ONE LAST CHANCE Page 18

  "I think," she said as she rubbed at her arm, "you're the one who needs the midnight swim."

  He stared at her, then looked down at the hand that had clamped on her arm, as if he'd never seen it before. Contrition flooded his face.

  "God, Shea, I'm sorry. I didn't realize."

  "So I gathered. Want to tell me what's bothering you?" Yes, his mind screamed. Yes, I want to tell you. I want to tell you everything, make you understand, and beg you to forgive me. But I can't, because of my damned job, and because I can't handle what I know I'll see in your eyes.

  "Chance," she whispered, staring in shock at the bleakness that had taken over his eyes. "What is it, love?"

  That last word, the endearment given so easily, so sweetly, so honestly, in spite of all the things he'd kept from her, broke him. He whirled away from her, stumbling over to one of the chairs that sat beside the pool. He sank down into it, the shaking he thought he'd beaten off returning full force.

  Then she was there, kneeling beside the chair, reaching for him. She didn't speak, didn't push for an answer, just held his hands tightly with her own. After a long moment he spoke, his voice so low she had to strain to hear him.

  "Did you ever … have to do something … that made you hate yourself?"

  She sat back on her heels, shaken by the barely controlled intensity in the harsh words. Twice she tried to answer, but knew the words were wrong, were only trite reassurances. At last she said simply, "No. I've had to do things I've hated, but never anything that made me hate myself."

  "No. No, you wouldn't, would you? You'd find another way. Why can't I?"

  "Chance?"

  She whispered it, frightened by the tremors she felt rippling through him. Then she felt him go rigid, the tendons in his hands standing out beneath her fingers. She could feel him straining, could see the look on his face as he drew on some inner strength to steady himself.

  When at last he looked at her again, when he saw the fear, the concern in her eyes, remorse filled him.

  "Oh, Shea, I'm sorry." He tugged on her hands and pulled her up onto his lap. "I scared you, didn't I? That's the last thing I wanted to do."

  She lifted a hand to run her fingers along his cheek to the side of his face, cupping it as she looked at him worriedly. "What is it? What is it you have to do?"

  "Shh," he soothed, "it's all right. Don't worry about it, songbird. I'll work it out."

  "But I—"

  "I know you want to help. I wish … I wish you could. Just don't give up on me, okay?"

  "Never," she said fervently, hugging him.

  God, let her mean it, he prayed. When it all comes apart, let her remember that and hang on to it.

  "Shea?" he said after a moment.

  "What?"

  "How about that swim?"

  "Now?"

  "I turned the heater back on."

  "I… It's not that."

  "Going shy on me, songbird? Don't like the idea of skinny-dipping?"

  He could see her blush even in the shadowy lights of the pool. "I've never done anything like that."

  He chuckled. "I don't make a habit of it myself." A smile, half teasing, half wicked, curved his lips. "But then, I've done a lot of things with you I've never done before."

  "Oh?" It came out a little thickly because of the sudden flare of heat that blazed along her nerves. "Like what?"

  He leaned over and whispered into her ear, husky, sexy words that called up even sexier memories, intimate details of the private moments they'd spent discovering how to please each other. Her face was as hot as he was when he finished.

  "Maybe I do need that swim," she said shakily.

  "Maybe we both do."

  He was wondering how this had managed to backfire on him. He'd meant to tease her, and wound up so hot and hard and aching himself that he didn't think he could stand it much longer.

  She slid off his lap, and his eyes cut sharply to her face. Was she moving that way, sliding her deliciously rounded bottom over his rigid flesh, on purpose? It didn't matter, the result was the same—a fiery burst of need that ripped through him, clawing his control into shreds. He stood up as she did, his eyes fastened on her face, flicking only briefly to the hollow of her throat where her pulse beat wildly.

  She kicked off her high-heeled sandals, her tongue creeping nervously out to moisten her lips. Chance groaned. He'd gone into great detail on that tongue in his whispered discourse, and he was paying the penalty now in the undulating waves of hot compulsion that gripped him.

