Her eyes filled with tears. She rose on tiptoe, her hands clutching his shirt for balance.
His mouth met hers halfway.
THE FIRST TIME Annie and Trent had made love it had been spectacular, but a bit fast—not that Annie had had any complaints. This time, Trent seemed to feel as if he had all the time in the world. To taste. To explore. To tease and tantalize.
There wasn’t an inch of her body he missed in his very thorough exploration. Not the smallest patch of skin he didn’t kiss. She didn’t know if hours passed, or minutes, and she didn’t care. She wanted this night to go on forever.
When there was no part of her he hadn’t found and claimed, she returned the favor, urging him onto his back so she could get to know him as intimately as he now knew her. Every muscle, every angle, every scar—there was no part of him she didn’t find appealing. Maybe he wasn’t perfect—but he was close enough to suit her.
Finally pushed past control, Trent loomed over her again, reaching hastily into the nightstand. He didn’t speak when he made love with her—but he had his own way of communicating. He fused their mouths at the same time he joined their bodies, so that nothing separated them, not even a breath of air could come between them. And then he thrust so deeply into her that he became a part of her.
The only sound in the room were gasps and moans and the steady, rhythmic creaking of the secondhand bed, then just ragged, panting breaths as they lay sprawled together in the tangled sheets, trying to regain some semblance of sanity.
After a long time, Trent shifted his weight and pulled Annie more comfortably against him. She felt him wince, then shift again. “Are you all right?” she asked, her voice still husky.
“Yeah. Just a twinge. I can’t lie on my side very long.”
She’d never heard him sound quite so casual in response to a question about his back. Did he finally understand that she accepted his injuries as a part of him, something to be compensated for and then pretty much forgotten about? Was he finally starting to see them in much the same way?
After a minute, Trent spoke, his voice low. “You called me a bonus, but I’m not much of a bargain, Annie.”
She lifted her head to look at him. “Don’t start talking that way again. Don’t you know I’ve never seen you the way you saw yourself?”
“I can’t offer you the things your father or that Preston jerk could give you. But you have my respect and my admiration…and my love. Things they didn’t seem to know how to offer.”
Her throat was so
tight it was hard to speak. She lifted a hand to his face, noting again how vulnerable his eyes looked without the barrier of his glasses. “There’s nothing more I want. I love you, too, Trent.”
He seemed to be holding back, as if he wasn’t sure she completely understood him. “You were absolutely right that I won’t touch your money. I make my own way—and it’ll be a while before my cabinetry business turns much of a profit, if ever.”
“You’ll make a profit,” she predicted happily. “You’re too good not to. And I can support myself, remember?”
“I don’t like you working so hard,” he muttered with a renewed frown. “You’re trying to do too much. Maybe you think I’m interfering in your life again, but it’s because I care about you, not because I want to control you.”
“I know. You’re right, Trent, I have been trying to do too much.”
He looked a bit suspiciously at her, as if attempting to decide why she’d agreed so easily this time.
She smiled crookedly. “I guess I was trying to prove something to my father—and maybe to myself. Now it’s time to decide what I really want to do, rather than what will be the most effective rebellion against my father.”
“And what is that?” he asked, lying very still as he studied her face.
“I really don’t mind cleaning, but what I really love is teaching. I’d like to use part of my inheritance to buy a piano and set up a studio. The rest I’ll invest in case of future emergencies. I won’t rival my father’s fortune by giving piano lessons, but I think I can make enough to support myself.”
“I think you can do anything you want to do.”
She beamed at him. “I know. You’re the first person who ever believed that about me. Everyone else seems to think I’m helpless, for some reason.”
“Anyone who truly believes that about you is a moron.”
She placed a hand on either side of his face and kissed him firmly. “Thank you. That’s the sweetest thing anyone has ever said to me.”
His smile was crookedly resigned. “I guess I’m just a sweet guy.”
“Yes,” she murmured, snuggling more securely against him. “You most definitely are.”
They lay in silence for a few minutes and then Trent spoke again, his tone suspiciously casual. “We could save a little money if we moved in together and maintained one household instead of two.”