TO HOLD AN EAGLE Page 18

  She drew in a shaky breath. "I know. And he never did it. He was strictly a … in bed with the lights out man. But he used to like to make me blush by saying things like that."

  "Which is why you made sure you don't," Linc breathed in sudden understanding. He lifted his hands to cup her face, and tilted her head back to look at her. "Channie, don't you see? What he did had nothing to do with sex, or love. It has nothing to do with this, or us. It was control. He wanted to prove he controlled you."

  "And himself," she said suddenly, looking as if she'd just realized it. "He always said only a fool lost control like that, especially with a woman. That's why he would say things like that, and then wait … until night, and bed."

  "Yes," Linc said, his heart taking a little leap. She was beginning to see, to understand. And when she did, when she realized the kind of man Lansing really was, she would see the woman she really was. And then all logic, all rational thought fled, and there was suddenly nothing in the world more important than kissing her again.

  His fingers threaded through the pale silk of her hair, then tightened as he held her steady for the onslaught of his mouth. But the attack was turned around on him the moment their lips met; it was he who was seared, and she who sent him up in flames. Yet he couldn't pull away, couldn't surrender the sweet, hot willingness of her lips, her mouth, her tongue. When at last he pulled back he was breathing hard, every sense clamoring, his hands fairly shaking with urgent need.

  "I guess," he said huskily, "that makes me a fool, then. Because lady, I'm out of control. So out of control that when you kiss me, when you touch me, when you rub against me like that, I don't know if I can wait at all. I don't even know if I can last long enough to move from this spot."

  Heat flared in her eyes, and her lips parted. She stared up at him for a long moment, and Linc didn't try to hide the need still raging inside him. Her tongue crept out to wet her lips, and his body clenched.

  "Then don't," she said softly. And then, incredibly, she reached for the hem of her T-shirt and in one smooth motion pulled it over her head.

  The moment she had done it, Chandra felt her nerve desert her. She sat there, the red-and-white shirt wadded up in her hands, uncertain what to do. Then Linc took the decision—and all her uncertainty—out of her hands.

  "My God," he whispered, tugging the shirt free and tossing it aside, "you are beautiful."

  He meant it. She knew he did. She could see it in his heated gaze as he looked at her, and in the tremor that shook his hands as he slowly, gently reached for her. She heard a tiny sound of wonder, and realized it had come from her, escaping as she felt her naked breasts seem to swell and tighten at the same time. She didn't understand; Daniel had often fondled her breasts, usually with that gleam of ownership in his eyes, and she had felt nothing.

  She expected Linc to touch her there, was even longing for the feel of his hands, aware with some embarrassment that her nipples were growing taut in anticipation. But instead his hands went to her shoulders, pulling her close, then stroked down her back, leaving heated little trails over her bare skin.

  "You're beautiful," Linc repeated, "but a million women have lovely bodies. You're so much more than that, Channie. So much more."

  She shuddered with the impact of his perceptive words, wondering how this man knew her so well, how he had known exactly what she needed to hear at this moment. A new, fragile confidence leapt to life within her, confidence that this man wanted her for all the right reasons, even if she wasn't certain herself what those reasons were. It wasn't just her hair, her looks, or her body that had drawn him, but some combination of that and something inside her, something he saw in her that she wasn't even sure existed. But he thought it did, and Lincoln Reese was not—no matter what he said—a fool.

  And because she was so sure of that, so sure of the kind of man he was, that it would take more than just looks to attract him, she felt suddenly able to offer those looks, that body, with a freedom she'd never known. To a man like none she'd ever known.

  She arched her back, pressing herself against him. A rain of sparks arced through her at the sound of his guttural groan. She reached back and placed her hands over his, guiding him to the outer curves of her breasts.

  "Please," she whispered. "Linc—"

  She heard him suck in a breath. "You're sure? You want this?"

  "More than I've ever wanted anything."

