Free And the Desert Blooms by Iris Johansen

blasted puppet. He had always had control over his emotions. He would just have to practice that control now.

    He was infinitely careful as he slid into her warmth. First she was empty and then she was full of his hardness. From the deepest reaches of sleep she was conscious of his gentleness as he began to move. How beautiful it was, she thought dreamily. Not like before, when it had been hard and fast and breathlessly exciting. This was slow and lazy and sweetly fulfilling. She tried to open her eyes. “Philip . . .”
    “Shhh . . . I didn’t mean to do this. I lay there half the night fighting it. But I can’t help myself.”
    “S’all right.” Her words were slightly slurred. “I like it.”
    He chuckled. “I’m glad one of us approves.” He bent down and lightly kissed one eyelid and then the other. The tempo of his thrusts escalated. She could hear the heaviness of his breathing above her and feel the tension building in him. She tried to help, but his hands were immediately at her hips, preventing her from moving. “No, I’m trying to hold on to what control I have left. I don’t want to hurt you. I shouldn’t be doing this again tonight.”
    “You should be doing whatever you want to do,” she whispered. “I’ll always want you, Philip.”
    He went still. “Will you?” He bent forward to kiss the delicate blue tracery of veins at her temple. “I think the only thing you want right now is to go back to sleep.” With a flurry of powerful thrusts, he gained a fiery release from the tension that had tormented him for the past hours. Then he was gone, shifting off, but not away from her this time. He pulled her close, cradling her against his shoulder so that her hair fell on his chest in a silken silver veil. Gradually his breathing grew steady and his heartbeat slowed.
    “Did I help?” she asked sleepily.
    “I didn’t mean to do that to you.” His words were stilted, his voice thick with disgust. “Pandora, I’m . . . sorry.”
    “Did it help?” she asked again.
    “Yes. Oh, Lord, yes, it helped.”
    “Then that’s all that’s important.” She gave his shoulder a drowsy kiss. “I like helping you. Good night, Philip.”
    He didn’t answer for a moment, and when he did his voice was a little husky. “Good night, Pandora.”
    He wasn’t sure she had heard him. She was asleep again.
    He found it impossible to follow suit. He should have been pleasantly relaxed, but he found himself charged with a mysterious tension that had nothing to do with desire. Tenderness. Dear heaven, he had never felt such tenderness before. It was like an immense tidal wave sweeping through him. He didn’t want to feel like this. Not about anyone or anything. He
wouldn’t
feel like this. He liked his life the way it was.
    Pandora would belong to him, but it would be in the way he chose. What that way would be, he hadn’t the wildest idea at the moment. But one thing was certain: Making love to her again any time soon would be a mistake. He wanted her too much. That desire would give her a power he wasn’t willing to yield to anyone. He would just have to stay away from her until that fever cooled. It shouldn’t take long. No woman had ever managed to hold his interest for more than a few weeks.
    However, it wasn’t desire that was putting his every nerve on edge. It was the tenderness. That emotion was far more dangerous than sexual arousal. He would have to take great care to guard himself against Pandora and that bewildering gentleness she inspired in him. He wasn’t aware that even as the resolve was made, his arm tightened around her in protection.

    He was still holding her in his arms when she opened her eyes the next morning. The gray light of predawn was filtering through the windows, showing her his face, so close to her own. She lay there in blissful contentment for a little while, just letting the wonderful intimacy of the moment seep into her. How many times in the last six years had she