He stopped reading to turn the page. Laura shifted Hapless in her arms. “It’s not in third person,” she observed.
He gave her another odd look, then returned his attention to the page. “I don’t know when it happened. When I fell in love with her, I mean. I wonder now if it was the first time that I saw her lovely face. Or maybe it was later, when I started to realize what a wonderful person she is. She has the most incredible hazel eyes. When I look into them, I feel as if I’ve been lost all my life and have finally found my way home.”
Laura’s heart caught. Hazel eyes? She searched his dark profile. Then she thought, Get real, Laura. You’re really reaching.
“When it started doesn’t really matter,” he read on. “I only know it did happen. She fills my life with laughter, she makes me happy in a way no one else ever has, and sometimes I think she understands me better than I do myself. She knew how torn up I was when an old lady’s cat died. She listens when I need to discuss my patients. She makes me fudge because I love chocolate.”
Tears sprang to Laura’s eyes. She wasn’t imagining it. He was talking about her. “Oh, Isaiah.”
He slowly closed the book and met her gaze. “Corny, huh? I never thought I’d have a problem telling a woman I was in love with her. But every time I try to tell you, I freeze up and the words won’t come.”
She could barely see him now for the tears. “You love me?” she squeaked.
He gently thumbed a tear from her cheek. “I adore you, Laura. You’re the most wonderful person I’ve ever known. I want to spend the rest of my life with you.” He gestured at the room around them. “I love the house. Now I want you to live here with me, not just for a few weeks, but always.”
She shook her head. “But—”
“Please don’t say that word. Whenever you say that word you’re about to add something really dumb. I love you. My mother finally found me the perfect woman, God love her. You’re beautiful, you’re smart, you’re funny, and you’re my best friend. Even better, as a cook you’re second to none.”
Laura nearly choked on a giggle. “You love me because I can cook?”
He smoothed another tear from her cheek. “When you’re in the kitchen, you aren’t just cooking. You’re preparing gifts.”
It was true, she realized. When she cooked, she thought of the people who would enjoy the dishes. She especially enjoyed cooking for Isaiah, not only because he needed the nourishment but also because he was so appreciative.
He lightly grazed his fingertips along her cheekbone and then furrowed them through her hair. “Well?” he asked huskily. “I’ve had a great birthday so far. Are you going to make it the most memorable one of my life by telling me you love me back?”
It took all Laura’s self-control not to throw her arms around his neck. “I have brain damage, Isaiah. There are a hundred little things I can’t do now, things that may become huge irri-irri—”
“Irresistible glitches?” he supplied.
She laughed again. He had a way of making her laugh. “You know the word I’m trying to say.”
“Irritations,” he said. “But you’re wrong about that. We balance each other out, Laura. It’s true that there are a number of things you can no longer do, but there are also a number of things I’m miserable at. Together we’re dynamite.”
“You need someone who can help with your career.”
“A surgical assistant in emergencies, maybe?”
Her cheeks went warm.
“Or possibly someone who’s great with animals?” He leaned closer—so close that she could feel the steamy warmth of his breath on her lips. “Do you love me, Laura?”
Her heart squeezed with yearning so intense it made her bones ache. “I don’t want to be a chain around your neck.”
He cupped her chin in his hand. “Do you love me? It’s a very simple question.”
“Yes,” she finally whispered.
Before the word had completely passed her lips, he angled his dark head and settled his mouth over hers. Wet silk. The kiss was as soft as a whisper at first, and then he deepened it, making questioning forays with the tip of his tongue. Laura’s head spun. She couldn’t breathe. Making fists on his shirt, she clung to him as she surrendered her mouth to him, parting her lips in invitation.
Hapless, squished between them, suddenly awakened and stuck his cold, wet nose between their chins. Isaiah cursed and pulled away. Laura fell back on the beanbag, her head reeling.
“It’s time for you to go outside for a while,” Isaiah told the pup.
