A Love Like This

by Diana Palmer

  “Said the pot to the kettle!” she threw back, fuming. “You were the one who started it!”

  “You weren’t fighting very hard,” he pointed out.

  She clenched her fists. “Next time you need help with your love life, find another pigeon. I’m not playing second fiddle to you and your sister-in-law!”

  “Stop shouting,” he grumbled.

  “I’ll shout if I like. And I want my bird back!”

  “When he’s well, with my blessing,” he shot back.

  Her lower lip trembled. She was near tears. With her fists clenched at her sides, she felt herself shaking with mingled rage and frustration. Here she was yelling things she didn’t mean but couldn’t help saying, and she didn’t know what to do about it. She’d never felt like this before, and she didn’t even understand what was wrong.

  “I hate you!” she wailed.

  He took his hands out of his pockets and moved close, cupping her head in his lean fingers, holding her firmly. “Do you, Elissa?” That’s what he’d wanted, wasn’t it? To protect her from himself? But as he gazed down into her wide, glistening eyes, he felt a wave of emotion crash over him, engulfing him in frustrated desire. He was only human, after all.

  “In lieu of a cold shower...” he said under his breath, and he bent his head.

  Elissa’s mouth felt bruised from the sheer force of his hard lips, and he didn’t spare her. His mouth lifted for an instant, only to come down again more intimately, his tongue pushing into her mouth, his fingers biting into her to tilt her head and give him better access to her lips.

  She moaned, and he caught his breath. “Open your mouth,” he ground out, his hands at her throat, lifting, coaxing. “Oh, God, Elissa, open your mouth...”

  She did, shuddering as he deepened the kiss. Her knees weakened and threatened to collapse, but the instant her body relaxed against the rigid strength of his, he seemed to come to his senses. His lips lifted slowly, delicately probing, brushing. He felt her breasts, so smooth and hard tipped, press against him, saw her expression soft with confused desire. Elissa. He blinked, his mind in limbo. He wanted her. His body ached to have hers, to press it into the soft sand beneath his, to feel her skin warm and welcoming under his hands...

  Elissa... He cursed under his breath and stopped abruptly, feeling outraged at his lack of control. He hadn’t meant for this to happen. That damned Scotch! What was he doing? He went rigid and suddenly all but threw her away from him.

  “Was that what you wanted?” he demanded, wanting to hurt, to make her pay for that lapse in his control. “Now you know, so go inside, little girl. You’ll have to get the rest of your experience with someone else. I don’t initiate virgins.”

  She swallowed. He wasn’t making any sense at all; he was being totally erratic. His fists clenched, and she saw the shudder ripple through his powerful body. Too much to drink, her mind registered. Dangerous.

  “Who asked you to?” she shot back. She hated him. She hated him! With shaking hands she opened the door, went inside and slammed it behind her, locking it, as well. Outside she heard a harsh muttered curse.

  She collapsed against the wall with an unsteady sigh. She hadn’t expected that. As a matter of fact, about the last thing she’d expected after his outburst was for him to kiss her. He’d never kissed her before tonight. Come to think of it, they’d never argued before. She felt a lump in her throat as she realized that she’d just lost a good friend and she didn’t even understand why.

  His footsteps died away, and all she heard was the gentle wind off the Caribbean. She touched her lips, feeling their swollen fullness with wonder. Her tongue touched them and tasted him.

  It all seemed like a dream. For some reason King had stepped completely out of character, and for that matter, she had, too. But none of it made any sense. Surely if King were pining away for his sister-in-law, he wouldn’t be capable of that kind of passion with another woman. Or would he? She cursed her ignorance of men and their basic makeup.

  Trying to sort things out, she concluded that if King needed to use her as a shield, he must have some kind of special feeling for Bess. The tender look in his eyes when he’d gazed at his sister-in-law had afforded Elissa a rare glimpse behind the mask of cool reserve King usually wore. Apparently, Bess had always been special to him, and now, maybe for the first time, he was confronting her in a new way—as a desirable woman, not just as a relative.

