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Date Posted: 15:38:54 06/10/05 Fri
Author: TracyJean
Subject: DOALS I - Hands To Heaven 5a/10 (Voy says it's too long)
In reply to: TracyJean 's message, "Drifting On A Lonely Sea Chapter I - Hands To Heaven" on 18:19:27 06/06/05 Mon

This part is also adults only....

~*~*~*~

Harm looked down at the pad of paper in front of him, reading over what he’d written. There was so much that he wanted to say to Mac and he felt this was the only way – to put it all in a letter which she probably wouldn't even see until after he was gone. It would be easier….if anything about this whole tormenting situation could ever be termed easy. The last thing he wanted to do was to pressure her. He didn't want to risk pushing her even further away. He knew it would be hard, but if he wasn't her choice, he wanted to do everything he could to try to hold onto their friendship. He just hoped that if it came to that, they would not find that they’d moved too far forward to ever be able to go back to what they were.

As satisfied as he could be given the circumstances, he slowly and carefully tore the single sheet of paper from the pad and folded it. With a strong, steady stroke, he wrote her name on the sheet – not 'Mac' but 'Sarah'. For some reason, it was harder now to think of her as 'Mac'. In his mind, it had been Sarah, possibly the most beautiful, most desirable woman he'd ever known, who had opened herself up to him, trembling beneath his touch, her eyes blazing bright with passion as they'd moved together in a lover's dance as old as time.

Grabbing her purse off the table in front of him, he opened it up and slipped the letter inside, silently praying that she wouldn't have a reason to go into her purse until after they’d parted in the morning. He wasn't sure that he could face her as she read over the letter. He needed time to prepare himself for her reaction, time to accept the reality he would be forced to face if things did not go his way.

<i>The rules of engagement have changed.</i>

He stared up at the ceiling, sighing deeply as the memory replayed in his mind. That had been the moment, he realized, even more than their awkward conversation on the ferry, when everything had started spinning so far out of their control, when he'd stood in her apartment and told her that he’d submitted his request to leave JAG. It was a single moment in time which had completely and irrevocably altered the direction of their lives. He wished he'd had the strength and the courage when they'd stood in his office a couple of weeks later, as she'd cried in his arms, to tell her how he felt about her and to ask her to be the one he would return to.

What had stopped him? He wasn't sure. Maybe it had been fear. Not fear of her and their feelings – no, that had come later, he was sure of that. Perhaps it had been fear that if he let her in, if he let her get too close, that he would ultimately be taken away – just as his father and grandfather before him had been – leaving yet another woman alone to mourn her Navy man and to try to live with only memories.

He'd made a choice, whether conscious or unconscious, to let her believe that flying was more important to him than….everything, even her. And he'd paid the price for that choice the last two years – had paid a higher price than any person should be expected to pay. Who could have known that such a tiny judgment call would extract such a heavy price from his soul?

His eyes widened as an idea came to him. He wouldn't pressure her. Never. But he wasn't going to let her slip away without making her fully aware of the price that would be paid. She had to know that if she did choose him, it wouldn't be leaving behind a certain future with a home and family for an uncertain one with him. That's what he'd tried to tell her in the letter, but could he do more, short of falling onto his knees in front of her and begging her to stay? He could and he would. If flying had been the thing that had torn them apart, maybe there was a way that it could be the thing that would heal their wounds and bring them back together.

Reaching behind him for his travel bag sitting on top of the dresser, he felt inside his bag until his fingers closed around a familiar object. Pulling it free, he studied it for a moment in the moonlight before pulling the letter from her purse. Unfolding the letter, he carefully laid the object in the middle and started to fold it again, then stopped. Picking up the pen again, he added a brief postscript to the letter. He read back over two sentences, feeling the weight that the words carried, the weight that was resting on his shoulders. Those two phrases could make all the difference – or they might not mean a damn thing. He wished he could know for sure.
Trying to be content that he'd done all he could, he folded the letter closed then picked up her purse again. As he placed the letter back inside, he caught the glimmer of her engagement ring and pulled it out, studying the diamond. That ring had been the bane of his existence for fifteen months. But now they were at a crossroads. In a few days, she would either agree to give them a chance and take the ring off forever or it would remain on her hand, joined by a band of gold signifying her vow to love, honor and cherish another man, as long as they both lived.

