The Signature (A Perfect Forever Novel) Read online

  Restless, she looked at the door standing invitingly ajar. She had never craved a man as she did Devon, but bringing this attraction to its conclusion wasn’t something she was certain they should do.

  What if it were just a foolish fantasy to try and build a relationship with Devon? What if that last problem, laid atop of too many other problems, was more than either of them could handle?

  She wasn’t even sure how they’d gotten this far. A strange force inside of her had taken control, propelling her to this point. Every look, every touch, every smile had brought her body to unbearable arousal. Even now, the thought of him sent a current of desire through her trembling limbs.

  Was this hunger in her body enough to make things right? Was it worth the risks it meant to her life, to Devon’s? Would he recoil in horror when he saw the rest of her scars? Would she even be able to show them to him?

  Running her hands up her bare arms, she tried to force the doubts away. She would soon find out, one way or another. If he walked through the door, that is.

  Suddenly she sensed a presence. Looking up, she saw Devon standing in the doorway.

  Except for the slight tension on his face, and the way his wavy hair was tousled, as if he’d run a hand through it more than once, he looked completely at ease.

  She didn’t say anything. She sat perfectly still, perched on her heels in the center of the bed, as his eyes slowly swept over her.

  Devon had to will himself not to move. He wanted nothing more than to join her on the bed, but he sensed, despite her spirited ranting downstairs, that she still needed time to adjust to being with him like this.

  The modest cut of her teddy told him that whatever was hidden beneath that silken fabric, she remained cautious about him seeing it. And thoughts that she might pull back—yet again—kept him from going forward.

  Whatever happened, he wanted at least to have this, the image of her sitting in the firelight, her loose blond hair cascading around her shoulders, her stunning sapphire eyes bright with desire, staring up at him.

  She looked innocent and seductive at once, as she gently gnawed her lower lip and tried, for all the world, not to let her anxiety show.

  Krystal could hardly breathe. Why didn’t he say something? Do something? The waiting was torture.

  She ran her palms down her thighs and closed her fingers over her knees. “I’ve been tested. For everything. Two years ago. After Morgan. Nothing. And since then there’s been no one,” she whispered.

  Blushing, she wondered what had made her say that in such a blunt fashion. Certainly there was a more subtle way to explain to one’s would-be-lover that there was nothing to fear.

  Her awkwardness reminded her how out of practice she was in the bedroom. What the devil was the matter with her, mentioning Morgan?

  Miserable, she had to fight not to drop her gaze. What she found in his eyes quelled her embarrassment.

  His smile was slow, sensuous, and tender. “I’m okay, too,” he assured her.

  Another long pause.

  Fighting not to let her doubts ruin what she wanted desperately to be perfect, she asked jokily, “So, now that we know we’re both willing and able to do this, without reservation, what do I have to do to get you out of that doorway?”

  His reply was soft. “All you have to do is say the word.”

  “I thought I just did.”

  “So you did.”

  He stepped into the room and closed the door. Beside the bed, he offered her his hand because words seemed out of place.

  Her fingers met his, sparks flashing as she slowly entwined her hand with his. Her eyes seemed to open wider, and at this moment she looked perfect to him, perfect and beautiful and beyond anything conjured in his dreams.

  He rested a knee on the bed and leaned toward her. The controlled movement of his body belied the raging passion inside of him. His lips skimmed her brow and the soft slope of her cheek.

  “Have you any idea how beautiful you are?” he whispered, letting his lips trace the delicate angles of her face. “The fulfillment of my wildest dreams. Krystal, my sweetness, I can feel you all through my body. Do you have any idea how completely you possess me?”

  Her breath was quick, almost frightened. “Maybe I’d have an easier time believing that if you weren’t fully dressed.”

  He laughed softly, smiling into her bright eyes. “Always a humorist. Don’t even doubt it, sweetheart.”

  Her voice had a captivating huskiness to it. “Then show me. It’s been a while, but I do recall something about having to undress.”