  She reached up and tugged at the off-the-shoulder neckline of the knit jumpsuit, baring the swell of the top of one breast. Chance felt himself unraveling much too fast, and knew he had to slow himself down. With a haste hampered by fingers made clumsy by the throbbing of his body, he tore at his shirt, sending buttons flying.

  He sensed rather than saw her move, sliding the sleeves of the jumpsuit down her slender arms. He didn't dare look at her. The sight of her undressing in the moonlight would be the end of what little command he had of himself. He shed his slacks, briefs and shoes in one swift movement, paying no heed to the protest of his aroused body as he dragged the clothing off roughly.

  Still avoiding the tempting sight of her, he straightened for a moment as he tossed the garments aside. He was incredibly aware that she had stopped and was looking at him; he felt her gaze as if it were a physical caress on his distended flesh.

  The last fragile piece of his control snapped, and he knew he had to grab her now, this instant, or take drastic action to cool himself down. He'd already frightened her tonight, he didn't want to add to it by taking her when he was so out of control. With a throttled groan, he turned and dove into the pool.

  Shea watched him go, watched the smooth arc of his lean, muscled body as it cut the water cleanly. She shivered a little, not from cold, but from the undeniable knowledge she had just gained: it happened for him as swiftly as it did for her. His utterly male, totally aroused body had been silvered by moonlight, and the most beautiful thing she'd ever seen.

  Hurriedly she tugged the knit jumpsuit down over her hips and kicked free of it. Chance surfaced in time to see her poised there for a split second, the strapless red teddy she wore shimmering. Then she peeled off the thin swath of silk, transforming herself into an ethereal vision of moon-lit femininity.

  Her hair flowed over her naked shoulders, stopping just above the fullness of breasts that gleamed like some perfect, polished marble in the silver light. The outline of her body was only suggested in the almost ghostly glow, discernible more by shadow and its absence than any true light. Chance swallowed heavily, nearly forgetting to swim as she plunged into the glistening water.

  Water that Chance had discovered had only a minimal effect on him. And that had been lost the moment he'd looked up and seen her, first in that clinging silky red thing, and then, incredibly, in nothing at all.

  He hadn't really thought she'd do it. He'd never forgotten the night when she'd told him how different she was from most people's perception of her. He knew she was intrinsically shy, and this boldness from her both stunned him and fired his blood to a fever pitch.

  She started to swim toward him, and Chance hastily backed up until he could stand on the dark-painted bottom of the pool. He had little faith in his ability to stay afloat with her so close.

  She stopped bare inches away, having to tread in the water that only reached Chance's chin. He reached for her, meaning to support her in the water, but the moment his hands slid over her water-slick body he lost all grasp of his good intentions.

  She gave a little moan as he pulled her hard against him. Her arms went around his neck instinctively, her head tilting back, her lips parting in anticipation. He cupped her face in his hands, his mouth diving for hers eagerly, needing her honeyed warmth more than he needed his next breath.

  She tightened her arms as his lips crushed hers, and when his tongue probed for entry she opened for him willingly. Her tongue met his, twir
ling, dancing, luring him deeper and deeper. With her arms around his neck, her only support in the warm, caressing water, she was draped against him like a living garment, fitting as if she'd been made only for him. His body knew it and was urgently demanding that he take the last step that would join them so perfectly.

  His body may have been demanding it, but his mind still remembered the look in her eyes. He'd frightened her in the moment of weakness, and he wanted to erase the fear more than anything in the world. He had to remind himself of that when his body screamed as one silken thigh brushed against his jutting, ready flesh.

  His goal was nearly wiped from his mind when Shea, having felt the shudder that went through him at the intimate contact, moved to capture him between her legs, shifting her thighs in a squeezing caress. The sudden heat that cascaded through him seemed to rob his legs of all strength, and he nearly went under.