Damn it, Rabb, he berated himself. Do you know how many chances you've had to change the course of events? Hell, she even asked when you returned from Australia if there was something you needed to talk about and you turned and ran. What about when Mic returned at the Surface Warfare Ball? You could have said something then. Or when Harriet announced in front of the entire bullpen that Mac had finally moved the ring over? Hell, even Kate saw it, saw the pain that you tried so hard to hide. Or when Mac announced they'd finally set a date, then just two short months away? You could have told her what you were feeling, that you couldn't get her off your mind.

No, he reminded himself; you just stood by and said nothing until the last minute, when she'd pressed you again, on the Admiral's porch at her engagement party. You could have backed away then, just like you had in Sydney, but you couldn't, could you? You'd never thought it would get that far, thought that you would have more time. The knowledge that you were on the verge of losing Mac forever weakened you, causing cracks to develop in the shields you'd carefully constructed around your heart and when she pushed, you couldn't stop yourself from responding, from giving her a glimpse of the feelings you kept locked carefully away in your heart.

He clenched his hand into a tight fist, ignoring the pain as the diamond's setting dug into his palm. That little bit of physical pain was the least of what he deserved for letting things go as far as they had without saying anything, for letting her breach the walls surrounding his heart. He just wished that he knew what to do to make everything better. He wished that he knew that he was doing the right thing by stepping back and giving her the room to make her decision. He wished that he could be sure that his heartfelt letter would be the key which would unlock the door imprisoning him, releasing him to a life of love with the woman who haunted his dreams.

His head jerked up at the sound of a soft moan coming from the bed and he glanced in that direction. Mac was shifting in her sleep and he hurriedly stuffed the ring back in her purse just in case she woke up. He didn't want to explain everything running through his mind, wasn't sure that he could, to his satisfaction or hers. Then of course, there was the idea of exerting pressure on her, which was anathema to him. He'd rather cut off one of his own limbs first than force her to do anything she wasn't absolutely sure of. If he did, he was sure that he would be no better than Mic Brumby.

Taking a deep breath to steady himself, he leaned back in his chair and watched her sleep. Oddly, he thought, she looked so peaceful and relaxed. He'd tossed and turned once he'd fallen asleep and his restlessness had eventually driven him from the warmth of her arms, to the table where he'd tried to lay out all his thoughts and feelings in the letter he'd just stashed away. He couldn't make himself stop thinking about the uncertain road ahead of him while he waited and hoped for Mac to think about what was happening and to possibly change her mind.

But she looked so untroubled that a part of him wanted to wake her and ask her how she did it, how she managed to put their troubled reality aside, even if only for a few hours. He wanted to know how she managed to find peaceful refuge in sleep when all he'd been able to manage had been snatches of slumber, tormented by her touch, her taste, her scent, by her.

Still caught up in the cobwebs of sleep, Mac rolled over, the sheet tangling around her limbs, her hand automatically reaching out for the empty space beside her. "Harm?" she murmured sleepily, his absence pulling her towards wakefulness. She wasn't sure why. Harm's presence wasn't one she was used to in her bed, but she felt emptiness inside at his absence. Was this what it was going to be like if she married Mic, an aching hole in her heart because Harm wasn't the one lying beside her? Could one night mean that much in the grand scheme of things?

It also registered in her sleep-clouded mind that she’d called the correct name. Silently, she thanked God or whoever might be listening for that. She would have hated to see the look in his eyes if she'd inadvertently called Mic's name in her sleep. As she thought about it, she realized that it hadn't even occurred to her to think about whose name she was uttering. She'd just known. It had felt so natural, so right.

Mac lifted her head from the pillow, blinking in an effort to focus her eyes in the dark room. "Harm?" she asked again, finally catching sight of him in an armchair next to the circular table at the other end of the small room by the window, the curtains parted a few inches, casting an dim light over the table and over his features. "Are you okay?" She unconsciously held her breath, waiting for his answer.

"I couldn't sleep," he replied, studying her from across the room, committing it all to memory. Would this be the last time he would see her like this, her eyelids heavy, her hair tousled from sleep? He thought she'd never look more beautiful and he wondered how he could ever look at her again – in the office, in court, in a car on the way to interview someone – and not immediately think of this moment.

Silently, Mac slipped out from under the covers and began searching the piles of clothes littering the floor for something to put on. She wasn't sure why it was so important. He’d already seen all that there was of her to see earlier, including the tattoo she'd once teased him with. As she'd drifted off to sleep, she'd felt his hand gently massaging that spot. A part of her was a little disappointed that he'd yet to make a comment about it or to ask her what it meant. Finally, she found a shirt – the one Harm had been wearing earlier – and pulled it on over her head, inhaling his scent as the soft cotton slid down her body.

