Heaven's Price Part 11

"You're wonderful," he said thickly. "You look wonderful. Sound wonderful. Taste wonderful." The inches between them lessened until his mouth fastened onto hers in a telling kiss. One appet.i.te may have been satiated, but one was still a gnawing emptiness within them both.

He feasted on her mouth as though it were a delectable piece of fruit fas.h.i.+oned and created for him alone. Her fingers plowed through his wealth of silver-blond hair and held his mouth in place while she sampled it with the thoroughness of a connoisseur.

When they fell apart, both were gulping for air and trying to focus on each other through pa.s.sion-bleared eyes. "I've wanted to do that every time I was with you these past weeks. G.o.d, it's been h.e.l.l to keep my hands off you." As he talked, he was nibbling at the tips of her fingers in turn, laving the pads of them with an ardent tongue.

"Why didn't you?"

"To give you s.p.a.ce. You weren't ready before."

"Do you think I'm ready now?" Her voice spiraled into nothingness when his tongue seductively delved between two of her fingers at their base.

"If not, have pity, Blair. I'm dying for you."

He kissed her again and the hand that trailed down her side brought a s.h.i.+ver of antic.i.p.ation over her entire body.

"Cold?" he asked.

"A little."

"Sit up." He pulled her up until she sat between his raised knees, cradled against his bare chest. He draped his discarded T-s.h.i.+rt over her shoulders and slid his hands beneath her arms to meet over her stomach.

"You still feel so tiny," he whispered. Erotically symbolic, his tongue probed the small cavern of her ear. "Will you break if I love you?"

"We won't know, will we, until you do?" She took his hand beneath her own and brought it up to cover her breast.

"Touch me, Sean."

Where her courage came from she never knew. Where her carefully maintained caution fled to she never knew. Nor did she know when her wall of defense first began to crumble. Her past meant nothing. The time with Cole could very well not have happened for all the effect it had on this moment with Sean. At this point in time, she didn't want to be reminded of who she was, or who he was, or the opposing directions of their lives. It was suddenly essential that he touch her, that the longing that had plagued her since she first saw him be gratified at last.

His other hand came up to join the first and after closing over her b.r.e.a.s.t.s in gentle acceptance of her gift, he fanned them with light strokes. "You're precious. Precious." His thumbs settled on her sides while his fingers cupped the swelling undersides of her b.r.e.a.s.t.s.

She may as well not have been wearing anything, for the thinness of the leotard masked nothing. He lifted her gently, kissing her neck as he fondled her at leisure.

"I want to see you again," he said as his thumbs came around to circle her nipples with hypnotic repet.i.tion. "When I undressed you that night, these were full and erect. Was that because I was there looking at you?"

She nodded, then leaned her head against his shoulder permitting him a better view down her throat.

"I want to watch them grow that way as I touch them. I want to kiss them, taste them, feel them against my tongue, in my mouth, against my face."

She groaned when one hand slipped under the leotard to claim what his evocative words had readied for his possession. The palm of his hand burned against the cool flesh of her breast. The nipple bloomed between his fingers that adored so elegantly. Moving her chin back farther, she groped for and found his mouth bending toward her, as avid and hot as her own. Tongues skirmished in a pa.s.sionate battle where all were the victor. And all the while his hand cherished her with a greediness tempered by caring.

As the kiss deepened, he lay back, bringing her with him and turning her over until she was positioned above him. He bartered one pleasure for another. One hand tangled in her hair while the other smoothed up her thigh beneath her skirt. She held her breath when his fingers reached the high leg of her leotard, then sighed with bliss when he didn't let it act as a barrier to his caress. His strong fingers slid beneath the stretched fabric to knead the smooth rounded muscle of her derriere.

Tearing her mouth free of his avaricious lips, she asked, "Sean, why did you take off all your clothes?"

His breathing was sporadic. "To goad you into a reaction. To shock you into some kind of response. To see if I appealed to you at all.

Do l?"

She nestled her head on the forest of hair on his chest. His vulnerability was endearing. "Yes, yes," she whispered with her lips against the salty-tasting skin. "You're beautiful. I've always thought that."

"Do you know how much I've wanted you, Blair? Do you know that my body hasn't given me a minute's peace since I first saw you?" He s.h.i.+fted slightly and asked hoa.r.s.ely, "Do you know how much I want to be inside you right now?" With his hand on her naked b.u.t.tock, pressing her against him, how could she deny the proof of his desire pulsing against the cradle of her femininity?

She made an adjustment of her own that robbed him of breath. "I think so." Instinct instructed her. She rocked upon him gently.

