His hands opened on the side of her ribs, his fingers curving around her back. He embraced her heart. His fingers moved, and her bra snapped open. His hands moved beneath the fabric, cupping her breasts tenderly.
“Alice,” he whispered tensely, his mouth moving along her throat. His fingertips plucked gently at her nipples. Heat rushed through her, hardening the flesh Dylan touched, softening her sex. He leaned up slightly, and drew her bra off her arms. She could see the gleam in his dark eyes as he looked down at her a moment later.
“You’re a miracle to me. I wanted to tell you the second I saw you. So much,” he bit off. “But I couldn’t.”
His lips trailed over her skin, both soothing and mounting the ache in her chest and between her thighs. He kissed a breast, his mouth closing over a nipple, and Alice gasped and trembled. There was hunger and possession in his touch, but it was twined with a reverence that nearly overwhelmed her.
She felt herself falling again, and she felt the familiar breathless struggle. His mouth blazed across her ribs and belly. His tongue slipped beneath the elastic of her panties, and she found herself reaching for him, trusting him to catch her when she fell.
TWENTY
After they made love, Dylan insisted that she eat something. He got up from bed to go to the kitchen. Alice watched him pull up his jeans over his smooth, muscular ass and scurried out of bed.
“Get back in,” he said, eyebrows slanting. “I’ll bring it to you.”
She shook her head and grabbed her shirt from the carpet. “I’m not an invalid.”
“Alice—”
“I want to go with you,” she interrupted with a fierce glance.
She didn’t want to lie there in that bed alone, waiting in dread while the swirl of emotion and confusion grew nearer and nearer.
He studied her closely, and then nodded once. “Put on the robe I got you, then,” he instructed gruffly. “There’s no call for you getting dressed again. Louise and Marie are gone by now.”
Down in the kitchen, Dylan opened a can of soup and put it on the stove to heat, while Alice chose the ingredients for some sandwiches.
“Do you mind if I call Sidney?” Dylan asked her as she laid out bread on two plates.
“No. You told him you’d call,” Alice said neutrally, finding the drawer that held silverware. “I heard him say he was a doctor. What kind of a doctor is he?”
“A psychiatrist. One of the best there is. He consults for Durand Enterprises, and has an office in Morgantown. He’ll want to know how you’re doing.”
She nodded with forced casualness, finding a paring knife to cut a tomato.
“Alice?”
“Yeah?” she asked, looking up from her task.
“How are you doing?”
She blinked and laughed. “I’m okay.”
He nodded slowly, and Alice knew he didn’t believe her. But what could she say? She wasn’t anywhere near as bad off as she’d been in the den, when she’d been convinced due to a lifetime fear that it was about to be revealed that she was the daughter of Sissy and one of her uncles. How stupid could she be? Why would Dylan bother to find out about that? As unlikely as that scenario was, it seemed far less bizarre than what he’d told her instead.
She picked up the top slice of the tomato and popped it into her mouth. “Just tell him I’m in a holding pattern,” she said as she chewed. She raised her eyebrows when Dylan didn’t move. “It’s a pretty good place to be for now, don’t you think?” she asked him dryly. “Rome wasn’t built in a day.”
He grunted softly, clearly only partially convinced, and turned to dial his phone.
AFTER Dylan had spoken to Sidney and they’d eaten their dinner from a tray in Dylan’s suite, Alice asked if they could watch television. Dylan must have sensed she was coping by distracting herself, but he made no comment about it. He merely got up and moved the console doors on a large armoire, revealing a television and entertainment system. It soothed her, like a calm before the storm, to lie on the pillows with Dylan spooning her, willing her mind to go blank as they watched the end of a comedy on one of the movie channels.
She yawned as the credits began to roll at the end, and turned toward Dylan.
“I should go to sleep. I have a big day tomorrow,” she said.
His expression stiffened. “What do you mean?”
“Marco Fernandez is doing his public speaking presentation at eleven. He’s demonstrating how to cook chili, and I’m supposed to help him prep and be moral support. Oh, and I’m trying to get Terrance hooked into jogging, and we’re going out together early. I haven’t told you much about him, but he’s this really bright kid, a jokester, and he’s got no one at home who has really looked out for his health. He’s diabetic and dangerously overweight. I really want to teach him some basic self-care. I bet Terrance about a play in football. When I won, I challenged him to—”