She perched herself on the arm of his chair, afraid to get too close for now. He placed a hand on her knee, idly tracing small circles on the side of her knee with his thumb. "Can I ask you something?" she asked after a long moment of silence.

He nodded, his eyes focused on a distant point across the room. Was this how it was going to be, the two of them not even able to look at each other? Maybe it would be better that way, she mused silently. Could they ever look at each other again and not remember how it had felt? Could they ever look at each other again and not want more? Taking a deep breath, she summoned all the courage she possessed and asked, "Do you regret what happened? Are you sorry?"

Harm whipped his head around to look at her, his eyes wide with shock. How could she even think….? Well, maybe if you would tell her, the voice inside his head pointed out derisively. "No," he replied, "not in the way you think."
Mac waited patiently for him to explain that cryptic remark, opening her mouth to speak when it appeared that was all he was going to say. She closed it again when he began speaking, the turmoil in his mind and heart evident in his soft tones. "A few minutes ago," he began, his fingers moving idly over her knee, "I checked my messages on my cell phone. There was one from Renee and….well, it doesn't matter what she said. But I realized something that I've been avoiding thinking about since I first saw you in the O Club earlier. It doesn't bother me. I've been seeing her for over a year, but I spent tonight making love to another woman and it doesn't bother me, not like it should. I'd even told her that I didn't want her to accompany me to Norfolk, when she'd suggested it. I told her that I needed a good night's rest before I flew out to the Patrick Henry in the morning. But it was a lie. Even if I'd been alone tonight, rest would be elusive. I wouldn't have been able to stop thinking…."

"I see," she said softly, reasonably sure that she did understand. She knew that Harm prided himself on upholding the standards of a Naval officer, on being the epitome of 'an officer and a gentleman', to fall back on cliché. No matter how much he’d wanted what had happened between them – no matter how much they both had wanted it – he saw it as a personal failing that he was relatively untroubled by what had happened. She could understand because the same thing had occurred to her, as she'd waited for him in the parking lot of the lodge. She was more bothered that she didn't really feel guilty about what had happened, what she'd done, than she likely would have been by the guilt itself. "I can understand that, but at least you're not just a couple of days away from walking down the aisle with someone else."

"Maybe I should be asking you the same thing," he said, his gaze steady on hers. She forced herself to meet his gaze unflinchingly, although she was uncomfortable with facing the answer to that question, for many of the same reasons – and more - that everything was weighing so heavily on his mind.

"How did we get to this point anyway?" she mused, her eyes widening as she remembered hearing those words before, when they'd been fighting on board the Watertown. She lowered her gaze, sorry she’d asked the question. Would it really accomplish anything to rehash all of that here and now? She shook her head. "I'm sorry. We've been over all this before."

"Yes, we have," he agreed. But maybe the more they acknowledged the questions raised, the more they would be forced to think about the answers and the more hope that would exist for their uncertain future. "But it doesn't make the questions go away, even if we already know the answers. And maybe now there are even more questions."

Mac lifted her eyes to meet his. They both stared at each other, neither willing to be the first to cross the line, to give voice to all those new questions which their actions were raising. After a long moment which seemed to stretch into an eternity, they both started to speak at the same time, and then broke off with light laughs, shaking their heads.

"Ladies first," Harm said graciously, his eyes studying her face while, without conscious thought, his hand moved up her thigh, his fingers still lightly caressing her soft skin along the hem of the shirt she wore. Mac found herself reacting to his caress and she slid off the arm of the chair into his lap, his hand moving up even higher on her leg, her sensitive skin tingling beneath his light touch. She opened her mouth to speak, but closed it again as she lost her train of thought as his hand brushed against her curls. She pressed against his hand, but he pulled it away to skim over her thigh again.

She laughed, burrowing her face against his neck, her lips moving lightly over his ear. "I think you should put that hand back, Commander," she whispered, pressing a hand against his chest, her fingernails scraping over his skin. She could feel strong, firm evidence of how much he wanted her as she pressed closer, making sure she rubbed against him just enough to elicit a low growl of arousal and need from him.

