The Senator’s Daughter Page 19

  He waited for an answer.

  She searched inside herself and found no hesitation. “More than anything … I want to be with you tonight.”

  Lyle lifted a brow. “Tonight?”

  As easily as he raised the stakes, she met him. “I have a feeling we’re going to want a lot more than that.”

  It would take a lot of nights to get Lyle Thomas out of her system.

  “I feel like celebrating,” she said. “We could abscond with a primary ingredient of the breakfast mimosas.”

  They went together to the kitchen, where Lyle snagged a chilled green bottle from the fridge. Sylvia rummaged and came up with glasses and a corkscrew.

  As they turned toward the hall leading to the bedrooms, Mary Kline came to the top of the stairs leading down to her and Buck’s apartment. Lyle’s steps slowed, and Sylvia wondered what Mary’s reaction would be.

  She took one look at the two in their bathing suits and damp tees, the champagne … and smiled. The way she’d censured Lyle before, it seemed like a benediction.

  If only he could receive that kind of blessing from Sylvia’s parents.

  “How were the springs?” Mary asked.

  “Too hot to go into the pools,” Sylvia replied. “We found a cooler place in the river.”

  Mary’s smile faded. “I hope it was safe to go in. Buck and I are drinking bottled water. And I don’t mean Palisades Pure.”

  “I don’t think Sylvia and I glow in the dark,” Lyle quipped.

  The innkeeper wasn’t appeased. “We normally use the spring water for everything. Any problem with the water chemistry would shut down this place down.”

  Lyle’s expression sobered. “How about if you drilled a well?”

  Mary shook his head. “Buck says we’d probably get into the same aquifer.”

  “You know, the spring is running clear again,” Lyle supplied.

  “Everything will be all right,” Sylvia hoped.

  “I just pray you’re right.” Mary started toward the kitchen, then veered off toward the counter where the leather hotel register lay open. She frowned, smoothed the red ribbon marking today, and closed the book.

  On her way through the dining room, she said, “Good night, you two.”

  Left alone, Sylvia and Lyle started toward the wing where their rooms were.

  As they passed her room, she decided to duck in and get out of her clammy swimsuit.

  She went up on tiptoe and let her breath warm Lyle’s ear. And was rewarded by the hair on his arm rising beneath her light touch. “Just let me—”

  Lyle turned the tables, bending so his lips grazed her lobe and sent chills zinging through her. “As soon as you’re ready, come to me.”

  Sylvia’s throat felt so thick she could only nod. She handed him the glass flutes and reached for the doorknob to her room.

  “No changing your mind,” he cautioned. The kiss he planted on the side of her neck would have convinced her if she were waffling.

  She was not. In fact, she considered going on with him, letting him be the one to strip off her suit, but she wanted to be clean and dry …

  “I won’t change my mind.” Then, recalling it was he who had hesitated the night before last, she countered, “Don’t you, either.”

  Lyle’s lips grazed hers.

  She went in, shut the door, and leaned against it.

  It was all she could do not to shout for joy. It was happening, the way she’d dreamed of since she turned thirteen and her stomach started doing flip-flops when people kissed in the movies. After several false starts, she had finally found a man who made her toes curl.

  Sylvia pushed off the door and went to sit on the edge of her bed. She pulled Lyle’s shirt over her head and tossed it on the carpet. First one strap and then the other, she lowered the top of her bathing suit.

  Looking down at her breasts, imagining his mouth on them, she could swear they were swollen. Wetting her finger on her tongue, she ran it around the tip of one nipple.

  A moan escaped her; she felt the tug of sensation in her womb.

  When had she ever been so charged? And when Lyle applied a million volts it would electrify her.

  Sylvia stood and shoved the swimsuit down over her thighs. Leaving it on the floor, she went into the bath and caught her reflection in the mirror.

  Had she ever seen herself so flushed with becoming color, her eyes ablaze? Was this how Lyle saw her?

  No need for makeup or perfume; no artifice. She put on a pair of little black shorts and her red tank top with nothing underneath and prepared to go to him.

  On the way into his room Lyle decided against turning on any lights.

