling.
Stow it, he thought dimly, and kissed her again. Then he reached around to undo the clasp of her bra; it joined his trousers on the floor. Like a man in a dream, he cupped her breasts in his palms, their soft weight arousing in him a possessiveness he could no more have stifled than he could have walked out of Katrin’s bedroom. He bent his head, his mouth exploring her breasts’ firm slopes, then the tautness of their rose-pink tips.
She was trembling very lightly. He said urgently, “Are you all right?”
Her laugh was shaky. “Oh Luke,” she said artlessly, “I’ve never in my life felt so—so shameless.”
Her words went straight through his defenses. She was saying she trusted him, he thought blankly. Trusted him enough to free