"Actually," he replied in a low, sexy drawl, "I have a better idea." Before she had a chance to ask what he meant, he slide out from under her and stood, pulling her out of the chair to stand in front of him. He held her hands while his eyes traveled over her slender form, his eyes clouding over as it occurred to him that this might be the last time he got to look at her like this, her skin glowing with arousal, her eyes alight with passion. She noticed the look in his eyes and pulled one of her hands from his, pressing her palm against his cheek, sighing as he pressed a kiss against the heel of her hand.

"I know," she whispered sadly. For one of the few times in her life, she cursed her perfect sense of timing, all too aware of the hours and minutes steadily ticking away until the inevitable moment when they would have to part. For once, she wished that she could forget the clock and everything else that was working against them. She's always prided herself on her ability to know the exact time, no matter where she was. But tonight, time wasn't her friend. Time was the enemy, ready to tear them apart. She stood up on tip toe and wrapped her arms around his neck, burying her face against his neck, willing the tears not to fall.

Harm wrapped his arms around her slender form, holding her tight as he rested his head against hers, squeezing his eyes shut against the pain threatening to overwhelm both of them. He would never have her sense of time, but he too was all too aware of how little time they had left. Every tick of the clock as the second hand swept around the face was like a countdown towards the moment when they would have no choice but to part.

For some odd reason which he couldn't fathom, something his grandmother had once told him floated to the surface of his memories. 'Harmon,' she'd said, using his full name as she usually did when she wanted to have a serious discussion with him, 'none of us knows how much time we have for anything. Life is full of uncertainty, so the best any of us can do is to make the most of what time we do have.' It had been one of those typically wise statements that his grandmother was known for, but he'd paid it little attention at the time, preferring then to let self-pity consume him in the bleak, dark days after his accident. He had a feeling that this was hardly the type of situation she'd had in mind when she'd uttered those words, but that was what he would do. He would make the most of the precious hours and minutes he had left in the arms of the woman who held his heart. All he could do was pray that it would be enough.

Pulling back slightly, he opened his eyes and studied her, his fingers skimming lightly over face, trying to commit the feel and look of her to his memory. Her tortured expression softened under his caress and she opened her eyes, her gaze locking with his. They found themselves mesmerized, falling and falling through the windows that laid bare their souls to each other. They leaned closer, their lips brushing together, just the barest whisper of a touch, but one which hinted at a barely concealed passion, bubbling just beneath the surface, just aching to be released.

"Harm?" Mac asked softly, her eyes moving over his features. Like him, she was desperate to commit it all to memory. If fifty years passed from this moment to the last breath she would ever take, she wanted to be able to look back and to remember everything, to be able to see all of this, to see him in her mind's eye as if he were standing right in front of her. If nothing else, she wanted to hold onto these moments, to be able to look back and to say that for just a brief moment in time, she'd had everything that she'd ever wanted.

"Shhh," he whispered, pressing his forehead against hers as his hands traveled down her body and over her hips, pulling her up against him. Instinctively, Mac lifted her legs up and wrapped them around his waist, moaning softly as she slowly rubbed against him, reveling in the feel of his hard length straining against his boxers, pressing against her aching center, reveling in the soft moan coming from his lips. "No more talking. Just feel."

"Yes," she agreed softly before his mouth found hers. She wove her fingers through his hair as his mouth ravaged hers, his tongue delving deep to taste and to explore. Dimly, she became aware of him moving her across the room, the movement of their bodies against each other causing a delicious friction which threatened to overwhelm them both.

~*~*~*~

To be continued....

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[> DOALS I - Hands To Heaven 5b/10 -- TracyJean, 15:40:21 06/10/05 Fri

Okay, here's the rest of part 5....

~*~*~*~

Harm realized that this was swiftly spiraling out of his control and he didn't want that, not this time. He set Mac down on the edge of the bed, breaking their bodies' contact, kneeling on the floor between her legs, his hands resting on the tops of her thighs. She looked at him questioningly and opened her mouth to speak, until he pressed a finger to her lips to silence her. "I just…." he began, glancing away as he found himself uncustomarily at a loss for words. Taking a deep breath, steeling his resolve, he turned back to her, determined not to waste the precious little time they had left together.

Slowly, almost tentatively, he raised his hands to her face, his fingers tracing her features. Mac's eyes widened in amazement. This was yet another piece of the puzzle that was her best friend, now her lover. Her lover. She never thought she'd ever be able to use those two words in conjunction with Harmon Rabb. The thought brought a soft smile to her lips as his fingers moved over her full lips. She closed her lips around a single finger, her tongue swirling around the tip. Her eyes fluttered closed and she imagined that it was another part of him imprisoned between her lips.