  In the glow that spilled over the transom from the hall, he crossed to the bedside table and set down the champagne bottle and glasses. Going to both of the tall windows, he pulled down the shades, and then lit the bedside candle.

  Though the golden glow spelled sensuality, it also reminded him of last night’s fearsome interruption to their lovemaking. How he hoped there would be no more seismic activity.

  Come to think, maybe his being uneasy about the quake explained why he’d gone off the deep end thinking Valetti was up to no good. He was just jumpy.

  With care, Lyle removed the foil from the champagne bottle and twisted off the metal cage. He covered the cork with his hand and gently removed it; a little pop told him he’d done it right, keeping the bubbles in solution. He poured a measure into each of the two flutes.

  Next, he turned back the bedcovers and plumped the pillows. In the bathroom, he removed his shirt and swimming trunks and cleaned up a little.

  One look at his reflection, his color high, his pupils wide with anticipation, brought home that this was no simple hookup. Where Sylvia Chatsworth was concerned, he was a goner.

  Back in the bedroom he slipped between the sheets. All was in readiness, especially him.

  Nope. He jumped out of bed and ran to check that he’d left the door unlocked.

  Back under the covers, he surveyed the tent his erection was making of the sheet. Fantasies teased him, of kissing Sylvia’s ample breasts, of parting her thighs.

  What was taking her so long?

  Lyle’s state of arousal reminded him of the condoms. He ought to bring them from his toilet kit to a drawer at bedside.

  He tossed back the sheet.

  At Lyle’s door, Sylvia raised her hand to knock.

  A slow smile stretched her mouth. Why not check and see if it was unlatched?

  Reaching for the knob, her lips curved into a wider smile. All night with Lyle, not just for sex—she wanted to drift into sleep with him and wake in his arms.

  The faceted glass doorknob turned in her hand. “Lyle?” She shoved open the door.

  He lay in naked splendor on the sheets. His long torso, with whorls of golden hair pointing the way from his navel to a dense blond thicket, ended at his aroused sex.

  Lyle’s shocked blue gaze met hers and darted away. He tugged up the sheet to cover himself. “I was just going to … uh … pour the champagne.”

  Sylvia glanced at the two glasses at the bedside, bubbles rising within the pale wine.

  His cheeks reddened. At his confusion, and the clear message he had not intended to pose in all that nude glory, a wave of laughter bubbled. He went redder still, and she knew what to do to stem his embarrassment.

  Smiling, she approached the bed and climbed up to straddle his thighs. Placing her index finger to the hollow at the base of his throat, she drew it down the center of his chest, dragging the sheet with it. His eyes followed her motion.

  She stopped below his navel, just above the jutting evidence he couldn’t hide.

  “Maybe you didn’t intend to greet me in flagrante delicto, but I’ve got to tell you …” She bent until her breasts beneath her cotton tank top grazed his bare chest. “When I opened the door, you were the most magnificent thing I’ve ever seen.”

  Lyle seemed to recover his sense of humor. “Better tha
n the Matterhorn?”

  “Better than any mountain peak… I think.” Giving the tented sheet an appraising look, “But I’d need to see it again to be certain.”

  At the involuntarily husky note in her voice, Lyle’s eyes went a deeper blue. “Would you now?”

  “Now.” She nodded gravely, suppressing a giggle.

  “Well, now,” Lyle pondered. “I think your twin peaks are better than the ones in San Francisco, but again, I’d probably need to see to be sure.” He fingered the hem of her top.

  She pretended to consider. “So what you’re saying is we can play show me yours and I’ll show you mine—like kids?”

  “Not at all like kids.” Lyle spoke in a low growl. “But that’s about the size of it.”

  “The size of it?” Sylvia mimed, measuring the height of the hidden peak.

  He performed a little push-up to a higher profile, and she did a double take.

  Lyle smiled. “Baby, whether we knew it or not, we’ve been having foreplay ever since you kissed me at Ice …”

  “I merely started it. You kissed me back.”

  “That’s what I’m saying. And as tantalizing as dragging things out is … I’m ready to stop looking and start touching.”