  She let out a sharp gasp as his strong hands cupped her then, molded her soft flesh against his palms. He lifted her, stroked her with gentle care, yet fire ignited in her at his every touch. When his thumbs slipped up to flick over her nipples, she cried out in shock; never had this soft, feminine flesh, that her husband had so highly prized, ever given her such pleasure. The difference was unmistakable as heat rippled through her. The difference was in the way sensation careened around inside her until she thought the nerves in the small, tight peaks of her breasts must be connected to every part of her body. The difference, she realized through a haze of pleasure, was Linc.

  Was it the same for him? Was it the same swamping, astounding pleasure? She lifted her gaze to him, saw the heat—and surprise—lighting the hazel eyes, saw the need that drew the chiseled planes of his face taut, and had her answer.

  Drawn by a need she'd never felt before, she raised her hands to his shirt and began to fumble with the buttons. Fumble was the best she could do, for Linc's fingers were at her nipples now, tugging gently, rolling, until it was all she could do to hold still enough to slip the buttons loose.

  At last she had them freed, and the shirt gaped open. She stared; she hadn't realized. She'd known he was strong, known how broad his shoulders were, but the loose shirts he wore hid the solid muscle of his chest, masked the perfect wedge of his body as breadth tapered down to a flat, ridged belly and narrow hips.

  Tentatively she reached out, gasping at the shock that rippled out from her fingertips as they met the sleek, hard wall of his chest. She saw the muscles of his abdomen undulate, saw him suck in his breath as she brushed her fingers over them, down to his flat belly, down to where a trail of sandy-colored hair began at his navel.

  At her first touch his hands had frozen over her breasts, as if the sensations roused by her touch were too much to allow him to continue to move himself. Remembering her struggle with his buttons, she thought she understood. As much as she wanted him to start those sweet caresses again, she wanted to explore him more, and her hands slid upward until, beneath the loose edges of his shirt, her fingers found the flat, brown male nipples.

  He groaned, low and rough, as she touched him there, and she shivered when she felt the flesh there pucker beneath her fingertips. She stroked, rubbed, and plucked until his hands shot to her wrists and held her hands still.

  "Channie," he said warningly, between panting breaths, "That talk about here on the table isn't going to be just talk if you keep that up."

  She looked up at his face, saw the fierce, honest need there, something she'd never seen in Daniel's face. And in answer to that need, that precious, genuine need, she leaned forward and pressed her lips to his chest. The sleek, hairless skin was hot and smooth beneath her lips, and she moaned softly at the feel of it.

  And then Linc was moving, so swiftly it startled her. He bent her back over the table as his mouth came down on hers with fiery urgency. His hands seemed everywhere, stroking, caressing, making her body ripple with a need to match his own. She only vaguely heard the crash as he did what he'd said and pushed the empty plates aside. She felt the smooth surface of the table beneath her back, felt the weight of him pressing her against it. Then she felt nothing except an explosion of heat and sensation as his mouth found her breast.

  His lips caught and held her nipple for the flicking of his tongue, and she cried out at the exquisiteness of it. He did it again and again, and her back arched involuntarily, thrusting her breasts upwards, silently begging for more. He moved to the other pink tip, already tight with anticipation.


  He paused, his breath feathering over her nipple in a caress so soft it made her entire body tingle. But it wasn't enough, and she arched her back a little more, raising herself until the eager crest brushed his lips.

  "Yes," he hissed out, the word vibrating over her tingling flesh. Then his wet heat closed over her, and he suckled her long and hard, until she was crying out and her hips were moving in an involuntary motion as old as the sea.

  The movement brought her up against the hardened column of flesh pressed between them, and she moved again in an instinctive caress. She tried to reach for him, but he was so much taller than she was—

  Frustration seized her as images of what she wanted to do glinted in her mind; she wanted to free him of the constraint of his jeans, wanted to look, to touch, to stroke—

  A sense of shock flickered in her pleasure-dazed mind; never had she wanted such things, never had she wanted to explore a man's body, never had she wanted to so intimately know every inch.