Perhaps he was thinking the same thing, she thought as she sensed his reaction in the feel of his hot breath against her cheek, the sound as his breathing became slightly erratic and uncertain, as if he was trying to remind himself how to breathe. She sighed with disappointment when he withdrew his finger from her mouth, the sound turning to a murmur of approval as she felt his breath against her lips, as if his mouth was just barely hovering over hers.

Then she felt it – just the barest hint of a touch, of his lips brushing against hers. Then it was gone, replaced by the sensation of light kisses over the satin smoothness of her cheek. Slowly his mouth moved over her entire face until she was convinced that there wasn't a single square inch which his mouth hadn't touched. Then his lips were back on hers, his kiss harder, more insistent. He tugged on her full lower lips with his teeth, nibbling and tasting.

While his mouth was busy plundering hers, his hands weren't idle, sliding languidly down her back and slipping under the hem of her shirt. His fingers unerringly found the tattoo she'd teased him with so long ago, rubbing around the spot in slow circles. Earlier, as they'd settled together in the afterglow of their hurried, heated lovemaking, he'd sought out the tattoo, fully intending to make some flip comment about it – until he'd managed in the darkness to make out the shape branded on her flesh. The teasing words he'd thought to utter had died unspoken on his lips. He couldn't say if she'd found a particular meaning in the image when she'd had the tattoo done, but he'd found an eerie symbolism in the blood-red rose with thorny stem now.

When he'd first spied it, a couple of lines of an old song had drifted through his head. 'Every rose has its thorns. Every night has its dawn.' He couldn't have found a more applicable symbol of them or their relationship than that image. If their feelings for each other were like a rosebud, sweet and full of promise, then the thorns on the stem were every hurtful word said and unsaid between them, their significant others and every event and happenstance which was conspiring to keep them apart. Tonight they were inhaling the fragrant scent of the flower, but when dawn came, they would find themselves caught in the prickly, thorny hands of fate. It was quite appropriate for two people who'd met just outside a rose garden.

"I got that before I met you," Mac whispered against his mouth, vaguely aware through the heady passion enveloping her of just where his hand was lingering. "It reminded me of something my uncle had said when I was drying out. I'd just never imagined…."

"I know," he replied raggedly, not allowing her to complete the thought. His hands moved up her back as he resolved to put it out of his mind for now. Morning would come soon enough, and with it the pain of the prick of those thorns. But for now….his hands slid back down and he grasped the bottom of her shirt, pulling back from her as he lifted it up over her head and tossed it away.

Mac's eyes fluttered open when she realized that he'd stopped touching her. His eyes met hers and she thought she'd detected the slight flush of color to his cheeks when he'd realized that he'd been caught staring. Or maybe she'd just imagined it. It was so easy to imagine anything she wanted in the darkened room.

"You're beautiful," he whispered and this time, she was the one flushing pink. It was an odd think to blush about. She knew that she was good looking, not that she flaunted it. It was simply a fact of her existence. But this was Harm uttering those complimentary words. He'd called her desirable before, but she'd been too busy at the time forcing him to open himself up to her to think about her response to his statement. But now, it was all she could think about. It brought a heady sense of power, knowing that he found her attractive and desirable, but such power came with a price. She just prayed the price wouldn't be too costly.

Harm rested his hands on her shoulders and slowly began exploring every plane and contour, moving down her arms, paying special attention to the sound of her breath catching in her throat when his fingers danced across her collarbone, the barely noticeable trembling as his fingers lingered on the insides of her elbows or the shiver which seemed to sweep her entire body as his thumbs traced lazy circles on the palms of her hands.

Mac wondered if this was what was meant by simmering passion, what was meant when people spoke of the slow burn of arousal. Had any man ever paid this much attention to her body before, practically worshiping her? She decided that it didn't matter. All that mattered was the man kneeling before her, as if at an altar.

Then it wasn't his hands, but his mouth moving over her, following the same path his hands had, first down one arm, then up the other. She exhaled a long, slow breath, imagining him repeating the same actions over other parts of her body, first his hands starting the fire, then his mouth continuing on to fan the flames until they burned blindingly bright.

