Best Of Nora Roberts Books 1-6. Nora Roberts

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ wasn’t capable of loving a man and had decided to settle for much, much less by agreeing to marry Stuart. Nonsense, of course.” Fairchild picked up his drink and studied his rambling card house. “Kirby has a great capacity for love. When she loves a man, she’ll love with unswerving devotion and loyalty. And when she does, she’ll be vulnerable. She loves intensely, Adam.”

      For the first time, he raised his eyes and met Adam’s. “When her mother died, she was devastated. I wouldn’t want to live to see her go through anything like that again.”

      What could he say? Less than he wanted to, but still only the truth. “I don’t want to hurt Kirby. I’ll do everything I can to keep from hurting her.”

      Fairchild studied him a moment with the pale blue eyes that saw deep and saw much. “I believe you, and hope you find a way to avoid it. Still, if you love her, you’ll find a way to mend whatever damage is done. The game’s on, Adam, the rules set. They can’t be altered now, can they?”

      Adam stared down at the round face. “You know why I’m here, don’t you?”

      With a cackle, Fairchild turned back to his cards. Yes, indeed, Adam Haines was sharp, he thought, pleased. Kirby had called it from the beginning. “Let’s just say for now that you’re here to paint and to…observe. Yes, to observe.” He placed another card. “Go up to her now, you’ve my blessing if you feel the need for it. The game’s nearly over, Adam. Soon enough we’ll have to pick up the pieces. Love’s tenuous when it’s new, my boy. If you want to keep her, be as stubborn as she is. That’s my advice.”

      In long, methodical strokes, Kirby pulled the brush through her hair. She’d turned the radio on low so that the hot jazz was hardly more than a pulse beat. At the sound of a knock, she sighed. “Rick, you really must go to bed. You’ll hate yourself in the morning.”

      Adam pushed open the door. He took a long look at the woman in front of the mirror, dressed in wisps of beige silk and ivory lace. Without a word, he closed and latched the door behind him.

      “Oh, my.” Setting the brush on her dresser, Kirby turned around with a little shudder. “A woman simply isn’t safe these days. Have you come to have your way with me—I hope?”

      Adam crossed to her. Letting his hands slide along the silk, he wrapped his arms around her. “I was just passing through.” When she smiled, he lowered his mouth to hers. “I love you, Kirby. More than anyone, more than anything.” Suddenly his mouth was fierce, his arms were tight. “Don’t ever forget it.”

      “I won’t.” But her words were muffled against his mouth. “Just don’t stop reminding me. Now…” She drew away, inches only, and slowly began to loosen his tie. “Maybe I should remind you.”

      He watched his tie slip to the floor just before she began to ease his jacket from his shoulders. “It might be a good idea.”

      “You’ve been working hard,” she told him as she tossed his jacket in the general direction of a chair. “I think you should be pampered a bit.”

      “Pampered?”

      “Mmm.” Nudging him onto the bed, she knelt to take off his shoes. Carelessly she let them drop, followed by his socks, before she began to massage his feet. “Pampering’s good for you in small doses.”

      He felt the pleasure spread through him at the touch that could almost be described as motherly. Her hands were soft, with that ridge of callus that proved they weren’t idle. They were strong and clever, belonging both to artist and to woman. Slowly she slid them up his legs, then down—teasing, promising, until he wasn’t certain whether to lay back and enjoy, or to grab and take. Before he could do either, Kirby stood and began to unbutton his shirt.

      “I like everything about you,” she murmured as she tugged the shirt from the waistband of his slacks. “Have I mentioned that?”

      “No.” He let her loosen the cuffs and slip the shirt from him. Taking her time, Kirby ran her hands up his rib cage to his shoulders. “The way you look.” Softly she pressed a kiss to his cheek. “The way you feel.” Then the other. “The way you think.” Her lips brushed over his chin. “The way you taste.” Unhooking his slacks, she drew them off, inch by slow inch. “There’s nothing about you I’d change.”

      She straddled him and began to trace long, lingering kisses over his face and neck. “Once when I wondered about falling in love, I decided there simply wasn’t a man I’d like well enough to make it possible.” Her mouth paused just above his. “I was wrong.”

      Soft, warm and exquisitely tender, her lips met his. Pampering…the word drifted through his mind as she gave him more than any man could expect and only a few might dream of. The strength of her body and her mind, the delicacy of both. They were his, and he didn’t have to ask. They’d be his as long as his arms could hold her and open wide enough to give her room.

      Knowing only that she loved, Kirby gave. His body heated beneath hers, lean and hard. Disciplined. Somehow the word excited her. He knew who he was and what he wanted. He’d work for both. And he wouldn’t demand that she lose any part of what she was to suit that.

      His shoulders were firm. Not so broad they would overwhelm her, but wide enough to offer security when she needed it. She brushed her lips over them. There were muscles in his arms, but subtle, not something he’d flex to show her his superiority, but there to protect if she chose to be protected. She ran her fingers over them. His hands were clever, elegantly masculine. They wouldn’t hold her back from the places she had to go, but they would be there, held out, when she returned. She pressed her mouth to one, then the other.

      No one had ever loved him just like this—patiently, devotedly. He wanted nothing more than to go on feeling those long, slow strokes of her fingers, those moist, lingering traces of her lips. He felt each in every pore. A total experience. He could see the glossy black fall of her hair as it tumbled over his skin and hear the murmur of her approval as she touched him.

      The house was quiet again, but for the low, simmering sound of the music. The quilt was soft under his back. The light was dim and gentle—the best light for lovers. And while he lay, she loved him until he was buried under layer upon layer of pleasure. This he would give back to her.

      He could touch the silk, and her flesh, knowing that both were exquisite. He could taste her lips and know that he’d never go hungry as long as she was there. When he heard her sigh, he knew he’d be content with no other sound. The need for him was in her eyes, clouding them, so that he knew he could live with little else as long as he could see her face.

      Patience began to fade in each of them. He could feel her body spring to frantic life wherever he touched. He could feel his own strain from the need only she brought to him. Desperate, urgent, exclusive. If he’d had only a day left to live, he’d have spent every moment of it there, with Kirby in his arms.

      She smelled of wood smoke and musky flowers, of woman and of sex, ripe and ready. If he’d had the power, he’d have frozen time just then, as she loomed above him in the moonlight, eyes dark with need, skin flashing against silk.

      Then he drew the silk up and over her head so that he could see her as he swore no man would ever see her again. Her hair tumbled down, streaking night against her flesh. Naked and eager, she was every primitive fantasy, every midnight dream. Everything.

      Her lips were parted as the breath hurried between them. Passion swamped her so that she shuddered and rushed to take what she needed from him—for СКАЧАТЬ