Heartbreaker (The Warriors) Page 13

  They fit together, despite the disparity in their sizes. Had Fate chosen to be less harsh, he would have claimed Bliss as his own for the rest of his life.

  "I can think of only one other thing I’d enjoy more than dancing," she said in a hushed voice a few minutes later.

  "What’s that?"

  She edged closer to him, her breasts brushing, then nestling against his broad chest, and a riot of sensations spilled into her bloodstream.

  "Both of us naked and making love." She laughed, the soft sound too sultry to ignore. "But without an audience."

  He nearly stumbled. Since he already felt like an ass for the way he’d treated her, he attempted to excuse her deliberately provocative remark. He’d fallen in love with her, but he refused to consider saddling her with his problems, no matter how willing she seemed to take them on.

  Micah registered with his senses the proximity of the other couples on the dance floor. He knew everyone could see the bandages that covered his eyes despite the shaded lenses of the glasses he wore. As a result, they were obviously willing to give him a wide berth.

  Although he resented the need, his confidence strengthened, in large part, he realized, because of Bliss’s ability to follow his lead. They danced for a long time, the music a sensual counterpoint to the seductive sensations stirring Micah’s blood and threatening to blister his veins.

  "I love being in your arms," Bliss murmured.

  He inhaled sharply, his arms tightening around her. "Don’t."

  "You’re not under any obligation, Micah."

  Her remark did nothing to lessen the arousal storming his senses and coiling his muscles into snug knots. If anything, he felt the need to take her right where they stood.

  "This isn’t quite as good as making love, is it? I want the intimacy back, Micah, at least until you leave."

  He recognized the courage it took for her to make such a statement. "We can’t, so drop the subject right now."

  She ignored his order, her lips brushing the underside of his chin as they moved around the dance floor. In a voice reminiscent of heated silk, she said, "You wouldn’t be using me, if that what’s troubling you. I’d accept you on your terms."

  "If you don’t call it using, then what the hell would it be?" he demanded.

  "Sharing? Trusting our emotions? Stealing a little more happiness?" She hesitated, and then she taunted him with the seductive shifting of her hips against his hard sex. "I know you want me. I can feel exactly how much you want me. At least your body is honest about what it needs."

  He flinched at the contact. "Damn it, Bliss." Still, he couldn’t pull away from her. Their bodies felt forged together. He smothered a groan even as he hungered to fit himself into the welcoming cradle of her thighs and take all that she offered.

  "Your body does not lie, Micah. Neither does mine. I’m simmering inside, and you’re the cause." She sighed, the sound reminiscent of a gentle caress. "Good thing the lights are low in here. Otherwise, everyone in the place would see that I’m trying to seduce you, however ineptly."

  "This situation is tough enough. Don’t make it worse." He sucked in air. "And you’re not inept. Far from it."

  "I want to make our situation better, but I can’t do it alone," she whispered. "Help me, Micah. Meet me halfway."

  His fingers dug into her narrow waist before he stepped back and seized her hand. "Let’s go back to our table. Cyrus is probably ready to leave by now."

  "So much for my powers of seduction," she muttered as they returned to their table and rejoined her father.

  As Micah had predicted, Cyrus had already settled the bill in anticipation of their departure. Bliss collected her clutch and silk shawl, thanked the restaurant owner for his hospitality and the fine meal, and preceded Micah and Cyrus to the waiting limo.

  The five minute return drive to Rowland House was conducted in silence. A preoccupied Cyrus studied the contents of a file, while Bliss and Micah sat knee to knee.

  "I’m sorry we had to cut our evening short, but I need to review some material from the White House before I fly back to Washington in the morning," Cyrus said as they walked into the spacious foyer of Rowland House.

  "I’ll be flying back to Washington with you, sir."

  Bliss gripped her evening bag with both hands, quelling her dismay. She felt the press of her father’s questioning gaze, but she feared revealing the emotions threatening to choke her if she risked speaking, so she remained silent.

