A Calculated Risk by Katherine Neville (best time to read books .txt) 📗

fallen away—the soft hair glinting gold in the dim light. Suddenly, he reached out and grasped my fingers and pressed them to his lips.

“You liar,” he whispered. “You’ve wanted it as much as I have—haven’t you?—from that very first night.”

“It’s woman’s prerogative to veil her desires in mystery,” I said, faintly smiling at my attempt at bravado.

He stared at me in astonishment—then his eyes narrowed for a flicker. “And it’s man’s prerogative,” he said, sitting bolt upright, “to rip away the veil.”

Grasping the throat of my flannel gown—with one vicious wrench, he slashed it apart to the waist. He bent over me, his mouth on mine; he bit my lips and my mouth was filled with the moisture of his. He pulled his fingers through my hair and moved his palms over my flesh until I trembled. Then, pulling the clothes away, he drew his body across mine. I could feel the impact of his flesh—the heat of his thighs as he pulsed against me.

I was taut and quivering like a rope about to snap; he was touching me in ways that made me ache inside—deep in places I hadn’t known were there. I felt my control unraveling, and I fought against the force that was sucking me down. It was all happening so fast—I couldn’t hold on.…

He seemed to know this, and pulled away to look at me. His hair was disheveled, candlelight flowed over him, his eyes glittered darkly. The heat of his passion filled me with an unbearable, aching longing. I wanted to drown in him. But still I could not let go.

Gently, he opened my fists I hadn’t known were clenched, and kissed the palms with infinite tenderness.

“Release it—let it go—you must, my love,” he said softly in my ear. Then drawing back to look at me again, he whispered: “Come into me.”

“I’m afraid,” I said in a small, choked voice. He nodded once, and smiled.

He folded his arms around me, and closed me into him. I felt the darkness swallowing me. I felt the dark blood beating in my veins.

I cried until I couldn’t feel anything. I cried up the years of boredom and anger, frustration and struggle and doubt. I cried up everything inside—and when I thought I could control it all, it burst like an unleashed dam once more. I cried up things I hadn’t known were there. The hot tears came, burning my throat until I couldn’t breathe and I gasped for air. I clutched at Tor, grasping his hair and shoulders as he held me—but still it went on and on.

It seemed forever before it all broke free, and the slow dragging sobs and the tears subsided. Tor held me and stroked me and rocked me, and twined his fingers in my hair, until at last the warmth washed through me, and I felt a sort of peace I’d never known. He kissed my head gently, and when I looked up, his face was streaked with tears—whether his or mine I couldn’t say.

“A blend of both,” he said softly, reading my mind.

I was somewhere in a void between sleep and languor, drifting on a quiet sea, lulled to the sound of the waves beyond the window.

“It’s unbelievable,” Tor told me, “but I still want you—not again, but still.”

“I think I’ve been quenched,” I admitted, with a smile.

“You?” He laughed, tugging my hair. “We’ve learned what a liar you are!” He pulled me up to him and kissed me as if drinking a draft that would never satisfy his thirst. “We must have been mad to have waited twelve years for this,” he told me.

“You were the one who was pooping around,” I assured him.

“I’m going to murder you for that,” he said fiercely. Then he added, “Actually—it seems you’ve killed a little part of me.”

“Which part? Not that one?” I said, touching him beneath the covers.

“No.” He laughed. “That one seems very much alive.”

“Which one, then?” I asked as he grasped the hand that touched him and kissed the palm.

“It’s hard to explain,” he said. “I’ve always believed that intellect and passion were a dangerous, volatile combination, hard to control. Passions can feed and grow like a hungry beast. The part you’ve killed in me, I’m afraid, is what kept the beast in check. One thing’s certain—I no longer want to control what I feel for you.”

“Why would you want to control your passion?” I asked.

Tor put his finger under my chin, and tilted my face up to his.

“You know, my dear—if you go on stroking me there, you’ll be sprayed with a great deal of passion in a place where you’re least expecting it.”

“Will you spray it on my stomach?”

“What on earth am I going to do with you?” he said, laughing and ruffling my hair.

“I have a few suggestions along those lines.…” I began.

“Yes, I’ve a few of those of my own,” he told me, his lips silencing any further talk.

I wakened to the sound of the seabirds wheeling and screeching outside my window. The sky was a flat, brilliant white, and I saw three pelicans drift through the fog beyond the lace curtains. Tor wasn’t in bed, but I heard bumping and odd sounds in the hallway, as if a large object were being dragged along the stairs.

Lying there in the rumpled quilts, I tried to understand the mélange of feelings I’d had since the night before. But I smiled when I realized that no matter what changes would result from all this, last night might well be the best Christmas gift I’d ever had. Georgian and Tor had been right when they’d called me a liar and hypocrite—I saw now I’d been both. All the running I’d done had been from myself. I could never escape from my feeling for Tor—it was kismet.

Just then, Tor arrived. He smiled when he saw me sitting there in the torn remnants of my borrowed gown.

“You’re awake,” he said. “Get up—I’ve a surprise for you.”

“What’s that all over your