Achilles' Charm Read online

  "I'm an English major with a minor in art history. What about you?"

  The drop in temperature created by the shade of the trees against her sweat-slickened skin caused her to shiver. He looked down at her. "Cold?"

  She shook her head. "No. It's just the sun was so hot. This feels good." She felt his hand at her waist and his fingers at her cloth-covered midriff, tightened infinitesimally.

  "Good. I like the quiet here." He gazed around. The forest had its own set of sounds, different from the picnic grounds. Birds calling, a hummingbird fluttered past, a woodpecker at work high above. "I'm working toward a degree in criminal science."

  She turned to look up at him. "Oh?" Is that why he'd chosen her? Did he realize what her father did for a living? "Do you know what you want to do with it when you're finished?"

  "I'll have a couple of options. I'm not quite sure which way I'll go yet. Possibly crime scene investigation. I've got a real interest in the science, and breaking things down to their minutest level. I'm pretty good at detail work."

  "You don't want to be an attorney?"

  He shook his head. "That's not for me. I need to be out in the field, doing the leg work."

  "Do you go to college full time?"

  "Yeah, my years in the Army help with the tuition, but I work as a security guard part-time in the evenings."

  "Wow. That's a full schedule."

  They broke through the trees out into the sunlit glen. Mary could hear the rush of water and knew they weren't far from the river. She could just make out the sparkle of the water over a small knoll.

  "What about you?" he asked as he removed his arm from her waist and grasped her upper arm to guide her over the rock bed and down an incline.

  She had to think for a moment before answering him. His touch had sent a shock of awareness zinging down her arm that had thoughts of classes and degrees flittering away. "I-I'm not quite certain yet. Maybe teaching or editing. I haven't really decided which direction to head yet."

  He led her over to a large flat-topped boulder. He sat down on the rocks just below her and proceeded to yank off his socks and sneakers. As she bent down to undo her own, he reached for her hands. She looked up at him.

  "Let me do it."

  Slowly she straightened, allowing him to untie her white sneakers and remove them. The way he did it seemed somehow sexy and intimate as he bent over, taking his time, his fingers stroking along her calf as he released her foot from an ankle-length sock and then turned to her other foot. Her legs tingled from the intimate touch.

  She could see each little round bump along his spine and again had the urge to explore his skin, to learn each hard peak and sensitive valley. Her gaze glanced along his skin and she spotted a jagged scar about four inches long across his right shoulder blade.

  Without thinking about it, she reached out to trace it lightly with her index finger. His hot, smooth flesh, jumped beneath her finger and he jerked back.

  She yanked her hand away and hid it behind her back. "I'm sorry."

  His gaze locked with hers. "It's all right."

  "Does it hurt?"

  He tilted his head. The sun turned his dark hair into shimmering waves of undulating night beneath its glare. "Does what hurt?"

  "The scar on your back. It must have been painful."

  He shrugged. "Hazards of war. At least I'm here to talk about it."

  She caught her breath at his meaning. "I'm sorry. Someone told me you'd spent four years in the Army."

  "Yeah."

  "Would you rather not talk about it?"

  "Not today." His silvery gaze locked with hers. "It's too pretty to be talking about my past." That look made her want to melt into a puddle right then and there.

  She started to rise from her seat, then gasped as he swooped her up into his strong arms.

  "What are you doing?"

  "Can't have you bruising your pretty feet walking across these rocks. You could cut yourself."

  She wrapped her arms around his neck, felt the heat of his flesh sear through her. "But what about your feet?"

  "Mine are tough. They've touched a lot worse than this."

  He settled her onto a boulder that rested at the edge of the river bank. She unwound her arms from around his neck and settled her feet in the cold water. "Brrr, that's cold."

  He hunkered down next to her, looking up, and the sun caught and held in his silvery eyes. "It's supposed to be. It's run off from the mountain. Tends to be pretty cold even this time of year." He reached out and lightly stroked along her calf, down the length of her Achilles tendon. With his other hand he cupped some of the cool water and trickled it over her legs. She shivered at the sensation.