"Sweet . .." His head went back and dug a crater into the soft sand beneath the blanket while his eyes squeezed shut and his teeth were bared in what could either be a grimace of intense ecstasy or excruciating pain. "Blair, for G.o.dsakes don't do that.

I want to make love to you, but not here. Come on."

He rolled her off him and began gathering the remnants of their picnic with quick, jerky movements. She could barely keep up with him as he stalked to the car with his long stride. The wind whipped his hair, the cool evening chilled his bare torso, but he was impervious to the elements as he approached the car with a single-mindedness of purpose.

As soon as the things were stowed in the backseat, he brought the engine of the car to roaring life. Blair sat curled next to him, disdaining the pa.s.senger side. Her head lay on his shoulder, her hand on his thigh. The hand alternately squeezed and stroked, growing bolder with each block they traveled.

"You'd better cut that out," he warned when he slammed to a stop at a traffic light.

"Or what?" she dared him on the merest of whispers.

He caught her hand and pressed it to that place that left no doubt as to the unreliability of his control. "If you want to fondle something, fondle that. It's begging for it."

For a moment she froze, mortified by what he had done. But when the initial shock wore off, she found herself without a convincing reason to remove her hand. Inquisitive fingers threatened his sanity.

"So much for my good ideas," he anguished. "Thank G.o.d we're home."

He swung the car into the driveway. The sight that greeted them as he screeched to a stop was totally unexpected and unwanted. Two cars with several pa.s.sengers each were parked in front of the stairs leading to Blair's apartment. Bodies of each s.e.x were draped in varying poses on the cars.

A few were perched on the stairs and bannister. Chatter and laughter punctuated the night air. It looked like a band of gypsies had camped on her doorstep for the night.

And that's exactly what had happened.

l Sean's curse seared the roof of the car. "What the h.e.l.l is this?"

Blair shook off her momentary stunned surprise and scrambled for her own side of the car. "Friends of mine," she said breathlessly, and retreating from his seething eyes, shoved open her door and shouted uproarious greetings that were in direct contrast to her mood.

She was lifted into an adagio hold over one of the young men's heads, then swung from one friend to another to receive a hearty hug.

Altogether there must have been twelve to fifteen friends who had driven out to see her, though she never got an accurate head count as they never stood still long enough.

"Where have you been?"

"We've been waiting for hours."

"Is that sand on your toes?"

"Hope we didn't interrupt anything."

Questions and quips were fired at her with the rapidity of machine-gun fire. "Uh," she said, drawing her fingers through her tangled hair, "Sean and I went on a picnic after my cla.s.ses to celebrate . . .

Oh, that is Sean Garrett, my land . . . my friend." She pointed to the tall blond man with the tight, tense expression on his face leaning with deceptive nonchalance against the Mercedes. A dozen or so pairs of eyes were directed at him and greetings were called. He responded with a less than enthusiastic "h.e.l.lo."

"Well the party you two started on the beach will continue. Lead onward and upward," one of the young men said. He grabbed Blair by the hand, and with one of his hands firmly planted on her bottom, pushed her upstairs. A few weeks ago, she would never have noticed his casual gesture. Now her face flamed with color and she hoped Sean didn't see what the man was doing.

At the door she fumbled with her key.

When all had filed in with exclamations of approval of her apartment, she glanced over her shoulder to see that Sean hadn't followed.

"Sean, please come on up.

"I wouldn't want to intrude." Why was his voice so chill, when moments ago, he was virtually panting with burning desire?

"You won't be. Please."

"Okay."

Before she could reply or wait for him, she was hauled through the door by someone demanding to know where she kept the drinking gla.s.ses.

Jugs of wine, already opened and imbibed if the gaiety of the crowd were any indication, were pa.s.sed around as were slabs of cheese, boxes of crackers, and tins of smoked oysters.

"So what's it like living out here in the boonies?" someone asked over the blare of the stereo which someone else had wasted no time in tuning to an acid rock station.

"It's all right," Blair shouted back, smiling. Where was Sean? Oh, over there glaring derisively at the guy with the punk haircut, tank-top, and red bloomer pants. He's really a terrific dancer, Blair wanted to inform Sean. "I'm teaching cla.s.s here."

This produced a howl of disrespectful laughter. "To what? Blimpo housewives and their precious darlings?" The comment brought on another hilarious wave of laughter.

"Well, yes, to housewives and children," Blair said somewhat defensively. "It's really great fun. They all love it. Some," "Oh my G.o.d!" one of the girls cried, placing her palms flat against her over-rouged cheeks. "She's turned into a regular schoolmarm."