  With shaking hands, she began to edge apart the buttons on his shirt. It wasn’t easy. Her fingers were clumsy, and each fastening painfully slow to open.

  When at last the neat row fell back from his sculptured chest, she dropped her hands away, staring in fascination at the play of muscles while he undid the cuffs on his own.

  “Show off,” she chided as he made quick work of the rest of his clothing. “You could spare me some humiliation by displaying at least a touch of nervousness.”

  He carried her hand to his body, pressing her palm to his furious heartbeat. “If it were beating any faster I’d be a nervous wreck. This is what you do to me, Krys.”

  He lifted her hand to his lips, kissing the smooth flesh that had touched him.

  She flushed and tried to manage a smile. “My heart is racing just as fast.”

  He moved closer on the bed. His knee brushed against her unclad thigh, making her flesh burn.

  “Why don’t we see if we can’t make them go a little faster?”

  He buried his face in the crease between her breasts, feeling her jerk sharply and then relax as his soft kisses explored the lush swell above the lace-edged teddy.

  Looking down, it was a shock for her to see his strong masculine hands running the contours of her legs, the bare underside of his tanned calves. He was a beautifully formed man, sinewy, powerful. Her body shook with an appreciation of his physical beauty, while a faint flutter of fear danced in her stomach.

  “I love you, Krys.”

  His mouth pressed lower, the warmth of his breath penetrating the thin satin, as he rubbed his cheek to the full underside of her breasts. Fanning his fingers on each side of her hips, he eased her body closer to him. The pleasure of being close to him seeped into her deepest chamber.

  His fingers shifted, slipping under the band to tease her throbbing flesh.

  “Oh, love, touching you is like holding sunshine in my fingers. I’ve been so cold. Now every part of me is warm. I need you, Krys.”

  “I need you, too,” she breathed.

  She wished that she had the courage to undress completely. She wanted to feel that firm length of his body, skin against skin pressed all against her. She wanted to prolong each burning caresses, to draw his magic inside of her until she could feel the fragmented portions of her body slowly join together in one complete fabric.

  Did he sense the frenzy he was causing inside of her?

  It had been so long, more than two years; she wondered if he could comprehend all that that meant. Both his kisses and caresses became bolder.

  He wanted her to give up her body to him, to offer herself to him for his touch and taste and fill, to explore the promise that was made each time their eyes touched. She felt like a virgin, timid, untried. She was supposed to be worldly, sophisticated, experienced. She felt none of those things. All she felt was unsure, frightened he would stop when he saw her body, and an intense, almost painful want that she should please Devon.

  It was impossible for him to know the thoughts in her head, but suddenly he stopped and tilted her face upward.

  She began to tremble under his steady gaze, remembering the feel of his body pressed closely to hers, remembering the dancing sparks that filled the pit of her stomach whenever the sure movement of his fingers glided over her flesh.

  Her slipping control let a rush of longing escape into her veins. She sat there, staring up at him, eyes
misty with desire and more than a little trepidation.

  “I want you so badly,” she whispered plaintively. “But I’m so afraid, Devon. Afraid to show you the rest of my body. The scars Nick left on me.”

  He stroked her chin with a lazy finger as he kissed her one time on each eyelid.

  His husky whisper came: “I love you.”

  Her muscles ached from the tenderness of his touch. He lightly traced with his lips the scar on her breast that she hadn’t been able to conceal.

  “Stay close...a little closer...we’ll just sit...as long as you want. Just let me hold you, Krystal. We’ll take this one step at a time. I love you. Nothing is ever going to change that. Trust me, sweetheart. Trust what I feel for you.”

  She felt his breath against her shoulder and the palms of his hands, running slowly up her arms. His hands were drifting over her, gently exploring; the caresses were potently erotic.

  A surprised moan swept from her mouth into his lips when his touch moved from the smooth contours of her back to the sensitive slope of her buttocks.