As his hands returned to her body, fingers skimming over her flat stomach, Harm lifted his head so he could watch her eyes. He'd always thought her eyes so expressive, whether darkening in anger or alight with amusement. Now he wanted to memorize the barely concealed passion lurking in their dark depths, the way they sparkled in the pale light as his fingers brushed a particularly sensitive spot, the way her lids fluttered half-closed as she struggled to draw ragged gasps of air into her lungs as his hands skirted around her aching breasts to dance across her upper chest.

Her mouth was fascinating to him as well, her lips slightly parted as she fought for breath, releasing a soft moan of pleasure as he cupped her breasts in his palms. His fingers moved over her, varying his touch, light one moment, just a little more pressure the next, Harm always alert for any sign that it was too much.

He was really good with his hands, Mac decided. He was too good. Surely there was a law somewhere against someone being that good. Of course, leave it to Harm to have hands which ought to be classified as lethal weapons. Now she was sure of one thing. If he were to ask her at this exact moment to run away with him, she'd do it without a second thought, Mic and all she owed him be damned. She was convinced that she'd be lucky to remember her own name when he was finished with her.

They were combustible together between the sheets, like throwing gasoline on a fire. But was it enough? Was there more than blindingly white hot passion between them, enough to sustain a relationship in the long term? Could they survive the everyday ups and downs, the roller coaster that a committed relationship could often be? Was this enough to overcome all the hurt and the lure of wind and the sky which still called to him? Could she ever be first in his life? Could anyone?

She lost her train of thought, gasping louder as his mouth again replaced his hands, his tongue dipping into her navel and circling around it. Who cared about tomorrow at a time like this? The fire burning in her, the desire only he could satisfy was all that mattered right now.
If what he could do with his hands could be termed lethal, there wasn't a word strong enough to describe what he could do with his mouth. She'd known he'd be good there, too. How many times had she watched him in court, eloquently swaying judges and juries with his impassioned pleas, imagining what else he might be able to do with that mouth of his? Anyone who could use words with such finesse and flair surely knew how to use his mouth in other ways.

Bowing her head, she struggled to focus on the man in front of her, carrying her to such dizzying heights. He had such an intense look of concentration on his face as his mouth closed around one nipple, his tongue circling and teasing and taunting her flesh. Again, it wasn't really a surprise to her. Of course Harmon Rabb would bring the same intensity to sex as he did to everything else he did. It was a quality which made him one of the best in the air and in the courtroom. As for in other areas, she didn't want to think about that. Not now. Maybe not ever, for that question might end up haunting her.

Harm just happened to glance up at that moment and noticed the haunted look in her eyes. What was she thinking? Was she wondering how they could go on without experiencing this ever again? Was she comparing him to others, to….?
You think too much, Rabb, he berated himself. Even if it would only ever be for a few stolen hours, right now Sarah Mackenzie was all his. That was all that mattered. Trying to distract her – and, if truth be told, himself – he let one hand move down her stomach as his mouth moved to her other breast.

Oh, God, it was almost too much, Mac thought as she felt his hand delve between her thighs, pressing against her aching, tingling sex. She slid forward slightly, pressing herself against his hand, silently encouraging him to explore further. But he was slow to comply, opting instead to press the palm of his hand against her as he used his mouth to torment and tease the tender flesh of her breast.

"Tease," she murmured, leaning forward to rest her head against the top of his, her hands gripping his shoulders. He glanced up, breaking off his mouth's contact with her, to a moan of disapproval from her. His familiar, cocky grin was in place, but it didn't quite reach his eyes, she noted. She bit her lower lip, drawing blood. Even in the heat of long-suppressed passion, he couldn't let go enough to forget about the possible consequences. God help her, neither could she. No matter how many times she told herself that none of that other stuff mattered – not right here, not right now – she couldn't make herself put it aside. A thousand nerve endings were all jumbled and humming, charged with electricity, she was achingly desperate for him and she still couldn't make herself forget.

"Try not to think about it," he whispered, trying to follow the same advice himself. He'd expected the cold light of reason to blanket them in the morning, when they couldn't hide from the light of day, not in the dark, as they gave free reign to all the desire and desperate need.

"Just make love to me," she pleaded softly. Just five simple words, but they made him all come undone for reasons he couldn't begin to comprehend or explain. Perhaps it was simply the verbal acknowledgement of how she wanted him, needed him as much as she needed her next breath. His eyes on hers, he gently parted her folds with his fingers, finding her clit and slowly circling around it with a single digit, lightly at first then gradually increasing the pressure until Mac was sure the only thing keeping her upright was her fingers digging into the muscles of his shoulders.

