Heaven's Price Part 13

"Cole arrived in New York after I had been there for a few years.

I was older than he was. He was fresh out of soph.o.m.ore year in college.

His coming to New York was really a rebellious move against his father who was an athletic coach at his hometown high school. Coach Slater couldn't imagine anything worse than having a son who was a ballet dancer, even though Cole was as athletic and certainly more dexterous than most of the football players on his father's team."

She sighed, took Sean's large hand and laid it on her stomach, absently smoothing the blond hairs that sprung from his knuckles. "Cole had had all the pressure he could take at home, so he came to New York and virtually starved until he found a waiter's job to support his dance cla.s.ses. I liked him, felt sorry for him, and asked him to share my apartment until he could get established.

"We became increasingly fond of each other. Affectionate. Everyone began to consider us a couple." He thrilled to calling home and telling his father that he was living with a woman, especially an older woman.

You see, the one thing Cole wanted to prove to his father was that, despite the fact that he was a dancer, he was also a man."

"And?" he encouraged when she became quiet.

"And in the year and a half we lived together, he was never able to prove it."

She seemed to be shrinking away from him and Sean drew her close and held her tight as though to keep her from diminis.h.i.+ng into nothingness.

Now he knew why she had been so unschooled in amorous embraces.

He had found her naivete charming and unique, but puzzling in one her age.

He had thought it was an affectation, now he knew it was genuine.

"What happened?" he asked, resting his lips against her forehead.

"One day Cole decided that he couldn't live with that kind of conflict in his life and threw himself in front of a subway train."

"Dammit," Sean sighed and squeezed his eyes closed with the same pressure that he held her to him. He knew the shattering pain that would have caused her, and were he able, he would have transferred it to himself. "You loved him?" he asked intuitively after a long silence.

"Yes, though I know now it wasn't a romantic kind of love. I think I pitied him and regretted the misunderstanding between him and his parents. To some degree I suffered that same kind of misunderstanding all my life and could relate to it. He needed me to elevate his self-image.

And I needed him to tell me how good I was. Not a very sound basis for any relations.h.i.+p. I never took the chance of loving anyone else again.

Dancing was the only love in my past.

Sean's heart did a flip-flop. "Was?"

She looked up at him and caressed his mustache with her fingertip.

"Don't rush me into making any commitment yet. Only know that until an hour ago, I thought the ultimate feeling came from dancing as perfectly as I was capable. Now I know there are other levels of emotion that I never knew existed."

"I'm glad I was able to turn you on to them," he said with a solemnity that was belied by the glint in his eyes.

She tilted her head to one side and eyed him suspiciously. "You've never told me how you became so adept in the art of lovemaking.

Besides the years of practice, was there someone in your past who tutored you?"

His smile remained, but his eyes clouded momentarily. "At one time I thought there might be a Mrs. Sean Garrett, but things didn't work out."

"Oh." That piece of news crushed her and she wished she hadn't brought up the subject. Maybe she was better off not knowing. She might never measure up to that unknown ident.i.ty.

He smoothed the wrinkle out of her forehead. "Blair, don't read anything tragic into that statement. It was my decision. I don't carry a torch. I rarely think of her, and then with supreme indifference.

And someday I may tell you the whole boring story, but not now. Not while you're lying beside me naked and gorgeous."

"You're gorgeous, too," she said, admiring again the solid length of his body from his shoulders to his wellshaped feet. "And not a half-bad dancer." Mischievously, she pinched at the hair on his chest.

He groaned and covered his face with both his hands. "I'd have died had anyone ventured in there and seen me. I'm sure I looked like a clumsy oaf playing with Tinkerbell."

"You did not," she said indignantly, sitting up. "You move gracefully all the time. And..."

She averted her eyes.

"What, Blair?" he asked, pulling her down beside him again.

"You were there when I needed you. Thank you." Her eyes were s.h.i.+ning again with unshed tears.

He dabbed at her moist eyes. "Don't thank me," he said in an urgent whisper. "You are just what I needed, too.

When she awoke the next morning in the wide bed, she was alone.

Sitting up and stretching luxuriously, she took stock of the bedroom that she hadn't even noticed the night before. She liked what she saw.

Andrew Delgado had told her Sean's bed was big, and it was a full king size covered with a quilted spread. The room was decorated in russet and navy that contrasted beautifully with the eggsh.e.l.l-colored walls in the rest of the house. Wide slatted shutters covered the windows and allowed only a hint of bright sunlight in through the closed louvers.

The room was masculine, but far from austere.