  Her body moved of its own will, closer until they touched full length, and her hands slid over his shoulders to entwine behind his neck. She leaned forward, skimming her lips across the sculptured surface of his chest. At first she touched him lightly, hesitantly, and then harder as her body screamed for heightened contact.

  Her breath stopped as his hands slipped to the inside of her thighs.

  “Devon...” she murmured weakly as he roamed her throat with his mouth while his hands carefully removed her teddy.

  Then he looked at what she had only once allowed one man to see, and the beauty of his face, the unwavering love in his eyes, followed by the tenderness of his kisses as he touched each scar with his lips, removed the last of her caution with him.

  It was as if she were floating, slowly, slowly downward on a warm breeze as he guided her body beneath his. He felt so wonderful pressed fully against her, that the thought of pulling free never entered her mind as she lay there, while he ravished her lips.

  She let her own body melt beneath him. They were so close. But it wasn’t enough. Not nearly enough. She wanted more. Much more. Desire was a light web, wrapping around them both, drawing her closer...closer...

  “I love you,” she breathed into his kisses. “I’m so empty. I’ve been empty my whole life without knowing it.”

  His exquisite and nourishing hands brought every inch of her body to life. Every fiber was stroked into sensuous awareness. When at last they slipped from two into one, it was so right, so necessary. The transition was the fulfillment of their souls having already joined, now sealed as two bodies recreated into one.

  Their smooth, damp forms met and pulled away, driven by a power beyond their control. Mingled with her own soft panting and cries were whispered love-words that filled her ears and fueled her desire.

  She traced the ridges of his muscles, offering her lips, her tongue, wanting to give more. She had stopped thinking, not by choice, but because the explosion of her senses made anything other than physical awareness impossible.

  A tiny gasp rose in her throat as her lips tore at his, her movements frantic, her release furious and shimmering and complete.

  The explosion spread from one into the other, the exploration taking them beyond, to a place of pounding sweetness and sensual peace.

  Hot tears swam in her lashes, and she could feel the salty tang of them as a wayward trickle or two fell to her lips.

  His kisses came to her mouth, absorbing the moistness and taking in the warm breath that escaped her parted lips in time with the rapid, rhythmic beat of her heart.

  He held her face in his hands, smoothing the fine, damp, golden hairs from her face, his fingertips fluttering against her skin.

  “Why are you crying?” His voice was less than a whisper.

  She started to say, “Because I love you,” but the words were lost in her swirling senses. Speech was impossible. Every cell in her body was alive, unfurled, like a spring flower in all its glory.

  She wanted to tell him how beautiful it had been, but beautiful didn’t even begin to describe what she had felt inside. She felt as if her soul had been pulled inside of him, and now, having taken him inside of her, the damaged portion of her being had been restored, recreated, made new again.

  His hands slid beneath her, pressing her languorous form against him. With gentle movement, he shifted them until her weight lay stretched across him. They laid together in silence, her head against his heartbeat, his hands lightly caressing her warm flesh.

  “I hope you still don’t have any second thoughts about us,” he breathed into her hair. “The chances of me letting you go are nonexistent.”

  Krystal leaned forward, kissing him lightly on the cheek. “Even though I’m no prize? What did I ever do to deserve you?”

  His laughter rumbled low, deep inside of his chest. She snuggled back against the warmth, enjoying the pulsing of his solid muscles against her softer shape.

  “I’m not certain I should take that as a compliment.”

  After a dreamy pause, she whispered, “Oh, it’s a compliment. Promise me one thing. Don’t ever stop being ordinary. If that was ordinary, I wonder why I’ve wasted my life bothering with anything else!”

  “I’ll promise you anything so long as you don’t stop touching me.” Heat leapt from his fingertips into her quivering flesh. She felt the change in him, shocked by her own rapidly returning need. “I’ve waited so long, Krys. This feels so good—so right. I may keep us like this forever.”

  “That’s definitely not the worst idea I ever heard.”