  Cyrus frowned, but he nodded. "There’ll be a helicopter on the front lawn at zero six hundred hours, son."

  "I’ll be ready. Thank you for supper, sir. Good night, Bliss." Micah crossed the foyer, his footsteps fading as he made his way down the long hallway to his suite.

  Bliss felt as though she’d taken a fierce blow to the body. Raising her chin a notch and fighting tears, she looked at her father. The compassion and concern she saw in his eyes almost pushed her over the emotional cliff on which she now stood.

  "Do you have a moment, Bliss?"

  "Certainly."

  She followed him into the library, watching as he sank into a chair and withdrew one of his trademark cigars from the inside pocket of his suit jacket.

  "He’s worth your effort," Cyrus finally said.

  "I don’t know what you mean."

  "Of course you do."

  She felt the dam that contained her fragile emotions collapse inside her. "Only a fool would try to force another person to love them," she said.

  "You aren’t a fool, and I don’t think I’ve ever known a more honorable man than Micah Holbrook. Unfortunately, he has a bad habit of letting his pride get in his way when he shouldn’t."

  "Why did you send him to me?" She didn’t try to conceal her confusion.

  "He needed you. I think you need him, too, don’t you?"

  "Matchmaking, Dad?"

  "Perhaps, but only subconsciously."

  "I love him, but he doesn’t want me."

  "Do you really think he knows what he wants right now?"

  She swiped at the tears that spilled from her eyes. "He believes he does."

  "I thought I knew what I wanted a long time ago, too, but I didn’t. I let my pride and my ambition destroy my marriage to your mother. I didn’t make allowances for her needs, and I failed her even when I knew she was dying."

  She saw his regret and realized with a start just how genuine it was. "You were divorced. Your lives had gone in different directions."

  "My mistake, Bliss, and I will regret it until I draw my last breath."

  "Why did you divorce? I never really understood, and mother wouldn’t tell me when I asked."

  "I loved her too much when I was a young man. I wanted her, but I felt inadequate in her sophisticated world, so I decided to carve out my own place in the world of foreign affairs. I’ve achieved most all of my goals, but I did it at her expense. I also hurt her deeply with behavior that was… inappropriate for a married man, and she left me."

  "Mother always loved you, even at the end," Bliss assured him. "Your name was on her lips when she died."

  Clearly stunned, Cyrus left his chair and walked to the marble fireplace. Bliss watched him stare at the empty grate for several minutes as he grappled with old memories.

  She approached him and placed her hand on his shoulder. "Thank you for being honest with me, Dad."

  He turned, tucked his unlighted cigar into the breast pocket of his suit, and studied her, his expression that of a man still wrestling with his emotions. "I care deeply about you, Bliss. I just don’t always know how to show it."

  "Micah helped me to realize something important about the gulf between us. I’ve always judged you by my own expectations, which hasn’t really been fair to you."

  "You had every right to judge me. I’ve failed you in so many ways during your life."

  She took an uneven breath. "I want my father back. Is there room for me in your busy world?"

  "And I want my daughter, so I�
�ll make room," Cyrus declared gruffly.

  She slipped into his arms when he opened them to her, the cigar–scented warmth of a fatherly embrace something she’d yearned for nearly all of her life.

  "I’ve missed you so much, Daddy," she whispered.

  "And I’ve missed you, daughter."

  Wiping away her tears, Bliss smiled up at him a few moments later. "And no more buying my sculptures," she scolded. "From now on, you’ll receive one piece from every collection. A gift from your daughter, because she loves you."

  He pressed a kiss to her forehead. "I don’t deserve you."

  She smiled up at him. "I’m a mixed blessing. Just ask Micah. He’ll give you chapter and verse… " She broke off, unable to continue.

  Cyrus Rowland hugged her, set her back a step, and used his thumbs to swipe away her fresh tears. "Promise me something, would you?"

  "What?"

  "I know he’s disappointed you, but will you give him a second chance? Once he realizes what he’s losing, he’ll be back."