  Her heart pumped faster as his hands worked magic on her body. Hot hands and cold water did amazing things to her libido. She should be afraid of him, of his masculine awareness, the possessiveness she felt in his touch. His fingers feathered along the soles of her feet and she curled her toes as she gasped for breath.

  "You have beautiful legs. The first thing I noticed about you were your pretty ankles." He looked up at her as he strolled his fingers along her skin. "No one with curves like those could be other than beautiful. And when I saw you sitting there at the end of the pew in church the other day, I knew I was right."

  He leaned up, his mouth mere inches from her own, and she could taste his breath. So very male, so very wild. "We're going to become lovers, Agnes Mary. I knew it the moment I saw you."

  Her throat grew dry and she wasn't certain she could speak. "Why me?" she managed to croak out.

  "Because I want you," he said simply.

  She licked her lips. "I-I've never had a lover."

  The color of his eyes turned to stormy gray, his pupils dilated. Her lips parted and he pressed his firm lips to hers. Her limbs melted in that instant and he pressed her close to his hard chest. Amazingly, he didn't force his tongue down her throat as boys she was used to dating did. It was a chaste kiss by most measurements, soft and exploring, nuzzling, making her want more.

  He intimately scrutinized her with his tongue as he memorized the shape of her mouth, and her lips parted, offering him entrance. But he didn't accept the invitation, instead pulling away and looking down at her with an intensity meant to combust.

  "I'll be your first. I'll be your teacher. Every inch of you will belong to me. Do you understand?"

  Slowly she nodded her head, unable to look away from him, to tear free of his mesmerizing impact on her senses. There was something between them, something already building, like a slow burn that was going to swallow her. He wasn't innocent, he wasn't naïve. He was a man and he was going to make her his woman. Again, she felt the slick trickle of arousal between her legs informing her quite forcefully that she wanted to be his woman and learn everything he wanted to teach her.

  "Yes," she managed to utter before his sexy mouth claimed her lips once again. It was her first lesson in Ross Carpenter's special blend of passionate awakening.

  Chapter 3

  * * *

  Today she'd decided to clean out her closet and take a bunch of items to donate to charity. That was until she pulled out the item at the back of the closet. She drew it out and looked at it, running a hand along the expensive lacy curves, the stiff boning, and gasped at the vivid memory it evoked.

  Suddenly she dropped to her knees and rummaged through the shoes. Tucked back in a far corner, she found what she was looking for. The stilettos that she had worn with the corset. Why had she kept them all these years? And then she felt the charm shudder against her ankle bone and she knew the answer.

  Giving them away would have been too final a statement. She pulled out the shoes and along with the corset, tossed them onto the bed with the other clothing. It was time to finally get rid of them.

  Seeing Ross again after all these years had ripped open the wall around her heart. Running into him, touching him, smelling his uniquely male scent, made all the old feelings rush back through her. S
he had to stop this. Frantically, she reached down to undo the clasp on the anklet, but it wouldn't release and she dropped to the carpet, tears pouring down her face.

  He had been her first, and no one forgot their first lover. But he had been so much more than that. And she'd tried to forget him. He had made her feel things, experience sensations, no other man had ever done for her. None of them measured up to her memories. They had adventured together, done things she'd never thought would elicit pleasure, but he had made them so for her and it had changed her forever.

  She'd tried to return to what she had been before Ross, but that simply was not the way it worked. One could not return to naïveté once the gates had been shattered. One could not experience fulfillment in the act of sexual intercourse once one had tasted passionate foreplay and been so thoroughly possessed by pleasure at the hands of a master in seduction.

  Ross Carpenter had made her so much more than she had been. He'd drawn things from her center that no man had touched before or would touch again. And all these years it had left her empty and aching to be filled, to be completed.

  She stopped tearing at the anklet. She could break the catch and get rid of it, but something held her back from destroying it. He had taken such care of her during the time they had been together, she couldn't wantonly destroy the link that chained her, that was so much a part of him.

