Diana Palmer Collected 1-6. Diana Palmer

intimacy than the night before, each new touch intensifying her hunger for him.

      He paused, hesitated, his lips touching hers. His eyes opened, holding hers, and his body lowered.

      She caught her breath at the intensity of feeling she knew as he let her experience the very texture of his body with the slowness of his movement.

      “Now,” he said, closing his eyes, “we really make love for the first time.”

      She didn’t understand at first. And then it began to make sense. He was so tender, so exquisitely gentle, that every movement seemed to stroke a nerve of pleasure. She clung to him, matching his tenderness, trying to give him back the beauty he was giving her. Her eyes fluttered closed and her fingers tangled in his cool blond hair, her body trembling under the expert movements of his. As the pleasure built slowly she began to writhe helplessly. And as fulfillment came closer, she wondered if she was going to survive it.

      “Eric?” she whimpered against his mouth.

      His own body was trembling, too. “Lieveling,” he said huskily. “Mijn lieveling, mijn vrouw!”

      The hands holding her clenched, and he rocked with her, smooth, tender movements that were exquisitely soft. He whispered to her in Dutch, words that she couldn’t understand, but they were breathlessly tender.

      She kissed his tanned cheek, his mouth, his chin, and he lifted his head for an instant, his dark eyes glazed, his lips parted.

      “Yes,” he told her. “Yes, like that.”

      He closed his eyes and let her kiss him, savoring the softness of her mouth on his eyes, his cheeks, his straight nose, his lips.

      She moved, trembling with need, letting him feel her body as she drew it with smooth sweetness to either side.

      His eyes opened again, reading the intensity of hunger in hers.

      “Yes,” he said. “Yes, now it happens. Now…”

      His voice didn’t change, but his breathing did. He looked down at her, lengthening his movements, deepening them, so that although the tenderness remained, the urgency grew.

      Something was happening to her that she didn’t understand. Terrifying tension, hands buffeting her, a blazing tide of warmth that speared through her like tiny needles. Her mouth opened because she could no longer breathe. Her body began to shudder helplessly, tiny little shudders that matched the tenderness that was devouring her.

      “I’m…afraid…” she managed, and her fingers clenched at his back as she felt her body beginning to contract.

      “Hush,” he said softly. His movements deepened, and still he watched. “Yes, feel it. Feel it now. There’s nothing to be…afraid of, lieveling. No, don’t turn away, let me see you….”

      He turned her head back to him, and his face blurred. She thought he smiled, but she was all bursting fireworks, a flare lighting up the night sky. She felt gentle explosions all through her body, and for a moment her heart stopped, her breathing stopped. And then she cried, because it had been so beautiful, and so brief.

      Even as the tears came, she felt his own body go rigid, heard the tender, surprised exclamation at her ear, and then her name….

      He didn’t move for a long time. Neither did she. She felt incapable of movement. What had happened surprised her. He’d said they wouldn’t make love again until they got married, so why had he done it? And why that way? So tenderly, so gently, as if he cared about her.

      Experimentally, her hands moved on the damp muscles of his shoulders.

      He lifted his head and searched her eyes slowly. He touched her face with gentle fingers. “In my life there was never such a tender loving before,” he said. “I didn’t know that men and women were capable of it.” He brushed away the tears. “I hurt you?” he asked.

      “No.” She swallowed. “It was…so beautiful,” she faltered.

      “Yes. For me, too.” He drew away from her with exquisite slowness, watching her. He sighed heavily, and frowned. After a minute he turned back to the bathroom. “We’d better get dressed.”

      She got up, too, a little shaky and puzzled by his odd behavior. He’d meant to comfort her, she was certain of it. But the comfort had gotten out of hand. And the way he’d loved her…

      As she dressed she wondered if she was doing the right thing, marrying a total stranger. Then he came out of the bathroom, wearing nothing except his slacks, his blond hair neatly combed, his face slowly curving into a smile. And she knew that she’d die to wear his ring, babies or no babies. She smiled back.

      They were married in a small chapel, with people all around them who spoke little English. The minister beamed at them when it was over, inviting the new husband to kiss his bride.

      Dutch bent and brushed his mouth softly against hers, smiling at his own folly. Well, it was done now. And it wouldn’t be so bad, he told himself as he studied her radiant young face. She could wait for him at home, and they’d see each other whenever he was there. It might even be good that way. No routine to bore him. She could go on with her life, and there would be no ties. He frowned for a minute as he thought of what had happened this morning, then he shook off the instant fear of consequences. Surely to God, he hadn’t made her pregnant. He’d just have to be careful from now on. No more lapses. The thought of a child terrified him. That would make a tie he couldn’t break.

      Dani saw that frown, and worried about it. She wondered why he’d really married her, when he seemed the kind of man who was self-sufficient and didn’t need anyone else.

      “You aren’t sorry?” she asked finally when they were walking back to the hotel.

      He stopped, lifted his blond head and smiled, a little puzzled. “What?”

      “Sorry that you married me,” she continued. She searched his eyes nervously. “You’ve been so quiet. I know I’m not much to look at, and we don’t know each other at all. I…we can always get a divorce,” she finished miserably.

      “I’m quiet because I have a logistical problem to work out,” he said then. “Not because I’m regretting that we got married. When you know me better, you’ll learn that I never do things unless I want to. I can’t be pushed or coerced.” He reached out and curled her fingers into his. “I like being with you,” he said, meeting her eyes. “Like this, and in bed. We’re both old enough to want someone to be with.”

      “Yes,” she confessed. Tears stung her eyes and she lowered her lids before he could read her thoughts. “I never thought it would happen to me,” she added. “I thought I’d be alone all my life.”

      “So did I.” He smoothed his fingers across the back of her hand. She had pretty hands, he mused. “Do you play anything?” he asked unexpectedly.

      She laughed. “The piano. Badly.”

      “I like piano. I play a little, too.” He slid his fingers in between hers, feeling oddly possessive as he saw the bright little gold band that encircled her ring finger. “A wedding ring suits you. Feel better now about what we did last night?” he asked with a slow smile, as if he understood her uneasiness about intimacy without marriage.

      “I’m old-fashioned.” She sighed miserably.

      “You don’t have to apologize for it, not to me.” His eyes gleamed suddenly as he looked at her. Short brown hair, creamy, oval face, wide gray eyes. “I liked being the first.”

      There was a deep, possessive note in his voice that surprised her. She smiled slowly. Her fingers squeezed his, and she looked into his eyes for so long that she flushed.

      “This morning,” he said softly, holding her eyes, “was my first time. I didn’t realize that I was capable of tenderness. I let go with you in a way I never could before with a woman. I trusted you.”

      Her face