  She stared at him for a long moment. And then she nodded, even though she doubted that day would ever come.

  10

  Bliss spent the next few hours alone in her suite. Still reeling from the emotional roller–coaster ride of the preceding twenty–four hours, she pondered the dramatic turnaround in her relationship with her father. She also considered the expanding gulf that now separated her from Micah.

  She felt both grateful and oddly strengthened by her conversation with Cyrus. From that strength, not just her conviction that she and Micah deserved a final night together, she decided to set aside her wounded pride and go to him.

  After showering and dressing in a simple nightgown, she stepped out onto their shared patio. She slipped into his suite through the unlocked French doors. She didn’t let herself hope that Micah had deliberately left the doors unsecured, although she wanted to. After closing them, Bliss walked barefoot across the spacious moonlight–flooded room. She felt certain that Micah sensed her presence, even though he failed to acknowledge her.

  With her heart hammering wildly in her chest, she paused in the center of the room, slid the straps of her nightgown off her shoulders, and let the gown slip free of her body. Naked, she stepped out of the puddle of black lace, her gaze fixed on Micah as she approached him.

  He sat with his back against the headboard. His broad shoulders and chest were bare, and he’d draped a light cotton sheet over his long legs and hips.

  Bliss thought about her behavior on the dance floor earlier that evening. She refused to apologize for baiting him. She had feelings and needs, and they were just as relevant as his. If anything, she wished she’d said more to provoke him, even though she wasn’t altogether sure what that more could have been. World–class seductions weren’t exactly her forte.

  Bliss paused at the foot of his king–sized bed. "Are you going to turn me away, Micah?"

  Silence stretched tautly between them.

  Bliss remained motionless, the nerve endings within her body tingling with anticipation, her breasts swelling and her nipples tightening to pebble–hard peaks. She craved Micah’s touch and the feel of his aroused flesh surging deeply into her own. Her patience frayed with each passing second as she waited for him to respond.

  "We both know I should."

  Her heart leapt into her throat. He hadn’t asked her to leave. Despite his somberly spoken words, she knelt between his parted ankles. She said nothing as she closed her hands over the rumpled sheet that covered the bottom half of his long, powerful body.

  "Because you don’t want me?"

  "Because I do want you, Bliss. I’ve never wanted anyone more."

  She gripped the fabric, her gaze fastened on his moon–washed features as she tugged at the sheet. She watched him tilt his head slightly to the right, as though he meant to track her every move even if he couldn’t see her.

  She held her breath and slowly moved the sheet downward, inch by agonizing inch, despite her inner need to wrench the material free of him. Micah halted its progression while it still covered his sex, his hands fisted into the fabric on either side of his hips.

  Bliss pulled once more, desire and determination flowing like heated currents through her bloodstream. She heard the hiss of a curse, the word indistinct but replete with frustration. Frustration she grasped, because she understood this complex man and the pride within him that prevented him from admitting his need. She realized that, because he believed he’d been robbed of his ability to control his own destiny, he now fought to control his response to her.

  "I belong to you tonight if you want me, Micah. No conditions. No false promises. No games. No subterfuge. Don’t deny either one of us. Please."

  He groaned, his hands falling open. She yanked the fabric free, revealing the power of his jutting sex, his narrow hips, and the muscular strength of his hair–dusted thighs.

  She felt a corresponding groan of response thrum soundlessly through her own body. It produced a simmering heat that stole through her veins and a moistening sensation deep inside of her that hinted at molten potential.

  She trembled, eyeing him cautiously as he leaned back to rest the back of his head against the top edge of the headboard. The ragged sigh that escaped him tore at her heart, and she finally realized he was trying to be noble, not stubborn or cruel.

  She loved him all the more for the inner battle he waged with himself, but she didn’t intend for him to win. Not this time.

  "Come here, Bliss," he groaned.

  She shook her head. "Not yet." She shoved the sheet aside, her gaze traveling feverishly over the length and breadth of his muscular body.

