jeans, and she felt the zipper give way, the fabric slide down over her hips. She shivered as her panties, too, were lowered. Lips parted, she awaited loving that always bordered on the deliciously unendurable.
Nathan nuzzled the silken shelter of her womanhood; the warm promise of his breath and his searching lips made her tremble. One plea broke past her resolve, and it took the shape of his name.
Slowly, he revealed the small, yearning nubbin. In desperation, Mallory caught his head in both hands and thrust him to her. “Oh, God,” she breathed, mindless now in her wanting. “Oh, God, Nathan, please—”
At the invitation he had purposely forced from her, Nathan partook hungrily of her, and his tender greed brought her to swift and searing release. She shuddered reflexively, her fingers moving in his hair, and moaned as he nibbled at her at his leisure, demanding a fiery encore to the performance just past.
Bared to him, and so deliciously vulnerable, Mallory whispered words of gentle, desperate encouragement as he tormented the bit of quivering flesh with soft kisses. She writhed, gasped with delight, when he took his pleasure yet again, bringing his tongue into play this time, sampling her and then suckling as though to draw some sweet nectar from her. “Don’t—stop—” she pleaded, her wanting now as naked as her hips and her thighs and her stomach.
He drew back, just slightly. “Sweet,” he whispered in a ragged voice, and then he enjoyed her in long, warm, delicious strokes of his tongue. Savage pleasure convulsed Mallory, and her triumph came in a cry that was half shout, half sob.
It was then that, in the snowy silence outside, an engine roared. One car door slammed, and then another.
Nathan swore harshly and straightened, while Mallory, cheeks burning, frantically righted her clothes. Feet were stomping heavily on the porch outside, and Cinnamon began to bark in somewhat belated alarm.
“Just a minute!” Nathan growled, closing his eyes in an obvious effort to control his roiling emotions and frustrated need.
As embarrassed as though the visitors had seen the impromptu love scene staged in the McKendrick kitchen, Mallory turned to the stove to hide her flaming face and occupy her hands with the task of brewing fresh coffee. After another moment of preparation, Nathan answered the door.
“Oops!” Trish Demming blushed, sizing up the situation with her usual gentle shrewdness. “Alex, I think we interrupted something.”
Trish’s good-natured, bespectacled husband pretended to rush for the door. He was Nathan’s accountant and one of his closest friends.
“Sit down,” Nathan ordered humorlessly, and Mallory felt his hot gaze touch her rigid back. Out of the corner of one eye, she saw Trish set a covered baking dish down on the counter.
It was several minutes before Mallory gathered enough composure to join the others at the kitchen table, and, even when she did, it was clear that Nathan wasn’t going to give her an easy time of it. His dark eyes seared her breasts whenever the opportunity afforded itself, and lingered on her lips until she thought she’d shout with frustration.
Still, it was pleasant to spend time with dear friends, and Mallory genuinely enjoyed the lively conversation touching on everything from Nathan’s last concert tour to the ban on gathering oysters along the island’s rocky shores. Trish had brought one of her highly acclaimed peach cobblers, and they all ate a hefty slice with their coffee, Trish and Mallory bemoaning the astronomical calorie count.
Mallory was fairly trembling with hidden exhaustion and anticipation when Trish began to make sincere noises about leaving. Good-byes were said, and the Demmings bundled up in their practical island coats and braved the snow piling up between the house and their car.
Mallory and Nathan exchanged a look of resignation when they heard the car’s motor grind halfheartedly, and then die. Nathan’s eyes moved over Mallory’s body in a sweep of hungry promise, and then he swatted her gently on the bottom and bent his head to nibble briefly at her earlobe. “I’ll be back soon,” he said, and strode out onto the sun porch, rummaging through the collection of battered coats that had belonged to her father.
Mallory needed to sink languidly into a warm, scented bath and go to bed. She was so tired that sleep would come easily, but not before she and Nathan had reached the breathless heights of love they always scaled after they’d been apart.
And we’re apart so much, she thought, her weariness reaching new and aching depths.
A moment later, there was a stomping sound on the porch, and Trish reappeared, looking embarrassed and apologetic. “Nathan and Alex are trying to get the car started,” she mumbled, unconsciously rubbing her chilled hands together. “Ace mechanics they’re not.”
Mallory grinned at her friend and firmly ushered her closer to the stove. “It’s all right, Trish,” she cajoled. “There’s still plenty of coffee, if you’d like more.”
Trish shook her head, and her soft blond hair moved delicately with the motion. “We shouldn’t have barged in here like that,” she said ruefully, and then her blue eyes moved to Mallory’s face. “I’m so sorry, Mall—it’s just that I was worried about you, and, of course, we had no idea that Nathan was home.”
Mallory hugged Trish warmly. “You were being thoughtful, as always. So stop apologizing.”
Trish’s pretty aquamarine eyes were pensive now, seeing too much. “Mall, you really look beat. Are you okay?”
Suddenly, Mallory had to look away; she couldn’t sustain eye contact with this friend she’d known all her life and say what she meant to say. “I’m fine,” she insisted after a short pause.
The tone of Trish’s voice betrayed the fact that she was neither convinced nor mollified, but she spared Mallory her questions and gave her a gentle shove in the direction of the bathroom. “Go and take a nice hot bath and get yourself into bed, Mrs. McKendrick. I can look after myself until the men get our car going again.”
Mrs. McKendrick. Mallory blanched, unwittingly giving away something she hadn’t meant to reveal. She longed to be known by her married name again, and yet, it sounded strange to her, as though she had no right to resume it.
Trish laid a comforting hand on her shoulder. “Get some rest, Mall. We’ll have a good, long talk when you’re up to it.”
There was much that Mallory needed to confide, but this was neither the time nor the place. “I—If you’re sure you won’t feel slighted—”
Trish’s eyes were sparkling with warmth and controlled concern. “Just go, will you? I’m not such an air head that I can’t entertain myself for a few minutes!”
Mallory laughed, but the sound was raw and mirthless. Reluctantly, she left her friend to her own devices and stumbled into the bathroom, where she started running hot water in the tub.
While it ran, Mallory hurried through the doorway that joined that room to the master bedroom and began to search wearily through the suitcases Pat had packed for her earlier at the penthouse. There were jeans and sweaters, always necessary for winter visits to the island, but nothing even remotely glamorous had been included. Mallory thought of all the silken lingerie left behind in Seattle and sighed. She had so wanted to look especially attractive for Nathan, but Pat had either not foreseen that contingency or not considered it important.
With resolve, Mallory ferreted