  Elissa sighed, remembering with guilt her own delicious abandon in King’s arms. She was sure the drinks had influenced her. They’d obviously influenced him, too. She went into her bedroom and flicked on the light, quietly removing the jumpsuit and putting on a long, plain cotton nightgown. King had reminded her that anything he did to her would be only out of desire for Bess. Was that completely true? she wondered. There were so many puzzles now. Their uncomplicated friendship had turned into a mental wrestling match.

  She brushed her long hair and crawled into bed. But once she turned out the light, she could feel all over again the warmth of King’s lips on hers, his tongue pushing into her mouth in a kiss unlike any she’d ever experienced. She felt her face go hot as she remembered just how involved he’d gotten. And he’d accused her of throwing herself at him! Incredible, how much his sharp words had hurt. Of course, she’d been spared his temper for the past two years. She might never have seen it if he hadn’t made such a blatant pass at her in the first place. Men!

  Well, her sexy nightie was still lying on his bed, she remembered; she hoped it gave him nightmares. She rolled over and closed her eyes, counting waves and praying for sleep. You can just hold your breath until I do you another favor, King Roper, she thought furiously.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  IN HER WILD and confusing dreams, Elissa felt King’s hands caressing her, molding her curves, teaching her new movements, new sensations. She could see his face taut with passion, feel the ripple of his muscles as he began a pagan rhythm with his body...

  She sat up straight in bed, drenched with sweat and trembling from the effects of those sensuous and disturbing dreams. Her own reactions shocked her. Were all those years of suppressing her sensuality about to explode in her face? Last night her old fears of intimacy had dropped away, and she’d felt straightforward desire for the first time in her life.

  It was the vodka, she thought stubbornly, trying desperately to get her delinquent emotions under control. After all, how could she forget that King had accused her of throwing herself at him?

  “Sure I did,” she muttered as she went into the living room that overlooked the beach. “Sure I did. I forced him to hold me like that and kiss my...”

  She swallowed, ignoring the instant hardening of her nipples. This was outrageous! Where was her pride?

  She made herself a cup of coffee and opened a packaged pastry, nibbling at it halfheartedly as she began to scribble ideas for new designs on her big sketch pad. Unfortunately, nothing appealed to her. She stayed with her work for a few minutes and then gave up, walking out onto her small patio. Her long hair and wildly colorful caftan fluttered in the eternal breeze from the sea, and she let the sound of the surf soothe her as she gazed appreciatively at a big sailboat on the horizon.

  Jamaica was the stuff of dreams, she mused. Pirate legends and fascinating people. Her eyes turned toward a distant hill, at the top of which the structure called Rose Hall perched. If legend was fact, its long-ago owner, Annie Palmer, whom the locals had dubbed the White Witch of Rose Hall, had murdered three husbands and several lovers there, in addition to practicing voodoo and brutalizing her slaves.

  Once, after a tour of the spooky house, Elissa had had nightmares for days. One night, she recalled, she’d awakened screaming, and she’d heard a pounding at her door. King, his pajama bottoms peeking out above the waistband of his trousers testifying to his haste in rushing to her cottage, had, upon assessing that nothing was wrong, laughed
at her indulgently and cradled her like a child. Even then, she reflected, sitting on the edge of her bed and holding her, he hadn’t seemed to notice her as a woman. There had been nothing remotely sexual about the comfort he’d given her. And yet now, after last night, it was impossible to think of him in a nonsexual way.

  She stepped down onto the beach and saw that King’s car was gone. Where was he? she wondered briefly. Deciding it was really none of her business, she brushed back her hair and turned once again to watch the big sailboat in the distance wend its way seaward. Her cottage was too far off the beaten track for much contact with city life, and she liked it that way. All the same, it must be fascinating to live in Mo’ Bay, as everyone called Montego Bay, and see the people who visited the island from those grand oceangoing hotels.

  With her coffee cup in her hands, she sat down on the warm sand and watched the graceful casuarina pines blow in the wind. It was heaven here. So peaceful and quiet and exquisitely unpolluted.