  "You win," he conceded. "I’ll admit that I want you."

  "We both win, because I want you, too. First, though, I need to touch you, Micah. I need to memorize every inch of your body, and I don’t intend to miss a single detail, because it’s all I’ll have once you’re gone."

  He exhaled, and the sound contained a harsh note as it broke free of him. He jerked a nod in her direction, and he remained in a half–reclining position against the pillows and headboard.

  Bliss moved up his body like a slow, hot tide, tantalizing, enveloping, consuming. She started at his ankles, her fingertips gliding around them as though to measure their width. As she inched forward between his parted legs, she circled his well–developed calves, cupping the backs of them, her fingertips tracing the taut, muscled flesh that flexed beneath her hands. She shifted higher still, her fingertips skimming up and over his knees to his powerful thighs.

  She taunted and she teased, exploring the musculature of his legs with love and with the ingrained instincts of a sculptor. She drove her fingers into the dense hair that covered his thighs. The muscles beneath her palms and fingers flexed and flowed. She moaned her delight, the low sound softly seductive and ripe with pleasure.

  "Talk to me," Micah ordered. "What are you thinking right now?"

  "I have this thing for your legs. I love watching you run. The muscles in your body move with absolute harmony."

  "The muscles in my body are tied up in knots, thanks to you."

  She slid her hands upward, the heat emanating from his skin very nearly scorching her fingertips. She felt the tension that made the muscles flutter above his groin just before she sifted her fingers through the nest of coarse hair that framed the base of his hard, pulsing sex.

  Micah sucked in a sharp breath. He reached for her, but Bliss brushed aside his hands.

  "Be patient," she urged.

  She smoothed a fingertip over the thick head of his sex, and she felt him surge beneath her light touch. Bliss smiled, aroused even more by his response. "Each time I touch you, I feel the overwhelming desire to sculpt your shape."

  "Is that all you feel?" he ground out through clenched teeth.

  She clasped him with gentle, encompassing hands. The pulsing strength of his sex reminded her of the heart–stopping pleasures she’d experienced when their bo
dies had merged so many times the night before.

  "No, Micah," she said. "That’s not all."

  She stroked him, her touch so erotic that he swelled to the point of bursting beneath her feathery exploration. Bliss felt as though she clasped a length of hot forged metal in her hands. Leaning down, she lightly swirled the tip of her tongue over the head of his erection before she closed her mouth around him and tasted his essence.

  Micah jerked under the wet heat of her mouth, his hips lifting off the bed with helpless spontaneity. Bliss felt his hands settle on her shoulders, his fingers spasming with a rhythm that felt gloriously possessive. She loved him then, bathing him in the fiery passion he’d inspired and saturating his senses with a profoundly erotic expression of her emotions in an act that she’d never considered sharing with any man but Micah.

  He drove his fingers into the cap of curls that framed her features. "Bliss… "

  She smiled at the sensual torment she heard in his voice as he groaned out her name. He’d made her feel just as out of control the previous night, so much so that she’d begged him for release. He’d given it to her, of course, but only when she’d thought that she would go mad from the seductive torture he’d inflicted upon her. Straightening several moments later, she shifted over him to straddle his thighs.

  "You’re trying to drive me crazy," Micah accused as he bracketed her hips with his hands to hold her still.

  "Aren’t I supposed to?" She playfully dragged her knuckles across the muscles that ridged his belly.

  "Yes. No. Hell, I haven’t got a clue. I can’t think straight right now."

  She drove her fingers into the thick golden pelt that covered his chest and trailed them in a progressively narrowing pattern to his groin. Next, she shifted her hands upward to knead his chest, her fingers flexing feline–like, the sensitive pads of her fingers testing the resilience of the muscled terrain she discovered in her exploration.

  Micah cupped her breasts. She arched, instincts as old as time making her relish the callused strength of his large hands. Bliss trembled as he plucked her nipples into tight buds.