  It was her who had left, not him. She was the one who had destroyed the most beautiful thing in her life because of carelessness. It was her that must pay the price, not him. Penance had never been so exacting on her soul as this one. Nor could any priest's penance have ever hurt so badly.

  * * * *

  He stood before the closet and took inventory. There were several suits that needed dry cleaning, and a pile of shirts to take to be laundered and pressed. It had become part of his weekly ritual to make the trip to the cleaners and then stop off at the health club for a quick workout. He had a date tonight with one of the women he'd met there and he'd made reservations at a restaurant one of his new co-workers had recommended.

  Cindy Jarvis was a bottle blonde with generous, well-toned curves. She'd come on to him pretty strong at his last visit to the club and he'd decided to ask her out.

  He was new to the city, having been transferred from the crime lab where he'd been for the last four years. He'd needed a change. He loved what he did for a living, but he'd needed a challenge. Constant, familiar routine sometimes left too much time to think, to remember. A date with Cindy might just be the distraction he needed right now.

  Checking his watch, he grabbed the suits and shirts and left the apartment. Get these to the cleaners, grab a quick workout, then maybe a couple hours in at the lab. By tonight a restful dinner with some attractive company would be just the thing.

  His mind turned to the last meal he'd had at a restaurant as he started his truck and backed out of the parking spot. He remembered Mary.

  He remembered the look in her eyes that first time he'd told her he was going to become her lover. First the shock and then the molten gold that shimmered there. He smelled her arousal and knew he hadn't been wrong about her. And when she'd told him she was a virgin, he'd practically come in his pants right there on the river bank. That revelation was unexpected.

  The first night he'd seen any part of her naked and revealed, they had been seeing each other for three months. She seemed surprised he hadn't tried to take her to bed before then, but that wasn't his way. Not with her. Agnes Mary O'Connor was something special and he wasn't taking any chances with her. It was a special woman he's been looking for and she was it. He'd seen and done a lot of things in his life and he knew a treasure when he saw it.

  It was his night off and they'd gone back to his apartment. It was certainly more private than her dorm room. Sitting on the couch, they'd kissed for a long time. Sweet, drugging kisses that seemed to leave her breathless, her lips red and engorged, wet and beautiful. When she opened her eyes, they were dilated, heavy with desire. He'd cupped her breast, kneading softly, swallowing a moan from her lips.

  He'd leaned back to study her--her flushed skin, the passion in her expression, her wet lips.

  "Take off your blouse," he'd instructed. Tonight he wanted to see her. He had to see her naked. He unbuttoned the first button of his own shirt. He saw something flash in her eyes. "Watch me and do what I do."

  He saw uncertainty, saw her slender fingers flutter over the buttons of her blouse uncertainly.

  "You don't want to do it for me?" She smiled nervously.

  "Not this time. This time I want you to do it for me. I want to be certain what we do is what you want, too."

  "I do."

  "Then show me."

  He undid the second button on his shirt and she matched his movements. Her small pink tongue dipped out to wet her puffy lips as another button came undone and he could now see the shadowy valley crested by the soft hint of her breasts.

  When finally the last buttons were released, he pulled the sides of his shirt open and slid it over his shoulders, dropping it to the floor. She did the same with her blouse.

  He could see the darkened areolas around her tight nipples through the thin layer of her lacy bra. She was too fucking perfect and he was going to lose control far too quickly if he wasn't careful. Already his prick was pushing to be free.

  He pulled his T-shirt over his head, balled it up, and threw it across the room. And then he waited.

  Hesitantly, she reached around to her back to unfasten the hooks of her bra. She looked at him questioningly. He saw the faint tremor of her lips. Was it fear or excitement?

  "I want to see you, Mary. Do you want this, too?"

  She nodded her head. Her hands worked the fastenings and the bra separated and drooped slightly. One strap fell loosely down her arm and then the other. He waited expectantly. He saw her inhale deeply, then peeled the bra from her body and tossed it across the room.