  Linc shifted suddenly, lifting his body, putting himself within her reach, as if he'd read her thoughts. It seemed entirely possible, he read her so well. But at the moment nothing mattered except to touch him, to try and return some of the pleasure he was giving her.

  Even the soft, worn denim of his jeans seemed too much of a barrier as she slowly, tentatively caressed his swollen length. He made a sound oddly like a growl, but when she stopped he pressed himself against her hand. She moved again, stroking, then stopped once more as he moved one hand to swiftly jerk his belt free and undo the snap of his jeans. His hand went immediately back to her breast, gently squeezing, teasing the nipple to throbbing hardness.

  He was leaving it to her, she realized. After a lifetime of being ordered, it gave her a heated little thrill to realize that she was free to do as she wished.

  "Please, Channie."

  The shuddering plea came hot and breathy against her ear as he nuzzled her neck, and the little thrill became a fierce one as she realized he would not only welcome, but desperately wanted her touch.

  It was all she needed. She tugged with eager fingers at his zipper, feeling it part in a rush from the strain of his surging body. She tugged at interfering cloth until he sprang into her hands, hot and hard and so incredibly smooth.

  He made a choking little sound at the first touch of her fingers. He froze, as if he wanted every sense free to concentrate on the feel of her hands on him. She felt him tremble as she curled her fingers around him, felt the quivering of hardened male flesh beneath her touch. An odd sensation filled her, one she'd never known before. She didn't know what it was, knew only that it stemmed from the realization that she could do this, that she could make this strong, powerful, extraordinary man shudder.

  She stroked him, savoring the incredible smoothness, the feel of satin stretched taut by driving need. But then Linc was moving, tugging at the snap of the white shorts, his voice frenzied in her ear.

  "Channie, I'm sorry… I can't… I've got to—"

  His words dwindled off into a deep, shuddering groan as he clawed the shorts down her legs and away, then the simple cotton panties. He shoved off his own clothes, and she felt the heat of him as he leaned over her once more, felt the strength of thick, swollen flesh as it brushed between her thighs. She felt a little burst of shock at the easy slide of his body over hers; she was ready for him, already slick and wet.

  His hands left her suddenly, and she was vaguely aware that they had gone to the edges of the table, clenching as he lifted himself from her, as if keeping that grip were the most important thing in his life.

  "Linc…?"

  "I've got to slow down," he grated. "I'm too damn ready … I don't want to hurt you."

  "You won't," she said, a trace of her wonder echoing in her voice. "I'm ready, too. I didn't know … I could be. Not like this."

  She reached for him then, urging him on, guiding him home. She sucked in her breath as he began to enter her, as she felt him push forward, sweet and piercing. It should have been difficult, he was built so differently from Daniel, but instead it was thrilling, and her body welcomed him even as it had to stretch to take him.

  "Ah," he gasped as he slid home, tightly, perfectly. "Oh, mermaid … you feel … so damn good."

  She shivered, feeling internal muscles she hadn't even known were there tightening, clasping, as if they had lain dormant all these years, awaiting the touch, the presence of this man's body within her.

  Linc groaned, and instinctively she lifted her legs. She wasn't sure why she'd done it, and started to lower them. Linc looked at her, reading her puzzlement.

  "Don't, Channie," he said thickly. "Wrap them around me. Please. I've dreamed of it. So often."

  Color flooded her face. She felt the heat of it, and realized that this, too was different. That this man could make her blush with his hot, erotic words. And that it didn't matter, that it was right. That anything with this man was right.

  She locked her legs around his narrow hips, driving him even deeper inside her. He jerked suddenly, a choking groan escaping him.

  "Yes, mermaid … that's it—"

  "Linc!" she cried as he began to move, his hands gripping her shoulders as he held her steady for his thrusts.

  At her cry of his name, Linc froze and looked down at her. His body screamed at him to move, but he forced it to stillness.

  "Am I hurting you?"