  He lifted her shirt, his knuckles barely brushing her breasts on the way.

  Sylvia was ready, so ready; his teasing sent a rush of moisture between her thighs.

  Lyle reached and wet his finger in a champagne flute. He touched her nipple and bent to lick it off. Another stretch and he raised the glass for a mouthful.

  Moving to her other taut tip, he closed his lips over it and let the liquid effervescence tickle her skin. Yet, there was nothing funny about the sensation. The cold champagne and his hot lips encircling her made a devastating combination.

  Lyle swallowed the wine and tugged at a strap of her top. “Let’s get this off.”

  She lifted her shoulders, and he pulled the garment over her head. After sending it flying, he addressed the snap at the waist of her shorts. The little pop made another milestone on the way to getting deliciously naked.

  Growing impatient, Sylvia got off the bed. Without taking her eyes from Lyle’s, she lowered the zipper.

  At its rasp, Lyle raised his brows and tracked the waistband down over her hips. All the way to the revelation of her unwaxed nest of crisp black curls.

  Sylvia let the shorts drop and stepped out of them.

  “You are so beautiful.” Lyle’s voice sounded thick.

  For a moment, Sylvia remained where she was … to tantalize … and to savor the sight of him naked and aroused. But there was more.

  His gaze was so intense, tears formed in her eyes.

  Perhaps he saw their candlelit sheen. “Oh, woman, I have fallen for you so completely.”

  All Sylvia could manage was to nod.

  He opened his arms, and she went to him.

  Lyle couldn’t believe it. After fantasizing about Sylvia for months, ever since she’d caught his eye at Wilson McMillan’s house party, he’d been seeing some version of this in his mind’s eye. And, though he believed in the vulnerable girl inside her, hurt by public humiliation and capable of great emotion … he’d also been dumb enough to rationalize it was mostly about sex.

  Gathering Sylvia against him, he wished she’d confessed to falling for him, too. Perhaps she was so overcome by feeling, the way he was now, that speaking was out of the question. Where her body touched his, it felt incredibly warm. His sex, trapped between their stomachs, was even hotter.

  Though Lyle wanted to lift Sylvia and slip inside her, he wanted more for this to be perfect. “Why don’t you lie on your back?” he suggested.

  She obeyed, stretching out beside him on the king bed, eyes anticipating.

  Lyle reached again for the champagne. This time he lifted the flute and dribbled sparkling liquid into the hollow at Sylvia’s navel.

  She sucked in her breath, and the hollow between her hipbones held more wine. While he replaced the glass on the nightstand, she didn’t move, her eyes on the bubbling pool.

  As soon as Lyle bent to lap wine from her skin, he felt a shudder pass through her. With his tongue, he circled her belly button, noting she hadn’t given in to the piercing fad. Then he lost all thought of anything beyond the edges of the big bed.

  He poised over her, intent on bringing seduction to its inevitable conclusion.

  “Aren’t you …?” She glanced around the room.

  “I’ve got some.” Though he’d almost gotten carried away and forgotten. He reached to open the drawer where he’d stashed the condoms.

  Her cheeks pinkening, Sylvia cast her eyes down. “I’m on the pill, and I’ve seen the doctor since I last …”

  “I’ve seen the doc, too. If you want to trust me.”

  Her eyes went even darker, they seemed to be all pupil. “I trust you.”

  And Lyle knew, once and for all, that the Senator could take his money and shove it.

  Every muscle and nerve in Sylvia’s body was strung taut with wanting. Had she ever seen anything so beautiful as the candle glow turning the hair on Lyle’s head, chest, and around his sex to spun gold? Spreading her legs, she welcomed him.

  But, rather than enter her, Lyle knelt between her thighs. It seemed there was one last appetizer before their feast…

  The first lap of his tongue made her stiffen and throw her head back.

  Then he reached again for champagne. Holding the glass above her mound, he poured while licking bubbles from her slippery folds.

  What he was doing was heaven, his tongue like velvet caressing her. Never had she felt so free to grant a man access to her intimate parts without worrying if she’d smell pretty or be able to come.

