at all. And the first thing she was going to do was cut her losses. She’d go back to her room and forget him. How could she expect to live all her life without a child? What kind of man was he?
Tears blinded her. She got as far as the bed and sat down, feeling empty and sick and alone. She’d dreamed of children. Since she was eighteen she’d haunted baby shops, quietly touching the little crocheted things and imagining her own baby in her arms. She had no one of her own, but a baby would be part of her. The tears rippled down her cheeks in silvery streams, and she closed her eyes.
The man at the bathroom door, watching her, saw them, and something painful exploded inside him. She was snaring him, he thought furiously. Swallowing him up whole with her unexpected vulnerabilities. With a muffled curse he threw the towel aside and went to the bed.
He caught her by the waist, lowering her back against the rumpled covers so quickly that she gasped.
“Eric!” she called uncertainly.
His mouth covered hers, but there was none of the violence she’d expected. His lips played with hers, so gentle that she barely felt them, while his hands removed the towel and whispered over her body until she trembled.
“Draw your legs up,” he breathed. He helped her, positioning his body so that they were curled together, his knees beside her, his chest on hers, his hips against her hips and thighs.
She looked up, fascinated at the look in his dark eyes.
His big, warm hands cupped her face. “Open your mouth now,” he whispered, bending, “and kiss me the way I taught you last night.”
She obeyed him, liking the way her tongue tangled softly with his, liking the intimacy of this slow, tender kissing.
His knuckles brushed over her breasts, making their tips hard and sensitive, and when she gasped, his mouth took advantage of it to make the kiss even deeper. His hands searched over her, sliding under her hips to lift her to the slow descent of his body.
She felt his fingers contract on her thighs and caught her breath at their steely strength. And still he kissed her, whispery contacts that drained her of will, that made her weak. Her body trembled as he explored it with even more intimacy than the night before, each new touch intensifying her hunger for him.
He paused, hesitated, his lips touching hers. His eyes opened, holding hers, and his body lowered.
She caught her breath at the intensity of feeling she knew as he let her experience the very texture of his body with the slowness of his movement.
“Now,” he said, closing his eyes, “we really make love for the first time.”
She didn’t understand at first. And then it began to make sense. He was so tender, so exquisitely gentle, that every movement seemed to stroke a nerve of pleasure. She clung to him, matching his tenderness, trying to give him back the beauty he was giving her. Her eyes fluttered closed and her fingers tangled in his cool blond hair, her body trembling under the expert movements of his. As the pleasure built slowly she began to writhe helplessly. And as fulfillment came closer, she wondered if she was going to survive it.
“Eric?” she whimpered against his mouth.
His own body was trembling, too. “Lieveling,” he said huskily. “Mijn lieveling, mijn vrouw!”
The hands holding her clenched, and he rocked with her, smooth, tender movements that were exquisitely soft. He whispered to her in Dutch, words that she couldn’t understand, but they were breathlessly tender.
She kissed his tanned cheek, his mouth, his chin, and he lifted his head for an instant, his dark eyes glazed, his lips parted.
“Yes,” he told her. “Yes, like that.”
He closed his eyes and let her kiss him, savoring the softness of her mouth on his eyes, his cheeks, his straight nose, his lips.
She moved, trembling with need, letting him feel her body as she drew it with smooth sweetness to either side.
His eyes opened again, reading the intensity of hunger in hers.
“Yes,” he said. “Yes, now it happens. Now…”
His voice didn’t change, but his breathing did. He looked down at her, lengthening his movements, deepening them, so that although the tenderness remained, the urgency grew.
Something was happening to her that she didn’t understand. Terrifying tension, hands buffeting her, a blazing tide of warmth that speared through her like tiny needles. Her mouth opened because she could no longer breathe. Her body began to shudder helplessly, tiny little shudders that matched the tenderness that was devouring her.
“I’m…afraid…” she managed, and her fingers clenched at his back as she felt her body beginning to contract.
“Hush,” he said softly. His movements deepened, and still he watched. “Yes, feel it. Feel it now. There’s nothing to be…afraid of, lieveling. No, don’t turn away, let me see you….”
He turned her head back to him, and his face blurred. She thought he smiled, but she was all bursting fireworks, a flare lighting up the night sky. She felt gentle explosions all through her body, and for a moment her heart stopped, her breathing stopped. And then she cried, because it had been so beautiful, and so brief.
Even as the tears came, she felt his own body go rigid, heard the tender, surprised exclamation at her ear, and then her name….
He didn’t move for a long time. Neither did she. She felt incapable of movement. What had happened surprised her. He’d said they wouldn’t make love again until they got married, so why had he done it? And why that way? So tenderly, so gently, as if he cared about her.
Experimentally, her hands moved on the damp muscles of his shoulders.
He lifted his head and searched her eyes slowly. He touched her face with gentle fingers. “In my life there was never such a tender loving before,” he said. “I didn’t know that men and women were capable of it.” He brushed away the tears. “I hurt you?” he asked.
“No.” She swallowed. “It was…so beautiful,” she faltered.
“Yes. For me, too.” He drew away from her with exquisite slowness, watching her. He sighed heavily, and frowned. After a minute he turned back to the bathroom. “We’d better get dressed.”
She got up, too, a little shaky and puzzled by his odd behavior. He’d meant to comfort her, she was certain of it. But the comfort had gotten out of hand. And the way he’d loved her…
As she dressed she wondered if she was doing the right thing, marrying a total stranger. Then he came out of the bathroom, wearing nothing except his slacks, his blond hair neatly combed, his face slowly curving into a smile. And she knew that she’d die to wear his ring, babies or no babies. She smiled back.
They were married in a small chapel, with people all around them who spoke little English. The minister beamed at them when it was over, inviting the new husband to kiss his bride.
Dutch bent and brushed his mouth softly against hers, smiling at his own folly. Well, it was done now. And it wouldn’t be so bad, he told himself as he studied her
