The Welcoming by Nora Roberts
Lightly, almost afraid he might bruise her with a touch, he cupped her breasts in his hands. Her breath caught, then released on a moan against the side of his neck. He knew that nothing had ever excited him more.
Then her hands were on his shirt, her fingers undoing his buttons as her eyes remained on his. They were as dark, as deep, as vibrant, as the water that surrounded her home. He could read everything she felt in them.
“I want to touch you,” she said as she drew the shirt from his shoulders. Her heart began to sprint as she looked at him, the taut muscles, the taut skin.
There was a strength in him that excited, perhaps because she understood that he could be ruthless. There was a toughness to his body, a toughness that made her realize he was a man who had fought, a man who would fight. But his hands were gentle on her now, almost hesitant. Her excitement leaped higher, and there was no fear in it.
“It seems I’ve wanted to touch you like this all my life.” She ran her fingertips lightly over the bandage on his arm. “Does it hurt?”
“No.” Every muscle in his body tensed when she trailed her hands from his waist to his chest. It was impossible for him to understand how anyone could bring him peace and torment at the same time. “Charity . . .”
“Just kiss me again, Roman,” she murmured.
He was helpless to refuse. He wondered what she would ask him for if she knew that he was powerless to deny her anything at this moment. Fighting back a flood of desperation, he kept his hands easy, sliding and stroking them over her until he felt the tremors begin.
He knew he could give her pleasure. The need to do so pulsed heavily inside him. He could ignite her passions. The drive to fan them roared through him like a brushfire. As he touched her he knew he could make her weak or strong, wild or limp. But it wasn’t power that filled him at the knowledge. It was awe.
She would give him whatever he asked, without questions, without restrictions. This strong, beautiful, exciting woman was his. This wasn’t a dream that would awaken him to frustration in the middle of the night. This wasn’t a wish that he’d have to pretend he’d never made. It was real. She was real, and she was waiting for him.
He could have torn the nightshirt from her with one pull of his hand. Instead he released button after tiny button, hearing her breath quicken, following the narrow path with soft, lingering kisses. Her fingers dug into his back, then went limp as her system churned. She could only groan as his tongue moistened her flesh, teasing and heating it. The night air whispered over her as he undressed her. Then he was lifting her, cradling her in his arms.
She was twined around him, her heart thudding frantically against his lips. He needed a moment to drag himself back, to find the control he wanted so that he could take her up, take her over. Murmuring to her, he used what skills he had to drive her past the edge of reason.
Her body was rigid against his. He watched her dazed eyes fly open. She gasped his name, and then he covered her mouth with his to capture her long, low moan as her body went limp.
She seemed to slide like water through his hands when he laid her down again. To his delight, her arousal burst free again at his lightest touch.
It was impossible. It was impossible to feel so much and still need more. Blindly she reached for him. Fresh pleasure poured into her until her arms felt too heavy to move. She was a prisoner, a gloriously willing prisoner, of the frantic sensations he sent tearing through her. She wanted to lock herself around him, to keep him there, always there. He was taking her on a long, slow journey to places she had never seen, places she never wanted to leave.
When he slid inside her she heard his low, breathless moan. So he was as much a captive as she.
With his face pressed against her neck, he fought the need to sprint toward release. He was trapped between heaven and hell, and he gloried in it. In her. In them. He heard her sob out his name, felt the strength pour into her. She was with him as no one had ever been.
Charity wrapped her arms around Roman to keep him from shifting away. “Don’t move.”
“I’m hurting you.”
“No.” She let out a long, long sigh. “No, you’re not.”
“I’m too heavy,” he insisted, and compromised by gathering her close and rolling so that their positions were reversed.
“Okay.” Satisfied, she rested her head on his shoulder. “You are,” she said, “the most incredible lover.”
He didn’t even try to prevent the smile. “Thanks.” He stroked a possessive hand down to her hip. “Have you had many?”
It was her turn to smile. The little trace of jealousy in his voice was a tremendous addition to an already glorious night. “Define many.”
Ignoring the quick tug of annoyance he felt, he played the game. “More than three. Three is a few. Anything more than three is many.”
“Ah. Well, in that case.” She almost wished she could lie and invent a horde. “I guess I’ve had less than a few. That doesn’t mean I don’t know an incredible one when I find him.”
He lifted her head to stare at her. “I’ve done nothing in my life to deserve you.”
“Don’t be stupid.” She inched up to kiss him briefly. “And don’t change the subject.”
“What subject?”
“You’re clever, DeWinter, but not that clever.” She lifted a brow and studied him in the lamplight. “It’s my turn to ask you if you’ve had many lovers.”
