The Touch of Fire Read online

  “Rafe,” she said in a small, scared voice, “would you please make love to me?”

  CHAPTER

  8

  She could see his pupils expand until the black nearly eclipsed the pale crystal irises. His mouth tightened and for a moment she thought he was going to refuse. Then he put his hands on her shoulders and gently forced her to lie down on the tangled blankets. Her heart was pounding 90 forcefully against her ribs that she found it difficult to breathe. Even though she had given him permission, indeed, had asked him to do this, she found that it wasn’t easy to relinquish the control over and privacy of her body. Moreover, from the size of his sexual organ as she had seen it earlier, she expected the denouement to be uncomfortable at the least. She didn’t think she could gladly embrace pain.

  Rafe saw the tension in her white face, but he wasn’t capable of doing anything to relieve it. From the moment she had spoken his attention had focused on possessing her. He was painfully hard, his loins heavy and tight. If it hadn’t been for the earlier episode outside he thought he would probably climax even before entering her, and even so his sexual control, so customary that he took it for granted, felt almost nonexistent.

  He forced himself to concentrate on not ripping her clothes off, and that was all he was capable of doing. Just one thing at a time. If he tried to do more, it would shatter the precarious control he maintained on his body. He focused in turn on each button on her blouse, the waistband of her skirt, the tapes of her petticoat.

  By the time he had stripped her down to her drawers and white cotton stockings, his hands were shaking and it was all he could do to keep from groaning out loud. He removed the drawers and did make a low, animal sound. Her narrow body was soft and white, her breasts so pretty and round he almost couldn’t stand it, her slim thighs curving upward in sleek columns to a neat little patch of light brown hair. He stood up and threw off his own clothing, his eyes never leaving the apex of her tightly clenched legs.

  Even though she had asked him for this he knew she had to be frightened, never having done it before, but he couldn’t find either the words or the patience to reassure her. He pried her knees apart and mounted her, using his muscled thighs to force her legs wide open. She gave a thin, startled cry as his shaft butted hard against her tender cleft.

  Rafe felt her trembling beneath him. It cost him pain, effort, and sweat to refrain from shoving himself into her, but he held on. He touched her chin, and her fearful dark gaze met his. “It’s going to hurt,” he said grimly.

  “I know.” Her voice was a mere thread of sound.

  “I won’t be able to stop.”

  She knew that, could feel the straining desperation of his body, see it in his eyes. “I .. . I don’t want you to.”

  He was lost, drowning, as the last shred of control unraveled. The wonderful, heated energy of her was pouring into him all along their naked bodies and he couldn’t think, couldn’t talk. He thought he heard her say, “Rafe?” but there was a roaring in his ears that was growing louder and almost blocked out everything else, and he wasn’t certain she had spoken. He was gripped by the primitive need to possess, to brand her as his with the seal of flesh. He couldn’t wait a second longer. He reached between her legs and opened the soft folds, then guided the head of his shaft to the exposed little opening and pushed inward, squeezing himself inside. He was aware of the resistance of her small virginal channel as he stretched it, felt the fragile barrier of her maidenhead as it gave way beneath his onslaught, then he was lodged deep inside her and the ecstasy was as strong and strangely wonderful as he had known it would be, a tingling heat that spread throughout his genitals like wildfire and made him feel as if he would explode, before traveling on to every nerve ending in his body.

  He slid his hands undo: her buttocks and lifted her up as he began thrusting. He clenched his teeth at the difficulty of it, for she was very tight, her flesh resisting him. Oh, damn, damn, it was over too soon, but he couldn’t stop it. His lower spine prickled and his testicles tightened almost unbearably, and with a gutteral cry he arched back as his seed erupted into her in an explosive climax that left him hollowed out and empty, sprawled on top of her without the strength to move.

  Maybe he immediately drifted into an exhausted doze, or maybe he was dazed, but reality lost its sharp edge. He was acutely aware of Annie, of the female scent, texture, and shape of her soft body beneath him, while everything else around him lost its focus and meaning. Eventually he realized that he was crushing her, that the small, jerky movements of her chest meant she was struggling to breathe, and he managed to ease his weight onto his elbows. Sweat ran into his eyes, stinging them, and he became aware then of the burning wood snapping in the fireplace, of the heat on his naked skin. He became aware, also, of her desperate silence and the stark pain mirrored in her eyes as she stared, unblinking, at the ceiling.

  He didn’t have to be a mind reader to know that he had hurt her, and that she would resist going through the experience again. Regretfully he eased out of her body with a comforting murmur which she appeared not to hear. Since she had been a virgin, she had no idea of the pleasure the act could give, but thank God he was far more experienced and knew how to both reassure her and give her the delight she deserved.

  He washed himself, a pang hitting his heart when he saw her blood on his flesh. Damn, why couldn’t he have controlled himself better? He’d never been that aroused before, so frenzied that he couldn’t stop. It embarrassed him, and at the same time the excitement of it made his heart thunder in his chest. He was already impatient to take her again, to feel the ecstasy of her heat tingling all through him. He wet the cloth again and went back to go down on one knee beside her.

  Annie had flinched when he had withdrawn from her, part of her had simply been grateful that it was over, but part of her wanted to scream and beat him with her fists. She felt battered and too weak to move. The private area between her legs throbbed, and she ached inside. She didn’t want him to ever touch her again.

  Had the promise of physical pleasure been nothing more than a chimera designed by nature to draw women into the mating process? She felt cheated and ashamed. She didn’t think she would ever forget the shock of nakedness, both hers and his, or the way her entire body had jolted when she had felt his shaft pressing inexorably into her. The pain had been acute, jabbing deep within; the sense of invasion had been almost unbearable. Yet she hadn’t tried to push him away, because he had said he might do this; some dim sense of honor had made her endure in silence, with her teeth clenched against the pain and her hands gripping the blanket.

  She felt his hands on her legs and instinctively closed them together, protecting herself from another invasion.

  “I’m just going to clean you up, honey,” he said in a soothing tone. “C’mon, darlin’, let me take care of you.”

  She bit her lip, oddly disturbed by some other note she could hear in his voice. The “darlin’” had been more pronouncedly southern than his usual accent, and underlaid with a possessiveness that hadn’t been there before.

  His strong hands were opening her legs and she tried to bolt upright, flushing with shame at her exposure. She saw the streaks of blood and semen on her thighs and thought she would die of mortification.” I’ll do it,” she said hoarsely, reaching for the cloth.

  He caught her shoulders and forced her down on the blankets. “Lie still. This is one case, Doc, that I know more about than you do.”

  She closed her eyes, resigned to having to endure yet again. He spread her legs and gently but thoroughly washed between them. “Do you have any slippery-elm ointment?”

  Her eyes sprang open as she realized he had opened her medical bag and was rummaging through it. “What?”

  “Slippery-elm ointment. We used it during the war,” he said.

  She had to struggle to keep from slapping his hands away from her precious bag. “In the dark blue jar, in the bottom of the bag, right corner.”

  He brought out