The parquet floor was cool on her feet as she tiptoed from the bed to open the door. Listening for any sounds, she crept down the hall and peered over the gallery. She jumped back in surprise when she heard the back door slamming shut. She was poised on the landing when Sean came through the kitchen door into the living room and saw her.

Both were surprised. She because he looked so wonderful wearing nothing but a faded, ragged pair of jeans that snapped a good two inches below his hair-whorled navel. He because never before had he come into his house to see a beautiful naked woman at the top of the stairs, her hair in seductive disarray, her mouth swollen with a well-kissed pout, her b.r.e.a.s.t.s pink and warm and full from sleep. The sun s.h.i.+ning through the stained gla.s.s window made her naked skin into a living rainbow.

She took two steps down, but the intensity of his eyes burning into hers halted any other movement. With a predatory gait, he started for the stairs, dropping the articles of clothing he carried onto the floor.

He took the stairs one by one never touching the bannister, never looking down to check his steps. He was like a sleepwalker, protected from mishap by her entrancing form that drew him like a magnet.

When he was several steps below her, he stopped. His chest rose and fell as he breathed lightly. His eyes dropped from their absorption with hers to look at her mouth. It looked slightly abraded and he silently chided himself for the ardency of his kisses. His gaze took in the gentle slope of her shouldersthe ingrained posture that was an essential aspect of her art, and the softly swelling b.r.e.a.s.t.s with their delicate rosy crowns.

On eye level with them, he adored them with his eyes, loving them so intensely, they reacted and grew firm. The slightest trace of a smile lifted the corner of his mustache before he extended his hand to lovingly fondle first one then the other. He leaned forward to nuzzle her with his nose and mustache before kissing her b.r.e.a.s.t.s in turn.

He filled his hand with one and brought his mouth over the nipple to love.

His tongue circled and stroked and rubbed it until he felt her swaying unsteadily and encircled her with his arms.

Still standing a stair beneath hers, his hands caressed her hips while his mouth kissed an erotic map over her stomach. She knew the sweet touch of his tongue that was warm and wet against her cool skin. He took another step down. His hands slid to the back of her thighs and his fingers flexed around them.

More rapid now, his mouth rained kisses down the tops of her thighs, to her knees, down her s.h.i.+ns. He knelt and kissed her feet, the callused toes. Working his way back up, she gripped his hair hard as he kissed the inside of her thighs. Then his mouth went on a quest too intimate to be imagined, but that converted her entire body into a pliable container of warm flowing honey.

When she felt herself weakened to the point of collapse, she stumbled up the two steps to the landing and sat down. Sean took the steps necessary to catch up with her. Their ragged breathing reverberated through the stillness of the house.

Standing before her, he waited. Her eyes scaled his tremendous height and met his blazing eyes. They scorched her lips and she wet them with her tongue. The involuntary action caused his heart to visibly pound in his chest. That was his only motion. He remained still. Hoping.

Waiting.

Her trembling fingers fumbled with the snap of his jeans and worked the zipper down. Slipping her hands inside, she smoothed them over his taut hips, pulling the jeans lower. His hands came up to caress her earlobes and stroke her cheeks. She leaned forward and kissed his navel, debauching it with a limber tongue. Her fingertips fanned over the tawny nest that joined his thighs and gloried in the life that was rooted there. She kissed him. He trembled.

Gradually they reclined, heedless of the hard floor beneath them.

Without unnecessary preliminaries, his body and hers became one. So profound was their need that the storm raged and was spent within a few fleeting, frenzied moments. When breathing had been restored to an automatic response rather than an exerting exercise, Sean lifted his head, smiled tenderly, and said lovingly, "Good morning." s w i , A f { Dr & SBlatr coulU) have reizveS any Saya out of her lzie, *1he oulP have chosen the day she opened on Broadway with Lauren Bacall in Wonzan of the Year and the Sat.u.r.day and Sunday she shared with Sean after their first night together.

After the episode on the stair landing that had left them both dazed, she dressed in the shorts and top Sean had brought from her apartment.

"I also cleaned up the mess in there. You've got sloppy friends."

Persuading him not to put on any more than he had on, she dragged him into the kitchen where fifteen minutes later they had produced a six egg omelet. Sean carried the tray bearing the omelet, toast, coffee, and orange juice onto the screened porch and they attacked the food, only now realizing how hungry they were.

Contentedly curled up in a corner of the settee, sipping a cup of creamed coffee, Blair eyed Sean suspiciously when he said casually, "Of course, you're going to have to earn my hospitality. I'm going to make you work for this deluxe breakfast."

