by Diana Palmer
“My God, don’t do that!” he breathed gruffly, watching her.
“Why?” she chided through half-closed eyes.
“You know why, you little redheaded witch!” he growled as he bent his head, and she felt the sudden, hungry crush of his mouth as it took possession of her parted lips.
She turned in his arms, pressing as close as she could, her arms reaching up to hold him while he fed hungrily on her soft, yielding mouth.
She protested only once, gently, when his teeth nipped painfully against her lower lip in his desperate ardor.
He drew back a whisper, his eyes wild, his breath coming like a track runner’s. “I hurt you,” he said unsteadily.
“It doesn’t matter,” she breathed, stretching up to him. “Do it again…”
His fingers trailed down her throat as he kissed her again, more carefully this time, deeper, his tongue easing slowly, ardently, into the sweet darkness of her mouth. She tensed as she felt his hard fingers at the neckline of her dress, but they didn’t trespass. They only tantalized, tracing the neckline with a lazy, tormenting pressure that made her finally arch toward him with a sharp little moan.
“What’s wrong?” he murmured wickedly.
She buried her face in his neck, trembling with the hungers he was raising so effortlessly. “John, please…” she whispered shakily.
“Like this, Satin, is this what you want?” he asked sensuously, letting his fingers slide with exquisite tenderness over the high, firm curve of her breasts, covered only by the thin gold material.
She stiffened, trembling at the new intimacy she was allowing. Her nails bit into his shoulders at the intensity of emotion the feathery touch ignited.
“Look at me,” he whispered gruffly. “Let me see…”
She raised her eyes to his, and he read with pinpoint accuracy the wild, singeing fever he was creating in her slim body.
“Fireworks,” she managed, her voice as unsteady as her breathing.
“Is that how it feels?” he asked quietly. He caught one of her slender hands and laid it against his shirt. “Touch me. I’ll let you see what it does to me.”
Her fingers fumbled with buttons until she had the shirt open all the way to his leather belt. Her eyes hungrily went over the wide expanse of hard muscle and bronzed, hair-covered skin.
“For God’s sake, touch me,” he breathed, pressing both her hands against his warm, faintly damp skin.
She looked up, fascinated by the pleasure she read in that hard, craggy face as her long fingers smoothed over his skin, catching in the mat of hair, lingering on the firm muscles. She couldn’t remember a time in her life when she’d ever wanted to touch a man this way, or been so curious about the feel of muscle and skin. But John’s taut body had a delicious masculinity, the sight as well as the feel and smell of it.
She felt him tremble suddenly, and her eyes registered the surprise she felt.
“Shocked?” he asked unsteadily, pressing her hands closer as he bent and brushed his mouth over her eyes, her nose, the corner of her mouth. “This is what happens to you when I touch you, isn’t it?”
“Yes,” she managed. “But you’re a man…”
“And men aren’t supposed to show emotion, is that it?” he asked, drawing back to look at her as she lay in the curve of his arm. “I go absolutely crazy when you put your hands on me,” he said quietly. “I can’t hide it. You please me in ways I can’t describe.”
She watched him, her eyes soft and hungry, her body eager, waiting. “I feel that way with you,” she admitted shyly.
His eyes darkened, to old silver. “Was it that way with him?” he asked suddenly.
He meant Allen, and the hint of jealousy in his deep voice astounded her. “No,” she said. “It wasn’t anything like this. I imagined myself in love with him, John, but I was never able to really want him. Perhaps that was why it hurt so….” She turned her face away, before he could see it crumple. “I was such a fool!” she ground out, hitting his broad chest with her fist. “Such a silly, blind fool!”
“Don’t,” he murmured, wrapping her close. He rocked her, as if she were a frightened, hurt child. “Don’t. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to say that. You know I wouldn’t hurt you for the world, mentally or physically.” He buried his lips in her hair. “I only wish I’d known you then, I wish the first time…had been with me,” he finished breathlessly, his arms contracting. “I’d have made it a pleasure beyond bearing.”
She nuzzled closer, secure and safe in his hard arms, savoring the tenderness she sensed in him. “You’re so good to me, John Durango,” she whispered. “I…I care about you, very much.”