He didn’t smile this time. “Too many. But only one who’s meant anything.”
The amusement faded from her eyes before she closed them. “You’ll make me cry,” she murmured, lowering her head to his chest again.
Not yet, he thought, stroking her hair. Soon enough, but not yet. “Why haven’t you ever gotten married?” he wondered aloud, “Had babies?”
“What a strange question. I haven’t loved anyone enough before.” She winced at her own words, then made herself smile as she lifted her head. “That wasn’t a hint.”
But it was exactly what he’d wanted to hear. He knew he was crazy to let himself think that way, even for a few hours, but he wanted to imagine her loving him enough to forgive, to accept and to promise.
“How about the traveling you said you wanted to do? Shouldn’t that come first?”
She shrugged and settled against him again. “Maybe I haven’t traveled because I know deep down I’d hate to go all those places alone. What good is Venice if you don’t have someone to ride in a gondola with? Or Paris if there’s no one to hold hands with?”
“You could go with me.”
Already half asleep, she laughed. She imagined Roman had little more than the price of a ferry ticket to his name. “Okay. Let me know when to pack.”
“Would you?” He lifted her chin to look into her drowsy eyes.
“Of course.” She kissed him, snuggled her head against his shoulder and went to sleep.
Roman switched off the lamp beside the bed. For a long time he held her and stared into the dark.
Chapter 8
Charity opened her eyes slowly, wondering why she couldn’t move. Groggy, she stared into Roman’s face. It was only inches from hers. He had pulled her close in his sleep, effectively pinning her arms and legs with his. Though his grip on her was somewhat guardlike, she found it unbearably sweet.
Ignoring the discomfort, she lay still and took advantage of the moment by looking her fill.
She’d always thought that people looked softer, more vulnerable, in sleep. Not Roman. He had the body of a fighter and the eyes of a man accustomed to facing trouble head-on. His eyes were closed now, and his body was relaxed. Almost.
Still, studying him, she decided that, asleep or awake, he looked tough as nails. Had he always been? she wondered. Had he had to be? It was true that smiling lent a certain charm to his face. It lightened the wariness in his eyes. In Charity’s opinion, Roman smiled much too seldom.
She would fix that. Her own lips curved as she watched him. In time she would, gently,
Sooner or later—sooner, if she had her way—he would come to accept how good they were together. And how much better they would become in all the years to follow. Then there would be time for promises and families and futures.
I’m not letting you go, she told him silently. You don’t realize it yet, but I’ve got a hold on you, and it’s going to be mighty hard to break it.
He had such a capacity for giving, she thought. Not just physically, though she wasn’t ashamed to admit that his skill there had dazed and delighted her. He was a man full of emotions, too many of them strapped down. What had happened to him, she wondered, that had made him so wary of love, and so afraid to give it?
She loved him too much to demand an answer. It was a question he had to answer on his own . . . a question she knew he would answer as soon as he trusted her enough. When he did, all she had to do was show him that none of it mattered. All that counted, from this moment on, was what they felt for each other.
Inching over, she brushed a light kiss on his mouth. His eyes opened instantly. It took only a heartbeat longer for them to clear. Fascinated, Charity watched their expression change from one of suspicion to one of desire.
“You’re a light sleeper,” she began. “I just—”
Before she could complete the thought, his mouth, hungry and insistent, was on hers. She managed a quiet moan as she melted into his kiss.
It was the only way he knew to tell her what it meant to him to wake and find her close and warm and willing. Too many mornings he had woken alone in strange beds in empty rooms.
That was what he expected. For years he had deliberately separated himself from anyone who had tried to get close. The job. He’d told himself it was because of the job. But that was a lie, one of many. He’d chosen to remain alone because he hadn’t wanted to risk losing again. Grieving again. Now, overnight, everything had changed.
He would remember it all, the pale fingers of light creeping into the room, the high echoing sound of the first birds calling to the rising sun, the scent of her skin as it heated against his. And her mouth . . . he would remember the taste of her mouth as it opened eagerly under his.
There were such deep, dark needs in him. She felt them, understood them, and met them unquestioningly. As dawn swept the night aside, he stirred her own until their needs mirrored each other’s.
Slowly, easily, while his lips cruised over her face, he slipped inside her. With a sigh and a murmur, she welcomed him.
***
She felt as strong as an ox and as content as a cat with cream on its whiskers. With her eyes closed, Charity stretched her arms to the ceiling.
