Heart's Reward by Donna Hill Page B

racing out of control, her breath coming in short escalating pants as her fingers dug into his back, her face buried in his neck to stifle her cries of release that slammed into her like the waves that crashed against the bluffs below the window.
    Her body was electrified as jolt after jolt rocketed through her, shaking her like a rag doll with its power. But he wasn’t done. Even as her insides continued to grip and release him, he moved steadily in and out of her, his erection even harder and more full if that was even possible.
    Claude slid his arm under her hips, his other behind her back pulling her tight until they were sealed together from their lips to their toes and he exploded within her, setting her off on another body-rocking climax.
    â€œOh my God,” she whispered against his damp neck.
    Their hearts banged and slammed against one another even as the last drops of his essence jerked out of him.
    By degrees their breathing slowed, their limbs loosened and their pulses moved toward normal.
    Claude kissed her tenderly as if for the first time. So sweet that it brought tears to her eyes.
    Cocooned in the security of darkness, they drifted off to a satiated sleep, tucked in each other’s arms.
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    She wasn’t sure how long she’d slept or what woke her. She tried to focus in the dark. Her stomach lurched when it hit her where she was and what she had done. She felt sick. She turned her head slightly. Claude was stretched out next to her. His arm was draped possessively across her waist. Gently and quietly, she lifted his arm and slipped out of bed. In the darkness she located her clothes and got dressed the best she could. With her shoes in her hand she eased toward the door and prayed that she wouldn’t run into anyone in the hallway en route to her room.
    She closed the door as softly as she could and hurried to her room, where she spent the rest of the night in misery.

Chapter 7
    C laude stirred. It was the silence that awakened him. The storm had ceased and the pale moon struggled behind an army of clouds for recognition. The candles were all but burned out, their remains like fallen clothing at their bases. He turned, anticipating the warmth of Melanie’s body, and met cool emptiness. He sat up, adjusting his eyes to the gray light.
    He tossed the twisted sheet aside and noticed the digital bedside clock flashing 2:00 a.m. The power must have come back on while they slept, he rationalized abstractly. He stood and listened for signs of Melanie, thinking that she must be in the adjoining bathroom. On the floor where he’d tossed theirclothing, only his remained. He drew in a long breath of reality followed by a mental marathon of questions that ran in succession, never waiting for answers. Why did she leave without saying anything? How did he not hear her? Had something else happened that caused her to leave without explanation?
    He reached down on the floor and retrieved his boxers. He couldn’t very well go looking for her in the middle of the night, he thought, putting them on, or go knocking on her bedroom door, not that he knew which door it was, and in any case neither scenario was an option. He dropped down onto the side of the bed, then fell back against the firm mattress, throwing an arm across his eyes. What he felt inside was gray like the light beyond his window, affording the viewer just enough illumination to determine shapes and not much more. It didn’t feel right at all. But there wasn’t a damned thing he could do about it until he saw Melanie again.
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    Melanie showered and dressed, wanting to extend her morning ritual throughout the day and into the night. Perhaps by then Claude would have gone back with Alan to the city and she wouldn’t have to face him. The muscles in her throat tightened as she struggled not to cry. How could she have been so stupid, so reckless to jeopardize the business and its reputation just so that she could live