  Her eyes drifted closed, and suddenly she envisioned herself on the beach with King, in the moonlight, making wild, passionate love, with the surf crashing around them...

  Her eyes popped open, and she jumped to her feet so quickly that she almost upended her coffee all over herself. Dazed by her wayward thoughts, she stumbled back inside and went straight to work. And this time she did three designs that satisfied her creative instincts.

  It was the longest day she could remember. At dusk she heard Warchief go off like an air-raid siren and wished that she could get him and bring him home, but it was misting rain and he was better off where he was for the time being. She was feeling unaccountably lonely, and she missed having him on his big T-stand perch in the living room, chattering away and begging scraps when she broke off work for a snack or a meal. She almost always ended up sharing fresh fruits and vegetables and bread, which he ate with evident enjoyment.

  She sighed, turning away from the window. She missed her bird. She was going to miss King even more. After last night, she was sure he wouldn’t have anything else to do with her. She still found it amazing that he’d wanted to take her to bed. She was glad she’d had the sense to refuse, but she still flushed thinking about what she’d let him do to her by those sliding glass doors. Best to put such errant thoughts out of her mind, she chided herself.

  Just after dark, she was puttering around the kitchen in shorts and a long-sleeved man’s shirt when she saw King drive up to his villa, accompanied by Bobby and Bess. She frowned. Weren’t they supposed to have left that morning?

  Minutes later, her phone rang.

  “I’m home,” King said in a deep, sexy tone that she knew instantly was a ruse. “Why don’t you come over and have a drink? Bess and Bobby are staying the night with me.”

  She fished for excuses. “I have to feed the hermit crabs and put out lobster pots...”

  “I’ll see you in five minutes,” he said, ignoring her feeble attempt at humor, and hung up.

  She glared at the telephone. She wanted to call him back and tell him what he could do with his overbearing attitude, but now that she’d begun this horrible charade, she felt obliged to go through with it. Why, she didn’t know.

  After changing into a strappy little black dress, hose and high heels, she tramped across to King’s house.

  Warchief went into raucous ecstasies of welcome at her arrival. “Quiet, sweet thing,” Elissa scolded playfully, nodding to Bobby and a subdued Bess as she went to pet her parrot.

  Evidently he’d lost his inclination to bite. He blazed his eyes, docilely bent his head for her to scratch and cooed, “Hello, pretty thing.”

  “I’ve missed you, too, you horrible bird,” she murmured, nuzzling her nose against his head.

  “I wouldn’t put my nose that close to him,” Bess gasped.

  “Wise decision,” King remarked easily. “He’s totally unpredictable. He won’t let anyone except Elissa that close.”

  “Now go to sleep,” Elissa whispered when she’d scratched his green head enough to satisfy Warchief and his eyes were nearly closed.

  She busied herself covering his cage, uneasier around King than she’d ever been in the two years she’d known him. She couldn’t even manage to meet his eyes, she was so confused.

  “I expected to find you already over here,” Bess remarked. Dressed in flowing yellow lounging pajamas that suited her blondness, she leaned back on the big white sofa.

  “I had some designs to work on,” Elissa replied.

  “She works better at her own cottage, where there are fewer distractions,” King remarked, his dark eyes narrow on her averted face.

  Bobby hadn’t said a word, except to greet Elissa warmly. He was bent over financial reports spread all over the coffee table, seemingly oblivious to the world around him.

  Bess gave him a weary glance before she turned back to study Elissa and King. “So what’s with you two? You barely seem to be speaking,” she observed. Her eyes openly flirted with King.

  King cleared his throat and stared hard at Elissa. “How astute of you to notice, Bess. Actually, Elissa and I had a little tiff, but it’s nothing, really.”

  “Yes,” Elissa began, glaring at him. “I simply lost control and threw myself at—” Suddenly she found herself being grabbed by the hand and dragged into a bedroom.

  “Rape!” she yelled, and Bobby surprised everyone by bursting out with laughter.

  King closed the door behind them, his face livid. He leaned back against the door, watching her retreat to the window.