  As Lyle continued, Sylvia thought she would scream. If he kept on, she’d erupt like a Roman candle. Though she ached for release, she wanted it to happen with his hot flesh stretching her, his weight on her, while he, too, strained for the heights.

  “Lyle!” She pushed at the top of his head.

  He looked up, his eyes heavy lidded.

  “Now…”

  He nodded. “It’s time, my love.”

  Heart hammering, she reached for him. “Past time.” Did he mean that “love?”

  With a single smooth stroke, Lyle cleaved up and into her.

  He was huge … and marvelous, as he pushed in to the hilt. Then he pulled out, almost completely, leaving her longing. A beat passed, while the yearning for him grew sharper, and he plunged back to fill her.

  How she had needed this. How irrelevant was everything outside this room. She slicked her hands down his sides, across his taut butt and up his back.

  Their rhythm accelerated, an ancient dance. Exquisite fire ignited and leaped within her.

  Lyle’s breathing quickened; his body tensed. She loved his dominating masculinity, but she also needed to shudder and cry out as he was doing.

  He finished, up tight and high in her.

  She’d missed it.

  But Lyle insisted, “Don’t stop now.” He was still with her, slipping in and out while the pinnacle stayed just above her reach.

  “Come on.” He rolled her nipple between his fingers.

  She arched and gasped. “I thought you—”

  “I did. Now it’s your turn.” He kept moving.

  “But I …”

  His lips were at her ear. “Squeeze your thighs together.”

  “What?”

  “Squeeze them, and close up around me. Like you did at the river.”

  Fascinated, she obeyed. The feeling escalated.

  But, as he thrust, she plateaued again. Sweat slicked both their bodies.

  “Tighten your thighs and your calves.” Something in the way he moved made her believe he was excited again after … “Let all your muscles work while you clamp down hard on me.”

  Everything in her went rigid, from her curled toes, through her legs, and up to where they were joined. Her arms clutched Lyle, her ja
w clenched …

  The first wave of sensation was the highest she’d ever achieved. The second was almost as crushing.

  Despite how soon it had been, her scream of pleasure sent Lyle over the edge again. His breathing went ragged; his hands slipped down to grab her and pump into her. Impossibly, his pleasure peak set off another indescribably delightful release in her. It rocked her, on and on until she couldn’t come any more.

  Lyle eased his weight off Sylvia and lowered himself to lie on his side facing her. She lay back, panting; he couldn’t catch his wind, either, as though they’d breathed up all the air.

  He wanted to shout to the old walls of this marvelous building that he’d found what he hadn’t believed possible. He felt like he’d gone over Niagara Falls without a barrel, through the maelstrom at its base, and emerged into placid water. All his muscles that had fired on a million-volt overload now relaxed into the most delicious lassitude of his life.

  Once more able to speak, he murmured, “That was the most incredible …” He stopped because what he was saying didn’t capture it.

  Nor did the lyrics of songs, or cadence of poetry. It was simply a quiet certainty. The sense of coming home when he believed no home would exist for him again.

  He’d wondered if Sylvia might be the one to change his mind about falling in love. Now, lying spent and happier than he could remember being, he had to admit he was in deep.

  But if he made a declaration to a senator’s daughter, would he end up making a fool of himself?

  Lying on the big bed bathed in candlelight, Sylvia had never felt so bonelessly, perfectly content. In the time it took Lyle to fetch a washcloth from the bathroom, she nearly fell asleep.

  When she made a move to take the cloth, he gestured her back down. Then he wiped the warm wetness over her breasts, stomach, and thighs, taking care to wipe away the evidence that they had made love the way nature intended.

  He went back to the bath and ran water in the sink. At his return to bed, her focus finally shifted from post-orgasmic euphoria to the man who’d brought her there. A little while ago, he’d said something about “incredible.”

  That didn’t begin to do it justice.

  Lazily, she turned her head on the pillow to find Lyle watching her like a cat at a mouse hole. She met his eyes and let her lips curve into a lazy, licking-cream-from-her-whiskers smile.