  The only sound in the room was their rapid breathing. He swore he could hear his heart beating against his chest.

  He reached out and pulled her onto his lap, legs splayed around him, her mound wedged against his hot erection, both of them still fully clothed from the waist down. He pressed his lips to hers, stroking his hands along her silky back, to the waistband of her jeans and back up again as he sucked at her lips.

  She arched and her nipples pressed into his bare chest. "God, you're beautiful," he whispered against her mouth. For the first time, he sank his tongue deep, possessing her in the way he had wanted to do forever. He caught her moan, felt her quiver against him, pressed the palms of his hands to her shoulders, rubbing his chest against her. The moan became a whimper, a cry for release.

  He bowed her, lowered his head and tasted her bared flesh for the first time, sucked a nipple into his mouth, arching her close. Lifting her back up, he kissed her deeply as he moved one of his hands between them. She was achingly wet, the crotch of her jeans damp and hot against his hand, and he pressed the heel of his hand firmly against her clothed pussy. She ground against him and he could tell from the rapid breaths, her gasps for air that she was close to coming.

  He wanted her to come, needed to feel her pleasure. He cupped his hand. "Come for me, Mary. I know you're close. Come for me. Only me."

  She jerked and cried out, her pleasure pouring all over him. He kneaded her through the jeans, just barely holding himself together. "Oh, God, Ross. Oh, my God!"

  He pulled her flush against his groin as she continued to quake, rubbing her back. He kept his other hand cupped over her hot sex, knew how very wet she would be and wanted to taste her cream. But not just yet.

  "Sit back," he ordered. She moved away from him and leaned back against the arm of the couch. He reached for her foot and pulled off her tan leather boot and then her pale pink wool sock, then did the same with the other one.

  He leaned back and spread his legs. "Move a little closer." She shifted nearer, until her bare feet rested at the crease of his groin a
nd thigh and his cloth-covered cock was nestled between them. Damn, that felt good. He pressed each of his hands up inside her pant legs and cupped her heels, pressing her closer. He closed his eyes, enjoyed the touch of her smooth skin, feeling the weight of her feet against his raging, stiff erection.

  "Ross?" she murmured uncertainly.

  He wasn't going to take her virginity tonight. But he needed to come. Needed this particular touch, only from her. "It's okay, sweetheart. You're perfect, do you know that? Do you know how beautiful you look when you come? Damn, you're so wonderfully passionate. Do you have any idea what you do to me?"

  Suddenly, he felt her toes begin to knead at his groin tentatively. "Oh, yeah, baby, just like that." He encouraged her with his hands, almost shaking with his need. It didn't take long before he went over the edge, gripping her beautiful ankles, ringing them like bands of steel as he came so hard he though he was going to die from the pleasure.

  He pulled her across the cushions and back into his lap, fastening his lips to hers. "You're wonderful, so damned wonderful, Agnes Mary."

  He'd cleaned up, they'd both dressed, and he'd taken her home after that. They sat in the car in front of the dorm and he hadn't wanted to let her go.

  They'd stayed there for a long time, with her in his lap, as they kissed. She pressed her sweet, wet tongue, inside his mouth for the first time and he'd sucked and tangled his own with hers. Finally, she'd looked up at him in the darkness.

  "When, Ross?"

  "When what, sweetheart?"

  "When will you make love to me?"

  He smiled in the darkness. "I am making love to you," he said as he leaned down to possess her mouth once more.

  She pushed against his shoulders and looked up at him in the darkness. "You know what I mean."

  He nodded and leaned his forehead against hers. "When you're ready, honey."

  "I think I'm ready now. I was ready tonight."

  "Do you think fucking is all there is to making love, Mary?" Most of the women he dated did think that. And he hadn't wanted to give them more of himself. But Mary was different. He wanted more for her, from her. He wanted to learn everything there was to learn about her, and he wanted there to be no secrets between them.