“I…care about you, too,” he said after a minute, the words stilted, as if he wasn’t used to using them. And probably he wasn’t, she mused silently, since he’d admitted himself that he only wanted one thing from his women, and it wasn’t love.
She laughed suddenly, softly. “Is it confession time?” she teased lightly.
He laughed, too. “It sounds that way, doesn’t it?”
She let her head fall back on his arm and looked up at him with a lazy smile. “Why don’t you kiss me some more,” she murmured invitingly.
He drew his finger along her throat, down to the silken curve of her breast, in a slow, tantalizing motion, watching the involuntary reaction of her body to the sensual caress.
“Because,” he murmured, “I hate doing things halfway.” He looked down at her for a long time, his eyes solemn, his face hard. “We’re going to be together someday,” he said while his hand touched her in a new, exciting way and his eyes watched her helpless reaction. “Totally together, you understand? We arouse each other too much for it not to happen eventually.”
“Not…yet,” she pleaded unsteadily.
“Not yet, honey,” he said gently. “Not tonight, especially when I’m dead on my feet and I’ve got a seven o’clock flight to catch in the morning. But someday.”
She searched his silvery eyes in the silence that seemed to stretch between them. “And then, what?” she asked nervously.
“Why don’t we let the future take care of itself?” he asked.
She leaned against him. “I don’t want to lose you again,” she said softly.
“You’re never going to,” he said curtly, and all at once she found herself flat on her back on the couch with his arms on either side of her head. “I won’t let that happen, Madeline.”
Her breath came hard and fast. “You don’t call me that very often anymore,” she said unsteadily.
“Satin suits you better,” he replied. His big, warm hands slid under her back and while he held her eyes, he eased the zipper of her dress down to her waist.
“John…” she protested gently, catching the hard fingers that were about to push down the bodice. “I…I’m not wearing anything under the top,” she whispered.
“I know,” he said, his mustache curling into a devilish smile.
“You said you didn’t like doing things halfway,” she reminded him.
“Maybe I changed my mind. Let go.” He moved her protesting fingers and held her eyes while he dragged the top down to her waist. He looked at her then, and she felt the look all the way to her toes. Her breath caught in her throat at the expression on his dark face as he studied every line, every curve of her bareness with his unblinking gaze.
“Will I pass?” she managed.
“You’re so beautiful,” he said in a tone that was breathlessly tender. He looked up, holding her in the curve of one arm while his fingers came down on her bare skin. She jumped, gasping, at the new contact.
“Don’t be afraid of it,” he coaxed, tracing the soft, pale honey curves with fingers that worshipped her high, firm breasts. “We’ve known each other for a long time.”
She could hardly breathe at all. “You’ve never…touched me,” she whispered.
“I’ve wanted to,” he said fervently. “Like this. And like this,” he whispered, bending to smooth the
exquisitely creamy flesh with his lips.
She moaned involuntarily, her hands catching in his thick, dark hair as she tried to decide whether to push or pull.
“You taste of roses,” he murmured gruffly, sliding his hands under her again to lift her closer to his hungry lips. “Roses and honey and the sweetest kind of candy. God, Satin, I could eat you!”
She felt his teeth nip her gently, and she arched up, taut and trembling, like a creamy sacrifice, her heart beating so frantically she thought she might die.
His mouth slid up her body until it found her lips, and he eased his warm, hard torso down against her bareness, the faint dampness of the curling hair on his chest cooling her heated skin as she felt him, heavy and sensuous, against her.
Her arms held him, and it was as close to paradise as she’d ever been. She savored the closeness with a pleasure so pure that it hurt.
His mouth slid against her cheek, down to her ear, and she felt a shudder go through him.
“John?” she whispered, concerned.
He turned on the sofa, taking her with him, and pressed her against the powerful length of his body, urging her into its hard contours, as he kissed her again—a long, slow sweet kiss.
She felt the trembling of his body, the inescapable signs of its aching need, and she returned the kiss as gently as he gave it. Against her bareness, his skin was blazing hot, the curling mat of hair tickling, his mustache brushing her mouth.
“You need me…very badly, don’t you?” she managed at last, her eyes looking straight into his.