  “Stop that,” he growled. “You’re slitting my throat!”

  “Good. I’ll bet you bleed ice water,” she returned, her eyes wide and accusing.

  “I shouldn’t have said what I said last night,” he began slowly. “I’m sorry. I can’t begin to explain why I did it.”

  “You were drunk and so was I,” she replied to save face.

  His eyebrow made an arch. “On three drinks?”

  “I’m not used to liquor of any sort,” she defended herself. “And unless I’m mistaken, you don’t drink much, either.”

  His powerful shoulders rose and fell. In his white slacks and a red-and-white knit shirt, he looked impossibly handsome. His dark eyes ran up and down her body, and she knew he was remembering, as she had, how it had been between them. Her heart pounded once again at the sheer impact of that memory.

  “Bobby postponed his flight until tomorrow morning,” he said a few moments later. “He thought it would be fun if the four of us flew back to the States together.”

  “I can’t,” she protested. “Warchief—”

  “I’ve got a sitter, as usual,” he returned. “I can’t stay here or Bess will get a migraine or find some excuse to stay with me. Bobby, as you can see, is immersed in his work. He doesn’t even realize what’s happening.”

  “You poor man,” she said coolly.

  He glared at her. “Do you think I can help it?”

  “No.” She sighed, turning away. “I don’t suppose she can help it, either.”

  He came up behind her, his warm, strong hands clasping her arms. She trembled at their touch, so aware of him physically that it made her ache.

  His fingers contracted rhythmically, as if he liked the silky feel of her skin. His breath in her hair was warm and not quite steady.

  “We can fly to Miami, and then I can drive you to your parents’ house. That will accomplish two things—satisfy my sense of honesty and get Bess out of my hair.”

  So he wasn’t planning to stay, thank God. But what would her parents say at this unexpected visit? They were bound to wonder why she’d cut her vacation short and why King was with her. This entire situation was totally ludicrous. Yet, despite herself, her heart went out to King in his predicament, and she reasoned it wouldn’t hurt her work any to touch base in Florida. Maybe her parents wouldn’t have to
see King, and they’d never know that anything was amiss.

  “All right,” she agreed. “I’ll go.”

  “Good girl.”

  She turned and looked up at him. “Yes, I am,” she said quietly. “Try to remember that the next time you decide to make a pass at me.”

  He searched her soft blue eyes. “You and I are an explosive mixture, aren’t we?” he asked, his voice deep and measured.

  Her nails were making quiet patterns on his shirtfront while she looked at him. “Until last night, I never really understood why women couldn’t stop men from making love to them,” she confessed. “It’s very hard to stop, isn’t it?”

  He smiled indulgently. “Well, a woman can tease a man until he’s desperate to have her.”

  “I tease sometimes,” she admitted slowly, searching his darkening eyes, “but I don’t really mean it. Not as a come-on.” She lowered her gaze to his throat. “I’ve always wanted to be more like Bess,” she said. “Sophisticated and worldly and very desirable. But the minute a man comes too close, I freeze. All those old inhibitions rear up, and I run. But I don’t mean to be cruel. It’s...like a fantasy.”

  He tilted her face up to his. “I think I’ve always known that, Elissa,” he said quietly. “And I know you weren’t teasing me. Not deliberately, anyway,” he added with a smile. “Though you did get a little wild.”

  She blushed feverishly.

  “What I’m trying to explain,” he continued, tracing her cheek, “is that I was frustrated and I couldn’t do anything about it. I ended up saying a lot of things I didn’t mean.”

  “So did I,” she replied. “I—I ached.”

  “Not half as much as I did,” he said with a mock groan. He pushed her long hair away from her face. “I lay awake half the night, picturing you nude, on the beach, your arms open for me,” he said huskily.

  “Why, that’s just what I—!” She stopped, her mouth open, horrified at what she’d admitted.

  “There’s nothing to be ashamed of,” he said gently. “You’re human. So am I. We had a little too much to drink, we quarreled—that’s all.”