Midnight Rainbow by Linda Howard Page B

the stinging water, but otherwise
keeping her gaze fixed on his hard, intent features. He took a handkerchief
from his back pocket and wet it, then gently cleaned her face. She was calmer
now, no longer crying in that silent, gutwrenching way, and he helped her to her feet.
                  "There, you're all cleaned up," he
started to say, then noticed the pink rivulets of
water running down her legs. Her blouse was so bloody that he'd have to take it
off to get her clean. Without hesitation, he began to unbutton it. "Let's
get this off so we can wash it," he said, keeping his voice calm and
soothing. She didn't even glance down as he unbuttoned her blouse and pulled it
off her shoulders, then tossed it to the bank. She kept her eyes on his face,
as if he were her lifeline to sanity and to look away
meant a return to madness.
                  Grant looked down, and his mouth went dry as he
stared at her naked breasts. He'd wondered how she looked and now he knew, and
it was like being punched in the stomach. Her breasts were round and a little
heavier than he'd expected, tipped by small brown nipples, and he wanted to
bend down and put his mouth to them, taste them. She might as well have been
naked; all she had on was a pair of gossamer panties that had turned
transparent in the water. He could see the dark curls of hair beneath the wisp
of fabric, and be felt his loins tighten and swell. She was beautifully made,
long-legged and slim-hipped, with the sleek muscles of a dancer. Her shoulders
were straight, her arms slim but strong, her breasts rich; he wanted to spread
her legs and take her right there, driving deeply into her body until he went
out of his mind with pleasure. He couldn't remember ever wanting a woman so
badly. He'd wanted sex, but that had been simply a physical pleasure, and any
willing female body had been acceptable. Now he wanted Jane, the essence of
her; it was her legs he wanted wrapped around him, her breasts in his hands,
her mouth under his, her body sheathing him.
                  He jerked his gaze away from her, bending to
dip the handkerchief in the water again. That was even worse; his eyes were
level with the top of her thighs, and he straightened abruptly. He washed her
breasts with a gentle touch, but every moment of it was torture to him, feeling
her silky flesh under his fingers, watching her nipples tighten into reddened
little nubs as he touched them.
                  "You're clean," he said hoarsely,
tossing the handkerchief to the bank to join her blouse.
                  "Thank you," she whispered, then
fresh tears glittered in her eyes, and with a little whimper she flung herself
against him. Her arms went around him and clung to his back. She buried her
face against his chest, feeling reassured by the steady beat of his heart and
the warmth of his body. His very presence drove the fear away; with him, she
was safe. She wanted to rest in his arms and forget everything. His hands moved
slowly over her bare back, his calloused palms stroking her skin as if he
relished the texture of it. Her eyes slid shut, and she nestled closer to him,
inhaling the distinctly male scent of his strong body. She felt oddly drunk,
disoriented; she wanted to cling to him as the only steady presence in the
world. Her body was awash in strange sensations, from the rushing water
swirling about her feet to the faint breeze that fanned her wet, naked skin,
while he was so hard and warm. An unfamiliar heat swept along her flesh in the
path of his hands as they moved from her back to her shoulders. Then one hand
stroked up her throat to cup her jaw, his thumb under her chin and his fingers
in her hair, and he turned her face up to him.
                  Taking his time about it, he bent and fitted
his mouth to hers, slanting his head to make the contact deep and firm. His
tongue moved leisurely into her mouth, touching hers and demanding a response,
and