Pressing his other hand against her stomach, he pressed her back, forcing her to let go of his shoulders, until she was lying flat on her back, her legs dangling over the edge of the bed. "Oh, yes," Mac breathed, realizing his intent. Her entire body tensed in anticipation then she felt it, just the barest whisper of a touch, the tip of his tongue sliding against her folds. Breathe, she told herself. It's easy. Just inhale, and then exhale. But she couldn't seem to remember how to do it as she felt his tongue flittering against her clit.

"Oh," she gasped as her fingers curled around the bedcovers, her hands tightening into fists as her body tightened and she tried to fight off the release just barely contained. She wanted this to last forever. It had to last forever.

Listening to her gasp and moan, Harm wondered if she was a screamer. If they'd had more privacy, if there'd been more than thin walls separating them from occupied rooms, would she scream his name as he pushed her over the edge? He'd nearly screamed hers earlier, before he remembered that the walls have ears. The idea was very arousing and he felt his own body tightening in response. He prayed that someday he'd have the opportunity to test that theory. He prayed that someday he'd have the opportunity to do so many things with her, to her.

Too much, Mac thought, as he slid two fingers inside her, pressing against her walls. His fingers were just long enough that he found the perfect spot and her body shook as her world spun and shattered around her. She lost awareness of all but the blinding light surrounding her.

It could have been seconds or it might have been hours later when her eyes fluttered open to find Harm stretched out beside her on his side, propped up on an elbow as he looked down at her, a satisfied expression on his face. She vaguely remembered something she'd thought earlier, about how he'd taken care to ensure that she was receiving the most pleasure from their lovemaking. He was satisfied because he'd satisfied her. Or maybe he was that confident in his ability to drive her mad. Perhaps it was a little of both. She chuckled softly at the thought.

"Penny for your thoughts," he said, drawing a finger along her jaw, his gaze openly admiring. Her skin was flushed and glowing, her breasts heaving with every uneven breath she drew. This was the moment he would always remember, he decided. She was so strong and vulnerable at the same time. Maybe it was a contradiction, but it was one which seemed to fit with who Sarah Mackenzie was.

She blinked, trying to focus her thoughts. A penny for her thoughts. Not here, not now. There were some things she wanted to keep to herself, some things she wasn't ready to share with him, even after everything they'd shared this night. Maybe it was selfish, but there were some things which would simply have to remain locked away in her heart. They would have to if she were to survive this.

Her gaze traveled over him, the corners of her mouth turning upward, hinting at a smile. "I was just thinking….that one of us is a little overdressed," she murmured. It wasn't a lie. She was thinking about that, his hard length straining against his boxers, returning to him a bit of what he'd shown her. But if it wasn't the entire truth, that was for her alone to know. "I want…." she trailed off, suddenly self-conscious, although she wasn't sure why. Maybe it was the newness of all this, at least with this man. Yes, that had to be it.

"Tell me," he requested, his eyes steady on hers. If he sensed that she wasn't revealing everything, he kept that to himself. He understood that there were some things that, even now, they didn't yet have the courage to say to each other.

Taking a deep breath, she replied, her voice quiet, "To taste you….I want to taste you." She swore her heart stopped at the look in his eyes as she uttered those words, the intense need she saw. Before she could squash the thought, she wondered if he'd ever looked at another woman like that. She wouldn't ask. Maybe she could imagine that it was a look for her alone, never to be bestowed upon another.

Swallowing hard, Harm nodded, rolling onto his back, pulling a couple of pillows under his head to prop himself up. He wanted to watch her, yet another memory to be filed away. So many memories, maybe all he would ever have of her.

Mac hooked her fingers under the waistband of his boxers and slowly drew them down his legs, as if unwrapping a present she wanted to savor. She'd only had a moment or two earlier to look at him, so she took the opportunity to study him as she positioned herself at his side, propped up on an elbow. Damn, no wonder the man was so cocky, she thought. If there was any such thing as the perfect male form, Harmon Rabb had been blessed with it. Everything was in perfect proportion. She glanced up, surprised by the look now residing on his face.

She thought he'd look smug, well aware of how good he looked. Instead, he looked shy, almost humble. The expression tore at her heart. It was yet another contradiction. Damn, she thought. This would have been easier if he’d been smug. Then maybe she could convince herself that this was just a romp, a roll in the hay that didn't mean anything in the larger picture. Then maybe it would be easier to convince herself that she had no choice but to walk away from this. Damn him. Damn her. Damn it all to hell.