He pushed to his feet and went to the front door. Once Hapless was dispatched, he strode slowly back to the fire. Laura stared dazedly up at him, aware of his raw masculinity as she’d never been—the decisive tap of his boots with each lazy step he took, the way his broad shoulders worked in harmony with each shift of his lean hips, and the play of muscle in his thighs under the faded denim of his Wranglers. His eyes burned with desire, turning them the dark blue of cobalt. A tendon along his jaw bunched with each clench of his teeth.
He stopped a foot shy of the beanbags and started unbuttoning his shirt. “I want you,” he said in a voice gone gravelly with need. “I want you as I’ve never wanted anyone.”
That was good. That was great. Only she needed just a little more lead time. “Isaiah,” she said shakily. “There’s just this one little thing.”
He dispensed with another shirt button. “What’s that? Just name it, sweetheart.”
Laura cringed inwardly. At thirty-one years of age, she felt it was an embarrassing thing to admit, especially in view of the fact that he’d clearly been with countless women. “I’ve never—done this.”
His hand stilled on a button. His gaze jerked to hers. “You’ve never done what?”
Laura sat erect and waved her hand. “This.”
She heard him release a breath, the sound similar to air escaping from a partially deflated balloon. “You’ve never made love, you mean?” His tone was incredulous. When she nodded, he flopped down on the beanbag beside her. Legs bent, arms resting limply on his upraised knees, he gave her an unbelieving study. “Not even once?”
Laura’s cheeks went fiery hot. “I, um, guess you might say I never got around to it. I was busy—first with school, then with my work.” That sounded so lame, even to her ears. “There was just never time.”
He arched a dark brow. “I see,” he said.
Only he didn’t see at all, because she was lying through her teeth. Laura took a deep breath for courage and blurted, “That’s not true. I wasn’t busy. I mean . . . well, I was busy. But that wasn’t the reason.” The fiery heat of embarrassment spread to cover her face and seep over her scalp. “I was waiting for that one special man. You, Isaiah. I know that now. Only you never came along. And then I got hurt, and no one asked me on dates, and I just—”
He touched a fingertip to her mouth. “Stop,” he ordered softly. His gaze locked with hers. “Are you trying to tell me that you were saving yourself for your husband?”
She nodded and twisted her face away to say, “I know it sounds old-fash-ioned. But it never felt right with any-one else.” She broke off and shrugged. “In my defense, I have to say it’s not all that weird. Last year’s Miss Amer-ica is waiting, too. No one thinks she’s crazy.”
Isaiah sighed and rubbed a hand over his face. “Sweetheart, I don’t think it’s old-fashioned. In fact, I think it’s wonderful.” He waited a beat. “I just wish I could say that I’d waited, too.”
Laura considered that possibility for an instant. On the one hand it might have been nice if it were the very first time for both of them, but on the other hand there were the mechanics to consider. “I’m sort of glad one of us knows what to do.”
He gave a startled laugh. And then, as naturally as though he did it all the time, he looped his arms around her and lifted her onto his lap. “No worries. Just in case I forget any of the steps, I keep a how-to manual in my nightstand.”
Laura h
ad a feeling he knew all the steps by heart, and the thought made her hurt inside. When they made love, would he think of women he’d been with before and find her lacking? It wasn’t as if she were practiced in pleasing a man. The sum total of her experience had come from books, movies, and what little her sister had told her.
She searched his twinkling blue eyes. “Have you been with lots of women?” she couldn’t resist asking.
“Not a good question.” His mouth twitched at the corners. “My past is just that—past.” He dipped his head to nibble seductively at her mouth. “The minute I saw you, I instantly forgot every other woman I’ve ever known. I can’t remember their names, can’t remember what they looked like. You’re everything to me, Laura, my past, my present, and, I pray to God, my future. Will you marry me?”
Deep in her heart of hearts, Laura knew he was only saying what she needed to hear. But it meant a great deal to her that he bothered. It meant even more that he was asking her to marry him. Maybe she didn’t eclipse every other woman in his mem-ory, but he’d somehow come to value her above all others. That was good enough for her.