  “I think it shows unlimited possibilities.”

  Her laughter had an arousing throatiness to it. “Unlimited, huh? Someday you’ll have to share with me what you feed your ego with. What will I ever do with you?”

  “What you just did would do nicely for starters.”

  She flushed and made a pout. “Only nicely?”

  “Better than nicely. Having you in my arms is perfection.” Catching her gaze, he gave her a tender half-smile.” I love you, Krystal.”

  She kissed his shoulder. She claimed the fullness of his lips with a passion that caught them both off guard. The words were suddenly lost in a fury of sensations, in a magic that couldn’t be touched by the world beyond.

  Devon leaned in his kitchen doorway and watched her. There was a dreamlike quality to the picture.

  Was that really Krystal Stafford dressed only in one of his shirts, singing in that throaty voice that had charmed millions, as she puttered around his kitchen making a disaster of cooking breakfast?

  As he stepped into the room to slip his arms around her, he thought, Please god, if this is a dream, don’t ever let me wake up.

  He scanned the mess in front of her while he worked his smiling lips into her hair and whispered, “My poor little fugitive recording star, I don’t think cooking will ever be one of your talents. Why do you think I always volunteer to do the cooking?”

  Laughing, she fell back against him. “I’m going to ignore that comment. As I recall, you ate every bite of that meal I cooked after you fixed my sink!”

  His lips twitched to fight back a grin. “Sweetheart, it wasn’t the taste of the food that kept me there eating all afternoon.” He took the stirring spoon away from her. “Why don’t we dump this into the sink and let me do the cooking. You have your talents and I have mine. Better still, why don’t you come back to bed with me and feed that other hunger I know you know how to satisfy.”

  “I wasn’t born with your natural stamina. I need food to recharge my battery after last night.”

  She dipped a finger into the batter of something Devon still couldn’t identify, even at close range, tasted it, and then twisted her lovely face into a grimace.

  “Oh my,” she laughed. “You must have had a thing for me even back then, if that lunch was half as bad as this and you still ate it! No wonder Katie is always happy when I order
pizza.”

  Dragged into the spell of those gemmed eyes, she watched as Devon lifted her tiny, batter-covered fingers and slowly, arousingly cleaned each one with erotic strokes of his tongue.

  “The flavor improves somehow when you serve it,” he whispered, as his mouth trailed over her body, pausing at each spot dabbled with her cooking.

  Laughing, she watched as he ran the spoon across the soft flesh of her breasts and brought his mouth there.

  “When you made me lunch you were wearing those shorts that are cut a little too high and that tight, blue t-shirt. I could have eaten a plate of cardboard that day and enjoyed every bite.”

  More batter, more kisses.

  “Did I say cooking wasn’t one of your talents? It’s delicious.”

  He caught his breath.

  “So good...here, sweetheart, maybe you should try some again.”

  When her lips moved in the palm of Devon’s hand, it tasted only of him, and she moved to kiss the nerve-rich flesh of his neck, where her fingers had left tiny splotches of batter.

  “We should finish every bite you know,” Devon chided throatily. “I’m suddenly very hungry. It’s too good to waste. Here, up on the counter.” He had her up there, her legs around him. “I’ve been imagining you like this since I walked through the door.”

  Desire, rose without limit, flooding her veins, as she felt him slowly remove her garments. Her voice was thick with it, as she teased in soft, panting breaths. “All those years I wasted onstage, and where I really should have spent my nights was the kitchen. I never knew it could enflame a man so easily.”

  His soft laughter bubbled in his chest as his lips continued their trek. Pulling her closer against him, he said softly, “You enflame me no matter what you do, Krys. You don’t even want to know what the sight of you lying in your hammock does to me. Or dancing in your studio. Or sitting. Or doing nothing at all—”

  Drenched in the exquisite tenderness of his voice, his slow entrance into her body made her senses explode. Through love-hazed eyes, she saw that his lids had drifted closed, his face above her in its unrestrained passion.