Carefully masking her expression, she didn't acknowledge the expression. Instead, she returned her focus to pleasuring him, wrapping her hand around his length, slowly moving her hand up and down, her eyes on his. She wanted – no, needed – to see his reaction, to see what she did to him. He bit down on his lip, his eyes glittering dark and smoky. Or maybe that was a trick of the darkness.

Shifting position slightly, she bent her head over him, her lips brushing over his hardness, her tongue tracing the veins before her lips closed around him, taking his tip into her mouth, her tongue circling round and round. There was a drop of fluid on his tip and she lapped it up like ice cream. It was salty and musky and strong, just like he was and she wanted more. Relaxing her throat, she took him further into her mouth, her lips and tongue teasing his length.

Harm reached out, finding one of her hands and curling his fingers around hers, tightening his grip as the tension coiled in him like a spring, ready to snap. "No….Sarah," he managed to gasp between ragged breaths. "Not like this…." Summoning the strength from God knows where, he pulled away from her, sitting up as he pulled her into his lap, straddling him, his erection pressing against her folds.

Startled by the sudden change of direction, Mac didn't even have the presence of mind to think as he grasped her hips, sheathing himself in her welcoming heat. Her head fell forward against his shoulder as he whispered against her hair, unconscious of what he was saying, "Next time, I'll have to let you finish that."

The statement didn't even have time to register with Mac before he was thrusting up against her, pushing deeper. She moved against him, again their bodies finding the perfect rhythm. Her arms went around his neck, her fingers tangling in his hair as she tugged on an ear lobe, delighting in his harsh moans.

"This isn't going to last long," he whispered against her shoulder, where his own mouth had been busy, pressing open mouthed kissed against damp skin.

"I know," she replied in a ragged whisper, not just talking about the impending explosion threatening to engulf them both. That was the curse of this night. It wouldn't last. It couldn't last.

"Sarah." Through the clouds draping her mind, she dimly heard him say her name. She struggled to focus on the sound, then she heard it again, more insistent. Gasping for breath, she lifted her head and forced her gaze to meet his.

"Never be sorry," he whispered, his tone pleading.

"No." Whether agreement with his statement or not, even Mac wasn't sure as she uttered the single word just before his mouth crashed down on hers, muffling her cries as she found release again, her muscles tightening around him as he pressed up into her one last time before he exploded, filling her with his warm seed. She tore her mouth from his and let her head fall against his shoulder as she struggled to regain control over her breathing, dizziness overwhelming her. She felt his head resting against her, his lips nuzzling the nape of her neck.

As reason slowly returned, his earlier words finally registered with her consciousness and she clamped her lips together to keep from crying out. 'Next time, I'll have to let you finish that.' Had he realized what he'd been saying or had it been a result of the fire engulfing him? Her eyes burned with unshed tears at the statement and the meaning behind it.

I will not cry. I will not cry. She repeated the four words in her mind, like a mantra. If she repeated them enough times, maybe she could make herself believe them. But nothing could stop the single tear that fell from her closed eyes to splash on his shoulder.

Harm felt the tear fall and opened his mouth to speak, but then closed it again as he realized that he'd been about to say her name – her real name. Taking a couple of breaths to steady himself, he forced himself to begin again. "Mac?"

Mac. Not Sarah. If he'd called her Sarah right now, she didn't think she'd be able to keep her emotions in check, to stop from giving the tears free reign. Steadier, she blinked back the remaining unshed tears and lifted her head. "Yes?"

He turned his head towards hers and captured her lips, slowly and tenderly moving his mouth over hers. It felt like….their kiss on the Admiral's porch, which she'd tried to pass off as a goodbye kiss. It was nearly time to go. Dawn would soon be breaking and with it, their lives would move forward – toward what, neither knew. But if it wasn't toward each other, it was time to start trying to cut that cord, to begin putting all that had happened this night behind them.

As they broke off the kiss, their eyes met and both could see so clearly for just a moment. This was goodbye, maybe for now, maybe forever. They both nodded slightly in silent acknowledgement. As they settled back down for the few precious snatches of sleep they could find before morning, a single thought went through both their minds. In a contradictory way, they were closer, yet farther apart than they'd ever been.

~*~*~*~

To be continued ....


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