"By doing what?" she asked warily.

He laughed at her scowling brows. "Nothing illegal. As a matter of fact you might enjoy it."

Her eyes lit up with green fire. "Oh, if it's that kind of work "

"Whoa! I think I've created a monster," he said to the ceiling.

"No, you're going to help me paint a room in one of my houses."

She wrinkled her nose. "Slave labor I a.s.sume."

"Absolutely, but you get bedroom privileges."

"Painting, huh? I wondered why you selected my tackiest pair of cut-offs and T-s.h.i.+rt to dress me in today. Don't I get a bra?"

"Nope. But no complaining. I let you wear panties."

"The sheerest, skimpiest pair you could find."

"I never aspired to sainthood," he said, his eyes full of devilry.

They cleaned the kitchen with dispatch and while Sean loaded the truck with the tools of his trade, Blair democratically made the bed. She hadn't gotten over her initial aversion to the truck.

"Don't you ever clean this thing out?" she asked, slamming the protesting door and nearly wrenching her arm from its socket.

"That would take away its character," Sean replied, unperturbed.

The house he was currently remodeling was beautiful, a graceful, century-old construction on an estate with beach frontage. The structural work had been done, but Sean was completing the clean-up work before his clients took over with their decorator.

"I told them I'd paint this room for them because of the high ceilings.

It's already had two coats. Today I'm just touching it up."

He hauled in buckets of paint, a roller on a long pole, and trim brushes for Blair to use. They set about their work after Sean had taken her on a tour of the house. The hours pa.s.sed swiftly.

Near lunchtime, Sean came to stand behind her where she was perched on a footstool. She was working with a screwdriver to reattach the bra.s.s plate around a light switch. Concentration on her task had kept her from realizing he had come up to her until she felt his hands molding over her bottom in an audacious caress.

"You've got the cutest little tush," he said, pinching it lightly through the soft fabric of her old shorts. "Anyone ever tell you that?"

"Lots of people."

"Oh? Who? I'll kill them," he growled, sliding his hands under the T-s.h.i.+rt and covering her b.r.e.a.s.t.s.

"I'm not going to get this thing back on straight if you don't cut that out," she warned.

"To h.e.l.l with that thing. Turn around and kiss me, woman .

Trying to look put out, but not succeeding very well, she turned into his arms. She was on eye level with him. "This is nice," he murmured against her cheek. "For once I can kiss you without breaking my back."

"Well if it's that much trouble, we'll just have to stop kissing."

He pulled back and smiled with what she knew to be a dangerous smile.

"You'd be amazed at how inventive I can be." His hands went around her to cup her bottom and lift her off the stool. "Wrap your legs around my waist. Now, see how well that works. Of course if you wanted to you could put your arms around my neck."

When she complied he said, "What a fast learner you are.

"You big phony! This wasn't your idea. We were in this position the day I escaped the mouse."

"Well, I adapted it to fit the need. Be quiet and kiss me."

They teased each other with quick, nibbling kisses until their desire was rekindled to the point where that wasn't enough. His mouth closed over hers and agilely explored it with his tongue. Dipping into her mouth repeatedly, it evoked other lovemaking and stirred their memories to the hours of the night when they had loved each other.

He could easily support her with one arm folded under her hips.

The other hand slipped around to caress her breast. He ma.s.saged it with ever-closing circles until his fingers treated the peaked nipple to his gentle loving. "Let's get naked and do this some more."

"Mmmm." She covered his face with tiny kisses that were like droplets of water striking a hot skillet. Her thighs closed around him tighter, her ankles locked behind his back. She felt his pa.s.sion growing, throbbing, and moved against it.

"Blair, please," he groaned and buried his face in her neck. For long moments they stood thus, clinging to each other tightly, letting their longing decrease to a level they could handle until a more convenient time and place.

Lifting his head from the fragrant hollow of her neck, he asked kindly, "Are you all right?" Looking up at him with languid eyes, she shook her head. He laughed softly. "Neither am I, but we'll have to tough it out for now. One last kiss?"

He kissed her tenderly, barely breaching her lips to stroke the tip of her tongue with his.

"Mr.... uh, Garrett. We're here."

Blair's head snapped up to see two workers standing in the doorway, hats in hand, sappy grins on their faces, staring at Sean and her with acute interest. She scrambled to disengage herself and regain her footing. She needn't have made the effort. Sean wouldn't let her go.

"h.e.l.lo, Larry, Gil. I'd like you to meet Miss Simpson. Blair, Larry and Gil Morris, brothers and two of my best clean-up men."