  He had to stop her, had to turn this around. It wasn't going at all like he'd planned. With a last burst of determination his hands clamped around her slender waist and lifted, raising her body up out of the water. She gave a startled little cry that abruptly changed to a gasp of pleasure when his mouth hungrily found her breasts. He kissed, licked and teased her nipples to exquisitely hard points, making her twist in his hands. Her hands went to his shoulders, bracing herself as her back arched, thrusting her breasts to him in an instinctive movement that played havoc with his knees again.

  "That's it, songbird," he murmured thickly against the soft flesh, "give them to me."

  He moved to her other breast, licking away the pool water as if it were the sweetest of nectars, then sucking deep and hard as if it had come from her and he wanted more.

  When at last he let her slide down his slick body, her head ducked to his chest to return his caress, but he only allowed her the briefest kiss pressed over his breastbone, the barest flick of her tongue across his nipples. Then he was moving, never releasing her as he backed into shallower depths, until the warm ripples lapped at his lean hips. Before she could protest, he had tugged her arms from around his neck, and she found herself floating on her back, sideways to his body, staring up at him in pleasure-fogged confusion.

  "You are so beautiful," he whispered, forestalling her instinctive movement. She'd begun to cover herself when she realized she was so wantonly vulnerable to his gaze and touch. The embarrassment receded before it had a chance to take root, and was replaced by a growing heat that made the pool seem cold by comparison.

  Then he bent to her, slipping one hand beneath the water to the small of her back, saving her from even the necessity of thinking about staying afloat. She was free to think of nothing but his touch, of his lips that had returned to her breast, and his other hand that was sliding over her body in a slow, sensuous caress that left fiery trails that tingled long after his dexterous fingers had passed.

  He continued until she was quivering, shaking with need. She reached for him, but he gently pushed her hands away.

  "Let me," he whispered. "Just relax and let me."

  He was relentless, his lips and tongue worshiping each achingly hard nipple in turn, his fingers moving in a slow, circular caress that set up an answering motion in her hips that she was helpless to control. She heard the slosh of the water as he moved, heard it quicken as she lifted herself involuntarily to his hand, felt it swirling around her legs as she widened them in total surrender.

  Time and again he drove her to the peak, then, just as she was gathering herself for the flight, he drew back, letting the heat churning inside her ebb just enough before he began again. Each time she cried out, past any shame at her begging, knowing only that she would die if he didn't give her what she needed soon.

  "Please," she moaned, "Chance, I can't stand it!"

  "Sure you can," he soothed in a husky tone that did anything but soothe her tormented body. And then he began again, kissing, suckling, probing, until she was writhing with need, clutching at him blindly, water streaming over gleaming skin as her body bucked beneath his touch.

  "Chance, please!" She nearly sobbed with frustration when he stopped again.

  "Easy, songbird," he gasped, his breath rattling harshly in his chest as the grip he had on his seething body slipped.

  He turned her swiftly in the water, caressing one long, curved leg as he bent it to slip between them. With a little cry of eagerness she wrapped her legs around him, bringing herself up against his belly. She could feel his hardness searing her through the water, prodding the back of her thighs and her buttocks. She reached for him, desperate to have that throbbing strength inside her.

  Chance knew his control was splintering, but he held on, refusing to be hurried. One hand went to her hips to steady her in the water, the other, gentle yet merciless, probed the wet tangle of dark and sandy curls for that precious spot yet again. He stroked and caressed, his tortured body screaming at the feel of her slick readiness, a slippery, feminine heat that made the wetness of the pool seem negligible. She was ready for him, and his raging body let him know it had had enough denial. Yet he once more brought her to the brink, then pulled her back, then again, until every gasping breath that rose from her was a plea.

  "Now," he groaned, unable to hold back another second. He gripped her waist and lowered her that imperative inch, his swollen, aching body probing frantically for her soft heat, for the sweet, yielding yet coaxing flesh, for the home he'd found only in her. He thrust forward with a violent jerk of his hips that he couldn't control, and when she cried out so fiercely, he thought he'd hurt her. But then he felt it, the rhythmic convulsions of her body around his, the hot, sweet grip and release of satin flesh just as his piercing entry sent her flying over the edge.