Everyone collapsed in laughter. Blair could feel the smile she had pasted on her face begin to crack.

"No matter what you do, Blair, it can't beat your career in the city, you know," one of the boys said sagely. "It gets in your blood, you know. I'll kill myself when I can't dance anymore, you know."

Blair darted a look at Sean whose shoulder was propped against the windowsill. His smoldering eyes said that he wished the young man who had made that last somber comment would get on with his suicide.

"It shouldn't be much longer," she said, dragging her eyes away from Sean's stony face. "The doctor said" "What the h.e.l.l do they know?"

"Yeah, have they ever danced? Have they ever laid off for six stinking months and then tried to get back in shape? " "Not to mention a career like Blair's being shot to h.e.l.l in the meantime," someone else chimed in. "How long a memory do you think those producers have? Six months?

Forget it. In six months' time, they'll be saying, Blair who?"

"Now, wait a minute." One of the less loquacious young men stood up and went to embrace Blair. "They're all b.l.o.o.d.y jealous, Blair. That's all," he said, indicating the others. "You'll be back in a few months'

time and dancing better than ever."

Blair reached up and kissed him on the cheek. "Thanks. I hope so."

Know so.

There was a momentary pause in the chatter, and it was obvious that no one was moved to agree. Blair, swallowing a lump of anxiety, said with forced cheerfulness, "Well, fill me in on all the news."

For the next half hour the subject was less grim as they related current happenings to her and reminisced Over shared past experiences.

Blair wondered why she no longer felt like one of the insiders.

This group that she had been such an integral part of now seemed incredibly young and immature and shallow. They were self-centered to a fault, paranoid, and boring. They talked of one thing only, dance.

Sean was ignored and did his best to remain so. Several times he had to consciously relax his jaw for fear his teeth would crack from the extreme internal pressure he was applying to them. His fists were often clenched at his sides. He wanted to clear the room with one fell swoop, to clear, at the same time, that haunted, terrified, grief stricken expression off Blair's face.

When at last someone reminded everyone else that they needed to start driving back to the city, the party began to break up. Several hugged Blair, wished her a speedy recovery, and asked her to look them up for lunch or dinner if she came to the city. Others, less sensitive, fled down the stairs, competing for the choicest seats in the cars. They drove out of the driveway trailing blasts of the automobile horns and ribald suggestions that she and Sean could pick up their own party where they left off.

When Blair turned away from the door, she saw that at some undetermined point in time Sean had left, too, leaving her alone. That was fitting.

She'd never felt more alone in her life. For a few minutes, she pointlessly roamed the apartment, without conscious thought, without mission, without purpose. Just as her life was.

She had no one. She had nothing. This pseudolife she had been building in Tidelands was just that- a sham. She wasn't a part of life here.

Never could be. She had only one thing. Only one thing in her life remained constant.

Suddenly filled with resolve, she yanked up her purse and flew out of the apartment and down the stairs. The car had been returned as Pam had promised Sean. Blair pumped it to life and raced out the driveway and to the studio. She never stopped to think that it might not be wise to go into the deserted building by herself this late at night.

She stumbled to the door and unlocked it. With familiar ease she made her way to the office and plugged in the record player on the small table. She pulled on a pair of tights she kept handy in a drawer and secured the ribbons to a pair of toe shoes around her ankles.

Whisking off her skirt, she went to the barre and did a preliminary warm-up.

Only the light in the office fanned across the vast expanse of empty floor.

Her body was now bathed with a film of perspiration. She selected a record and put it on the turntable. a.s.suming a position in front of the mirrored wall, she began to move to the haunting strains of the music.

At first the tempo was slow and measured, then it gradually increased until Blair was whirling around the room with frenzied abandon.

"What the h.e.l.l do you think you're doing?" a voice boomed out of the darkness.

Blair didn't stop, nor did her well-practiced movements falter.

Without an apology or qualification, she answered Sean's angry question.

"What I was born to do."

Jewan, aearmeS to Jee her Sanceng JO entheeae"Jtecaley, atampe J to the record player and lifted the arm, causing an abrupt cessation of the music. The resultant silence was almost as deafening.

Blair, coming out of a series of spins, wound down like the ballerina on a music box, slowly, slowly, until she came to a complete stop.

For a few moments she stood, shoulders slumped, head bowed, abjectly despairing. When she raised her head, Sean saw the tears streaming down her face, twin rivers of silver in the arc of light coming from the office.

"Don't stop me," she begged, all vestiges of pride stripped from her.

"I must dance. Now. This moment. Please."

"You'll hurt yourself."

She folded her arms over her stomach and gripped hard. "I'm hurting now," she cried.