They'd barely stepped into his house before Clay had her in his arms again. "You're so beautiful tonight," he murmured between brief, nipping kisses, his hands gliding over her silk dress. "I love this dress. Why don't you take it off?"
Her momentary attack of nerves disappeared in her sputter of laughter. "Clay! I thought you were going to serve dinner."
"I am," he assured her, removing her smudged glasses and slipping them into the breast pocket of his jacket. He brushed back a strand of her hair, tucking it behind her ear. "It'll be about an hour before it's ready."
She frowned suspiciously at him. "Then why am I here so early?"
He brushed his lips against her cheek, then dropped his head to nibble at her neck while he toyed with her belt. "For appetizers."
She was going weak and there wasn't a thing she could do about it but close her eyes and cling to him as his warm breath teased her ear. "I suppose...you consider this an appetizer?" she asked, her voice reedy.
"Mmm." His tongue darted out to taste the soft spot just below her ear, making her shiver with helpless pleasure. "I want you, Spring. It seems like I've been wanting you all my life."
She'd never had much willpower where this man was concerned. What little she'd started out with finally slipped away, unmissed, as her arms went around his neck. "I want you, Clay. I guess I have ever since the first time you kissed me," she confessed huskily. "I couldn't bear to leave California without ever knowing what it was like to have you make love to me. Please love me now."
Something she'd said made him go rigid, almost as if in pain, and she wondered if she'd spoiled the moment. But then he lowered his head and covered her mouth with his and she knew that everything would be all right. More than all right. Every feminine instinct within her told her that making love with Clay would be the most beautiful experience of her life, a memory to treasure for as long as she drew breath. The thought brought a frisson of fear, even as she trembled with excited anticipation. She suspected that nothing in the future would ever compare to Clay's lovemaking.
Clay released her mouth only to sweep her into his arms, holding her high against his chest. She clung trustingly to him as he moved toward his bedroom with long, confident strides. Spring was embarking on a fantastic adventure, and for the first time in her cautious, conservative life she didn't care about consequences or repercussions.
Chapter Seven
Clay set her on her feet beside his bed, gently, as if she were tiny and frail and, oh, so delicate, rather than tall and firm and healthy. He took her face between his hands—his trembling hands, she noted in wonder—and kissed her with such tender beauty that she almost cried. His abrupt change from passion to sweetness made her head spin. She would never know what to expect from him, nor would she want him to be more predictable. He was Clay, and just by being Clay, he made her weak with wanting him.
Her mouth was moist and soft under his, her lips parting in mute invitation. Clay moaned and touched the tip of his tongue to hers, savoring the taste of her. Had any woman ever felt as good? He couldn't remember. He knew no woman had ever made him shudder. He shuddered when Spring's hands parted his blazer to stroke his chest through his thin cotton shirt. If her touch could do this to him through fabric, how would he react to her hands on his bare skin? He couldn't wait to find out, and yet—
"I think I'm nervous," he murmured, his lips quirking into an almost sheepish smile against hers.
Her hands curled at his shoulders as she leaned back fractionally to look up at him in surprise, her violet eyes luminous in the glow of a bedside lamp. "I can't imagine you ever being nervous about anything," she told him. "You always seem so sure of yourself."
"Not with you." He moved his lips to her cheek, then to her temple. "I'm a basket case right now."
"Why?" Her question was only a whisper as she tilted her face to encourage his ministrations, her eyelids fluttering heavily.
"Because I want to make everything perfect for you. I want to be the perfect lover, say all the right things, touch you in all the right ways. I want to make you forget any other man you've ever known, satisfy you so well that no other man will ever compare to me. I'm not usually a possessive man, but you make me want to possess you, body and soul, heart and mind."
"Clay..." She squirmed a little in his arms, as if unsure of how to interpret his low-voiced words, how to respond.
Suddenly uncomfortable himself with the intensity of the moment, he spared her the necessity of response by capturing her lips, the kiss deep and consuming. Still lost in the kiss, he tumbled with her to the bed, reaching for the buckle of her wide belt as they fell. The belt fell away and the dress opened, giving him access to the skin bared by her lacy bra and panty hose. He touched the upper curve of her small breasts, then the silky slope of her flat stomach, fingertips sliding beneath the waistband of her panty hose to tease the quivering area just below her navel. He wanted to reach lower, but he restrained himself, determined to draw their-lovemaking out as long as possible.
Her hands tugged at his clothing, making him wonder just how long his noble willpower would last. He shrugged out of his jacket, tossing it to the floor, then tugged his shirt from his slacks. With her eager assistance he freed both of them from everything but his narrow black briefs and her satin-and-lace panties.
"So beautiful. You're so very beautiful." Clay's breath was hot on one of her breasts, his hands restlessly stroking every inch of her that he could reach.
Spring arched into his avid mouth, her fingers deep in his golden hair to hold him closer. His muttered words pleased her. He found her beautiful. Rationally she knew she was pretty, at best. Yet Clay made her feel beautiful. She moaned as he drew the straining, hardened tip of her breast deep into his mouth. Had he really been worried that he wouldn't satisfy her? How silly. Couldn't he tell that he affected her as no man ever had before?
She remembered another time when he had kissed her and she had sensed uncertainty in him. Just as she was attracted to his usual cocky self-confidence, she was fascinated by those glimpses of his vulnerabilities.
Call it love, he'd told her. And though she had fought it, she was beginning to believe that he'd chosen the right word.
Clay lifted his head for a moment to look tenderly down into her passion-flushed face. "Are you protected, sweetheart? If not, I can—"
"No, it's okay. I'm protected," she whispered, touched by his concern. Though there had been no one else since her breakup with Roger, she'd continued to take her birth-control pills, primarily from force of habit. She was glad now that she had.
Smiling his pleasure, Clay continued to caress her breasts with lips and tongue and teeth as his hand stroked downward, moving with tantalizing leisure toward the satin-and-lace triangle that was her only covering. Once there he taunted her further, his fingertips gliding over the fabric so lightly that she wondered if she'd imagined his touch. Gasping, she arched her hips upward, her thighs parting involuntarily as she silently begged him to deepen the caress. Still he teased her with butterfly touches and hot, biting kisses until she cried out and reached for him, pulling him on top of her.
Laughing throatily, he hugged her hard, burying his face in her hair. She locked her arms around his neck, pressing upward so that she could feel every inch of his damp, warm skin next to hers: her breasts flattening against his chest with its light covering of hair; her long, slender legs twining with his solid, rough ones; his heart pounding against her; his breath raw and ragged in her ear. The signs of his arousal heightened her own, and she whispered his name, telling him how badly she wanted him.
Still he tormented her, thrusting against her, hard and virile and throbbingly aroused. Only the fabric of their underwear kept him from entering her. Her head tossed on the pillow. "Please, Clay, please," she moaned, clutching at his waist.