She felt as if she might burst with happiness. “Oh, yes, I will marry you, Isaiah. I will. I will.”
He kissed her then, hesitantly at first, then more deeply, his lips like warm, moist silk on hers. Laura’s head spun. She grabbed frantically for breath. Her arms quivered as she hugged his strong neck. “I don’t know what to do,” she whispered between kisses.
He trailed his lips down the side of her neck, setting her skin afire. “You don’t need to do any-thing,” he assured her. “Nothing, sweetheart. Just be with me.”
Laura expected it to entail a little more than that and was taut with nerves. To her surprise he turned sideways to the fire and moved her off his lap to sit between his spread thighs. Hands overlapping on her belly, he hunched his shoulders around her, rested his chin atop her head, and merely gazed into the flames. Just be with me. She’d thought the request to be an oversimplification, a deceptive prelude to naked flesh and demands on her body that she might feel self-conscious about granting. But now he was reminding her that he never oversimplified. Isaiah was as straightforward as he was wonderful.
The hard press of his arms held her firmly against his chest. The heat of him soothed her worries away and soon drained the starch from her spine. She relaxed against his sturdy strength, her gaze fixed on the dancing firelight. She was acutely aware of him in those moments, attuned to every breath he took, every thump of his heart against her shoulder blades, every slight shift of his fingertips at her waist.
The mood that fell over them was inconceivably tender, a joining of bodies and hearts, but not in the way she had expected. Isaiah. It was so like him to sense her feelings and somehow ease her tension. Another man might have rushed her to the bedroom and availed himself of her body, giving little or no thought to making it easier for her.
Minutes slipped by. Laura had no idea how many, only that enough time elapsed for her initial panic about making love to evaporate. When Isaiah shifted to put his back to the room and turned her sideways on his lap again, she knew he intended to kiss her. And this time she was ready.
Just be with me. The words drifted softly through her mind as he bent his dark head toward hers. His lips grazed hers as softly as a butterfly wing. Her breath came in shallow bursts. Anticipation brought her hands to his shoulders. And finally he deepened the kiss, taking her mouth like a man who’d just found nourishment after months of starvation.
Firelight and Isaiah Coulter. In Laura’s mind they became synonymous, both of them generating heat, both of them brilliant, even when she closed her eyes. He went to his bedroom and returned with a sheepskin rug that he spread out over the floor in front of the hearth. Then he made love to her just as he did all else, totally focused on the details and thoroughly attending to each before he moved on. He began with the palm of her hand, tracing each line and crevice with his lips and the tip of his tongue. Laura had never considered her palm to be an erogenous zone, but with Isaiah kissing it so lightly, sensation shot clear up her arm, pulled a U-turn, and streamed like jags of lightning to the core of her.
When she was trembling with the aftershocks, he seized the hem of her sweater and plucked it off over her head as easily as he might have peeled a banana. For just an instant Laura felt embarrassed. She’d gone out in public in a two-piece swimsuit, but somehow a bra seemed less modest. But Isaiah had her hand again, and now he was trailing kisses over the inside of her wrist. It was hard to remember that she had breasts when he was doing such marvelous things to another part of her body. Soon he reached the sensitive flesh at the bend of her arm. Then he was at her shoulder—her collarbone—and next her throat. And somehow, in between kisses and nips, he unfastened her bra. It seemed to melt away from her body like the chocolate coating on a candy bar in mid-August heat.
“Oh, God, you are so beautiful,” he whispered.
Laura moaned and jerked when he flicked his tongue over her nipple. The next instant he tipped her over onto the soft rug, and before she could blink she was anchored there by six-feet-plus of muscular male. He drew her nipple into his mouth. Sensation exploded through her, so intense she couldn’t breathe, only she didn’t want him to stop. Just when she thought she could bear it no longer, he switched to her other breast and took her under again.
At the back of Laura’s mind she knew she was supposed to do something. The women in the movies didn’t just lie there, moaning and quivering. Only—oh, God—it was so wonderful. She couldn’t think clearly. She made hard fists in his hair so he couldn’t get away. Oh, yes.