“And to think I used to consider jogging the best way to start the day.” Laughing, she curled over against him again. “I have to thank you for showing me how very wrong I was.”
“My pleasure.” He could still feel his own heart thudding like a jackhammer against his ribs. “Give me a minute and I’ll show you the best reason for staying in bed in the morning.”
Lord, it was tempting. Before her blood could begin to heat she shook her head. She took a quick nip at his chin before she sat up. “Maybe if you’ve got some time when I get back.”
He took her wrist but kept his fingers light. “From where?”
“From taking Ludwig for his run.”
“No.”
The hand that had lifted to push back her hair paused. Deliberately she continued to lift it to finger-comb the hair away from her face. “No, what?”
He recognized that tone. She was the boss again, despite the fact that her face was still glowing from love-making and she was naked to where the sheets pooled at her waist. This was the woman who didn’t take orders. Roman decided he would have to show her again that she was wrong.
“No, you’re not taking the dog out for a run.”
Because she wanted to be reasonable, she added a smile. “Of course I am. I kept my promise and stayed in bed all day yesterday. And all night, for that matter. Now I’m going to get back to work.”
Around the inn, that was fine. In fact, the sooner everything got back to normal the better it would be. But there was no way he was having her walking down a deserted road by herself. “You’re in no shape to go for a mile hike.”
“Three miles, and yes, I am.”
“Three?” Lifting a brow, he stroked a hand over her thigh. “No wonder you’ve got such great muscle tone.”
“That’s not the point.” She shifted away before his touch could weaken her.
“You have the most incredible body.”
She shoved at his seeking hands. “Roman . . . I do?”
His lips curved. This was the way she liked them best. “Absolutely. Let me show you.”
“No, I . . .” She caught his hands as they stroked her thighs. “We’ll probably kill each other if we try this again.”
“I’ll risk it.”
“Roman, I mean it.” Her head fell back and she gasped when he scraped his teeth over her skin. It was impossible, she thought, impossible, for this deep, dark craving to take over again. “Roman—”
“Fabulous legs,” he murmured, skimming his tongue behind her knee. “I didn’t pay nearly enough attention to them last night.”
“Yes, you—” She braced a hand against the mattress as she swayed. “You’re trying to distract me.”
“Yeah.”
“You can’t.” She closed her eyes. He could, and he was. “Ludwig needs the run,” she managed. “He enjoys it.”
“Fine.” He sat up and circled her waist with his hands. “I’ll take him.”
“You?” Wanting to catch her breath, she turned her head to avoid his kiss, then shuddered as his lips trailed down her throat. “It’s not necessary. I’m perfectly . . . Roman.” She said his name weakly as his thumbs circled her breasts.
“Yes, a truly incredible body,” he murmured. “Long and lean and incredibly responsive. I can’t seem to touch you and not want you.”
She came up on her knees as he dragged another gasp out of her. “You’re trying to seduce me.”
“Nothing gets by you, does it?”
She was losing, weakening shamelessly. She knew it would infuriate her later, but for now all she could do was cling to him and let him have his way. “Is this your answer for everything?”
“No.” He lifted her hips and brought her to him. “But it’ll do.”
Unable to resist, she wrapped her limbs around him and let passion take them both. When it was spent, she slid bonelessly down in the bed. She didn’t argue when he drew the sheets over her shoulders.
“Stay here,” he told her, kissing her hair. “I’ll be back.”
“His leash is on a hook under the steps,” Charity murmured. “He gets two scoops of dog food when he gets back. And fresh water.”
“I think I can handle a dog, Charity.”
She yawned and tugged the blankets higher. “He likes to chase the Fitzsimmonses’ cat. But don’t worry, he can’t catch her.”
“That makes me breathe easier.” He laced up his shoes. “Anything else I should know?”
“Mmm.” She snuggled into the pillow. “I love you.”
As always, it knocked him backward to hear her say it, to know she meant it. In silence, he stepped outside.
She wasn’t tired, Charity thought as she stretched under the sheets. But Roman was right. Sleep wasn’t the best reason for staying in bed in the morning. Despite her bumps and bruises, she knew she’d never felt better in her life.
Still, she indulged herself, lingering in bed, half dreaming, until guilt finally prodded her out.
Moving automatically, she turned on the stereo, then tidied the bed. In the parlor she glanced over the notes she’d left for herself, made a few more. Then
“Roman!” She pressed both hands to her heart and leaned back against the tile. “You might as well shoot me as scare me to death. Didn’t you ever hear of the Bates Motel?”
“I left my butcher knife in my other pants.” She had her hair piled on top of her head and a cake of some feminine scented soap