Chocolate Kisses by Judith Arnold Page B

frosting doesn’t come close.”
    “What
a relief,” she joked, although she was feeling far from relieved. Her body
surged under him, ached for him, felt uncomfortably empty and feverish. She
arched her hips and he rubbed against her, hot and heavy. They gasped in
unison.
    “Claudia…”
He let go of her wrists and slid down her body, nibbling her belly, stroking
her navel with his tongue, grazing down farther until he pressed a fierce,
hungry kiss between her legs. When she was sure she couldn’t hold back any
longer, he kissed his way back up.
    Her
body rose to meet his conquering thrust. She gripped his shoulders, clinging to
him as he withdrew and thrust again. She felt as if her heart had split in two,
her soul, her spirit, her very essence, all of it opening to let him in, to let
him take possession of her. She was his.
    His
surges were deep, hard, shuddering. The muscles in his back flexed and
stretched; he wove the fingers of one hand into her hair while the other cupped
her bottom, lifting her to maximize every plunge, every sensation. The tension
inside her built to a wild, almost agonizing pitch—and then burst, releasing
her into ecstasy.
    She
felt him hover in her arms, suspended at the peak, and then let go, sinking
down on her, relaxing his hands, his lips. “Claudia,” he sighed, a hushed,
prayer-like sound.
    He
closed his eyes and let his head sink onto her shoulder. She stroked his
sweat-damp hair back from his face, feeling oddly protective of him. At that
one instant, as passion receded and left a sensuous languor in its place,
Claudia felt she and Ned were truly equals. She wasn’t the poor girl from the
local diner. He wasn’t the lord of Wyatt Hall. They were simply lovers.
    Ned’s
breathing grew more regular, his head heavier as he dozed. Through the
stillness she heard the faint, distant sounds of the party downstairs.
    Claudia
cuddled Ned to herself, aware of how transient this moment was. Soon reality
would return.
    Tears
welled up in her eyes and she batted them away. She loved Ned, but as he’d
said, there was a tomorrow. And when it came, she would be a blue-collar
Mulcahey and he would be John Edward Wyatt IV.
    The
gap was too wide; not even love could bridge it.
     
     
     
    Chapter Nine
     
    11:55
p.m.
     
    “WHAT
DO YOU MEAN, this is your room?”
    Ned
loitered in the doorway of the bedroom, watching as Claudia gathered her
clothing and assorted her toiletries. “I mean,” he said calmly, “this room was
mine when I was growing up.”
    She
didn’t know why she should care that the room he’d let her use—the room in
which he’d made love to her—was his room and not just some anonymous
guest room. But she did care. And it bothered her.
    She
was tired, edgy, anxious to get home. Downstairs, the party was over and the
guests had been replaced with a maintenance crew.
    Claudia’s
hands trembled as she folded her jeans and stuffed them into her tote bag. She
couldn’t look at the rumpled bed. Seeing it would only remind her of what had
occurred there a few hours ago, what had occurred in her heart. What would
never occur again.
    The
party was definitely over.
    “Please,
Claudia. Stay the night. Stay with me,” he said.
    She
glanced at him and felt her refusal lodge in her throat. She could think of nothing
she’d rather do than stay the night with him, stay the year, stay for all
eternity with him. But she couldn’t. Just as making love with him had been
inevitable, leaving him was inevitable. She’d realized that when they’d emerged
from the bedroom and headed downstairs. Three waiters had assailed her with
questions. One of the debutantes had flounced over to Ned, grabbed his arm and
squealed, “Amy’s so lucky to have such a hot uncle. Come dance with me.”
    Claudia
hadn’t seen him again—until now. She’d packed up the leftover food to be
delivered to a soup kitchen in Bridgeport, lugged her equipment out of the van
and then trudged up the stairs to