Spiraling in a feverish delirium, Laura felt a tug that moved her body on the soft surface of the rug. Then she felt the graze of denim moving down her legs. With two hard jerks Isaiah divested her of the jeans bunched around her ankles, as well as her underwear, sneakers, and socks. Naked. She’d never been naked with a man. Only somehow she didn’t feel bare, possibly because Isaiah was everywhere—his mouth, his big, hard hands, the steely press of his body.
His hand curled over the mound at the apex of her thighs. He slipped his middle finger between the folds. Laura’s spine arched. Her hips came up. She gave a startled gasp.
“Easy,” he whispered. “I just want . . . It’s okay, sweetheart. Trust me.”
It occurred to Laura, in between mind-boggling bursts of sensation, that he’d never finished the sentence. But it didn’t matter. Sometimes actions spoke more clearly than words. With graduating pressure, he stroked her until she felt like a volcano about to erupt.
“Isaiah,” she cried.
“Shh. It’s okay. Just let it happen,” he whispered.
As if she had a choice? With one fingertip he’d taken control of her body. She couldn’t withdraw. Her hips lifted up to him as if of their own accord. Her back arched. She felt like a bowstring drawn taut to release its arrow. Only nothing happened. She made tight fists over the sheepskin beneath her. Her body quivered, right on the edge, but she couldn’t seem to make it over that last little crest.
Isaiah swore softly. The next instant his mouth was at her breast again, and he put more force into the strokes below. The combination of sensations rocked Laura’s world. And finally she sailed over the top and felt like a piece of glass, shattering into a million brilliant pieces to float in sparkling abandon through black space. Distantly she was aware that she gasped for breath. She was also vaguely aware of Isaiah moving beside her. But her senses were so scattered that she couldn’t focus on him clearly enough to see what he was doing.
“You okay?” he whispered.
Laura pried her eyes open. He was a bronzed blur above her. She blinked to clear her vision. Blue eyes, dark, chiseled features. She managed a lopsided smile and a slurred, “Fine, I’m fine.”
“Ah, honey. This is the bad part. I almost wish you’d let somebody else take care of it. I can’t bear to hurt you.”
Laura pried her eyes open again. She felt a n
udge at her opening. Hold it. Definitely a big nudge. Not a finger. Before she could slap a hand on the middle of his chest and say, Let’s think about this for a minute. I don’t think you’ll fit, he pushed his way in.
Laura felt as if she’d been cleaved in two by a baseball bat. Pain. Oh, God. This surely wasn’t right. Small opening, large interloper. Where had she gotten the idea that penises were no bigger around than tampons?
“You okay?”
Laura was still quivering from the hurt and holding her breath. How could she say, I’m dying, when her teeth wouldn’t unclench?
“Laura?”
The pain abated somewhat. She was finally able to drag in a breath. She stared up at him. He supported himself on straightened arms that bulged with tightened muscle. He held perfectly still. He looked so beautiful with the firelight limning his body in amber. Laura remembered floating deliriously through space and wished she were back there.
“It hurts,” she managed to push out.
“Only for a minute.”
How did he know? Laura felt betrayed. He’d known it was going to hurt before he did it. And how long was a minute? She was still hurting, just not quite as much now. It had gone from unbearable to almost tolerable, at any rate.
“I don’t like it.” Her prerogative. This was not fun. “I want to stop.”
His body was quivering. The muscles in his shoulders and arms knotted. And suddenly his dark face contorted. “Oh, shit,” he said.
And the next instant he moved inside of her—only a little, and the pain this time was minimal. Even better, when he bumped bottom, Laura got an inkling of the delightful possibilities. Her insides lit up as brightly as the Christmas tree. She dug her fingers into his shoulders, wanting him to bump bottom again. Only he was poised above her like a statue, his body knotted and vibrating.
So she lifted her hips to do the bumping herself.
“Oh, Christ!” he ground out.