  Chandra looked up at him, her eyes wide, as if startled by the question. "No, I—"

  "Are you sure?" His gaze went over her petite body, lingering an instant on the full swell of her breasts, then sliding down past her slender waist and curved hips to where their bodies joined, pale flaxen curls tangling with sandy brown. "You're so small, I've never—"

  "I'm sure," she said instantly. "The only thing that hurts is that … you stopped."

  His body responded to her words as swiftly as his mind. He was moving again, sparing only a brief moment of thanks that the table was bolted to the floor; at his height, this would be awkward if not impossible otherwise. Then, as she took him in once more, surrounding him with that impossible slick, caressing heat, he thought of nothing but the woman beneath him, and the fact that even his wildest imaginings had fallen far short.

  This was something far beyond his experience. He'd never known such intensity was possible, never dreamed of finding it. Was this what his subconscious had been trying to tell him, since the moment he had plucked this mermaid from the Pacific? That she, only she, was the one to show him the way to this?

  When he knew he was too close, that he could hold back no longer, he slipped one hand between them. It was oddly erotic, to feel himself sliding in and out of her body, and it took every bit of his will to hold back until his searching fingers found that small, sensitive spot that made her gasp and arch when he gently stroked it.

  "Oh! Linc… I can't… What's happening?"

  She clutched at him, stark surprise in her voice. That astonishment gave him the restraint he needed to hold back the boiling, surging tide one more critical moment; was it possible, he wondered dazedly, that she had never…?

  Then she was crying out, his name shimmering from her lips like a litany, over and over, and he knew it was true. And that knowledge, that no one had shown her this, that he was, in essence, the first to truly show her this joyous truth, sent him flying after her. His head snapped back and his body arched, then exploded violently, until he knew that only the woman in his arms was anchoring him to earth.

  "Ah, mermaid … yes … yes!"

  And there, aboard the little ship where it had begun, amid the chaos of tangled limbs, clothes, and tossed dishes, Linc and Chandra both reached a place they'd never known existed.

  * * *

  Chapter 12

  « ^ »

  Linc tightened his arms around Chandra as he shifted position on the settee. He was propped against the back corner of the backrest, with his legs stretched out along the seat cushion. Chandra, her arms around his ne
ck, sat sideways across his thighs. Neither of them had spoken, not even when he'd finally been able to stand again and had picked her up from the table and cuddled her against him as he took the more comfortable seat.

  With echoes of that incredible explosion still rippling through him, Linc didn't trust himself to speak just yet. He felt utterly drained. And, if he was honest with himself, badly shaken.

  Perhaps, he thought, it was just because of his odd state of mind of late, that vague emptiness he'd been carrying around. Maybe that was why this had been so overwhelming, why at last taking this fragile little mermaid had been so incredibly, impossibly intense. It had certainly cured him of that emptiness; he'd never felt more fulfilled, more replete, so utterly content.

  But he knew, somewhere deep inside, that it was more than that. It wasn't Chandra's fragility, or petite size, or even her beauty that had called out to him. It was her spirit, that poor, battered spirit that had clung to life despite everything … and her strength, the strength she didn't even know she had. It was that he wanted to touch, to hold, to nurture.

  It felt right to him, that they were here like this, naked in each other's arms, but Chandra shivered suddenly, and tightened her arms around his neck.

  "Cold?" He'd been right not to trust his voice, he thought wryly; he sounded like a sea gull with a sore throat.

  "No. I just…"

  His mouth quirked. She, on the other hand, merely sounded pleasantly, sexily husky. "You just what?"

  "I feel so … I can still feel … it was so…" She shook her head sharply as words failed her; the soft silk of her hair tickled his naked chest.

  "I know," he said. "I can't think of any words for it, either."

  "I never before… I never felt…" She sighed, and tried again. "I always thought it was because he … never took much time. But this… Thank you."

  She shrugged, a tiny little gesture of wonder that warmed Linc to his soul. He hugged her close.

  "I'm the one who should be thanking you," he said softly. "I've had this hollow spot inside me for a long time. I thought I was going crazy, or worse. Then you came along, and I didn't have time to think about it anymore."