Dream a Little Dream (Chicago Stars, #4)(169)

“I can’t give you a damn thing except sex.”

“Maybe that’s exactly what I need from you.”

“You don’t mean that.”

“You don’t know what I mean.” Being so close was suddenly overwhelming, and she turned her back to him. Crossing her arms over her chest, she moved to the other side of the deck. Overhead, the sky hung low, while mist clung to the mountains like a tattered gray prom dress.

“I had my womanhood stolen from me, Gabe. On my wedding night he gave me a lecture right from the nineteenth century on how my body was God’s vessel, and he’d disturb it as little as possible. He made me lie there. He didn’t touch my breasts or caress me. He just pushed himself inside me. It hurt like hell, and I started to cry, and the more I cried the happier that made him because it was proof of my virtue, proof that I wasn’t carnal like him. But that wasn’t true. I’d been fascinated by sex for as long as I could remember. So don’t try to tell me what I want.”

“All right. I won’t.”

The deep sympathy in his voice was too much for her. She turned and frowned at him. “I don’t know why I’m talking to you about this, why I’m even thinking about having sex with you. Considering my luck with men, you’re probably as big a dud in bed as he was.”

One corner of his mouth lifted in a faint smile. “Could be.”

She braced her hips against the railing. “Were you faithful to your wife?”

“Yes.”

“Have you been with a lot of women?”

“No. I fell in love with her when I was fourteen.”

He met her eyes, and she tried to understand what he was telling her. “Do you mean . . .”

“One woman, Rachel. There’s only been one woman in my life.”

“Not even anyone since she died?”

“A hooker in Mexico, but I sent her away as soon as she took off her clothes. You might be right about that dud thing.”

She smiled, feeling strangely lighthearted. “Anybody else?”

He came toward her. “Nobody. And I think I’ve had my fill of questions for now.”

“I’ve told you my entire sexual history, pathetic as it is. You could be a little more forthcoming.”

“I haven’t even thought much about sex since . . . for the last few years. At least not until you did your little striptease.”

As he stopped in front of her, she tried not to let her embarrassment show. “I was desperate. I know I’m not much now, but I used to be pretty.”

He touched her for the first time, picking up a lock of damp hair and hooking it behind her ear. “You’re pretty, Rachel. Especially since you’ve started to eat. You’ve finally got some color in your cheeks.”

She felt as if he were drinking in her face, and it flustered her. “Not to mention my cold nose. It’s okay. You don’t have to lie. All I’m saying is that I used to be fairly nice-looking.”

“I was giving you a compliment.”

“Which was the compliment part? The cold nose?”

“I didn’t say a thing about a cold nose. You’re the one. I—” He laughed. “You’re the most maddening woman. I can’t figure out why I like being with you.”

“A thought for the day, Bonner. If the way you’ve been treating me is a mark of fondness, maybe you’d better take a fresh look at your interpersonal communication skills.”

He smiled. “You’re shivering.”

“I’m cold,” she lied.

“I guess I can take care of that.” Once again, his hand went to her hair. He pushed his fingers through it on one side, then dropped his head and touched his lips to the corner of her jaw that he’d uncovered.

His body pressed against hers. She felt his lips on her cheek, and her arms wound around his waist, drawing him closer. Oh, yes . . . She absorbed the feel of him, the way the muscles in his back flexed beneath her palms, the heat from his chest against her chill breasts, his erection jammed against her. Just beneath the fragile layer of her skin, her pulses hammered.


His lips tugged her earlobe, and the sound of his breathing rasped in her ear. Her eyes drifted shut. She had so much at stake here. If she let this go farther, there would be no tender romance with him, only sex. Could she abandon the fantasy of a perfect love?

But then she realized she had abandoned that fantasy long ago. Somehow her life had grown too spartan for fantasies. She’d stripped her existence down to the bare essentials, not allowing herself even the smallest of luxuries. Would it be so terrible to grab something just for herself? Something that would give her pleasure?

He moved a few inches back, and his palms covered her breasts. As his warmth seeped into her skin, her uncertainty disappeared.

His thumbs brushed her nipples and his voice became a husky whisper in her ear. “I’ve been wanting to touch you here ever since I walked into the house and saw you standing there in this wet pink dress.”

He scraped his thumbnails over the hard tips. She let out a sigh of pleasure. It felt so good. So perfect.

Back and forth his thumbnails went, abrading her through the wet pink cotton. Desire exploded inside her. Spirals of heat coursed through her blood, and she wanted more.

She touched him through his jeans, tentatively at first, then stroking him more aggressively, trying to discern his exact structure beneath the denim.