  He fought a groaning battle not to follow her, to just stand there and savor the feel of her climax without following her into oblivion himself. It was hard, so very hard when her body was stroking him from within, urging him to give himself to her with every fierce ripple of her muscles.

  He threw his head back, clamping his teeth on his lip until he was sure he'd fought down the surging tide. Then he lifted her up to his chest without breaking the precious connection between them.

  Her eyes opened, then widened as she felt him still full and hard inside her. "Chance…? You … why…?"

  He held her close to him as he walked slowly toward the edge of the pool, each step bringing them further out of the water and increasing the delightful weight of her on him. He bent his head to lay a nibbling row of kisses along the line of her shoulder to her throat as he tried to find words to explain.

  "I love making love to you, songbird, but you make me so crazy, make me feel so much, so intensely…" He let out a long, shuddering breath. "You blow all my circuits, lady, and I miss what you're feeling. I wanted to know."

  "Oh, Chance," she whispered, moved beyond any further words. She hugged him, the small movement making both of them aware that he was still very much aroused and inside her.

  "I hope you're not in a hurry to get dressed," he said gruffly, "because I can either pick up our clothes or get us upstairs, but I don't think I have the restraint left to do both."

  "What clothes?"

  Shea leaned forward and flicked her tongue around the curve of his ear, something she'd learned had an electric effect on him. He let out a groan that was half growl, and started up the stairs to his apartment.

  "Good choice," she whispered as she moved to rub her breasts sinuously against his chest. "There's something I want to know, myself."

  By the time they reached his bed, he knew she meant to do exactly what he had done. And by the time he finally let go, exploding inside her with a violence of sensation he'd never known before, he knew she'd succeeded.

  Shea awoke hours later, wondering in the silence what had roused her. Chance was there, she could feel his heat, but he was strangely removed from her. She usually woke to his arm tightly around her and his legs entangled with hers. She turned her head to look at him, and her breath caught
in her throat.

  He was on his back, one hand resting palm out on his forehead, as if to shade his eyes from a nonexistent glare of light. His other hand was gripping the sheet, fingers clenched so tightly that even in the dark she could see the whiteness around his knuckles. His eyes were open as he stared at the ceiling, and, incredibly, she thought she saw a trace of wetness on his face.

  A horrible shiver went through her, she didn't know if it was pain, fear or premonition. She only knew that it terrified her. She struggled to move but felt strangely numbed, as if fighting off some odd paralysis. At last she managed to pull herself up on one elbow.

  "Chance?"

  It was a quavery little whisper, echoing how she was feeling inside. His eyes snapped closed as be winced, then turned his face away. Shea felt as though she'd been slapped.

  "Chance, please, don't," she begged. "Let me help."

  "You can't." His voice was an appalling sound—harsh, dead, hopeless.

  "I can't if you shut me out."

  She reached for him, but he pulled away at the first touch of her fingers on his shoulder. Shea recoiled, sudden pain tearing through her so sharply she was amazed she wasn't bleeding. For a moment she couldn't move, she could only tremble. She bit her lip as a sob tried to rise in her throat. It came out as a strangled, barely audible sound, and Chance's head snapped around.

  "Oh, God," he ground out, closing his eyes as he strained not to move, every cord and tendon standing out with the effort. Shea stared at him, her eyes wide with pain and fear. Fear for him, he realized with a sudden jolt. The final irony. With a keening groan he reached for her, pulling her hard and tight against him with a bruising fierceness he couldn't control.

  "I'm sorry, baby, I'm so damned sorry. I never meant to hurt you. I love you, Shea. I never expected to love anybody again. I never expected to love like this at all. I don't mean to shut you out. I can't help it. I have no choice."

  The words were tumbling out like water from behind a dam that had begun to breach. They came in short, choking bursts, each one fought against, each one pushed to release by a pressure too great to resist any longer. The ones that scared her were about even with the ones that gave her pleasure, and she wound up confused and wanting only to ease his pain. Her arms slipped around him.