“I can handle it,” he said tersely. But the strain was in his face, in the slight trembling of the big arms holding her.
She drew in a slow, steadying breath. She was so full of new emotions, she felt as if she were going to burst open. She wanted nothing more out of life than to give him what he needed so desperately.
“Are you really…too tired?” she asked in a voice that sounded blurry.
“I’m tired, all right,” he said unsteadily. “But that’s going to be a blessing, because I’ll have to take a long time with you.” He kissed her softly, tenderly, “Oh, God, let me have you, baby,” he whispered huskily. “Let me love you. Let me show you the pleasure it can be when two people…care about each other.”
She trembled against him. “I only want to please you,” she said softly. “I want to give you…everything.”
“And I want to give you everything,” he whispered into her mouth. “I don’t want sex. I want to make love. I want to possess you, and be possessed by you. To take and be taken. Total union, mind, body, soul…with you, only with you…!” His mouth ground into hers and he trembled wildly with the force of his own hunger. She held him tenderly, her body yielding, her mind accepting him, wanting him—loving him! There was no room for fear or second thoughts now.
“Only with you,” she echoed, and her words were swallowed up in the sound of the pounding rain. He moved, lifting her, and she reached up to press her lips gently against his as he carried her down the long, dark hall into his bedroom, and closed the door.
Chapter Six
It was still raining when Madeline’s cab turned off the Loop onto the street where she lived. She leaned forward, her eyes peering worriedly at the downed limbs and scattered lumber.
“Is this becoming a new construction site?” she laughed shakily, taking in the evidence of the night’s violent storm.
“Had some bad wind last night,” the elderly cabdriver remarked. “And lightning with it. Speaking of lightning, bet it did that. What a mess!” he added, nodding toward the little yellow Volkswagen which had been crushed under the fallen trunk of a mighty oak that was now resting in the middle of Madeline’s living room.
“Oh, no!” she groaned. Her fingers clutched the little purse that matched her gold gown. “Oh, no, that’s my house! Please…uh, please just stop here, I’ll walk across the street. How much do I owe you?”
He told her, his weathered face sympathetic, and watched her run across the rain-wet street with a shake of his head.
She felt tears mingling with the rain on her cheeks as she gaped at the destruction. The car was a total loss. Her house didn’t look much more salvageable.
She wasn’t a weak woman; she’d weathered worse disasters than this, including the death of her father. But the world looked black just now, and she wished with all her heart that John Durango were there instead of jetting his way to a business conference in Denver.
With a sob, she wrapped her arms around herself, staring at the crushed front of the house. John had warned her about that tree. The trunk was split, as if by a mighty hand, and it was obviously going to take more than her two hands to repair the damage.
“Madeline!”
She turned, to see Donald Durango approaching her from Miss Rose’s house next door. With a sob, she ran right into his arms.
“Thank God!” he breathed. “I’ve been out of my mind. Where were you?”
Now there was a question, and she wasn’t about to answer it. “Never mind that,” she moaned. “Look at my house. Look at my poor little car! Oh, Donald…!” She wiped her eyes. “I was going to go inside and make myself a cup of coffee,” she said bewilderedly, staring at the house blankly. Shock made her numb all over.
“Come on home with me,” he suggested. “I’ve got that garage apartment, and I won’t be needing it as a studio for a while. You can have it until you get that roof fixed. And the tree removed from your living room,” he added with a faint smile. “Everything’s going to be all right.”
“My car…!” She wept.
“You needed a new one, anyway,” he said. “The engine in that one was shot.”
“It wasn’t,” she grumbled, scowling. “It had at least another hundred miles on it.”
“You’ve been spending too much time around John,” he pointed out. “It’s only good for junk.”
She looked down at her dress. “I don’t have any clothes with me.”
“Stay here. I’ll rummage around inside and get you a few things. Looks like the tree only got the living room. Everything else should be fairly safe.”
“Should you go in there?” she asked uncertainly. “I don’t want you to get hurt for a few clothes. I could buy something.”
“I’ll be okay.”
“Miss Rose…” she said, suddenly worried, her eyes going to the house next door.
“Is fine,” he told her. “I ran over there like a wild man a few minutes ago when I finally decided to drive over here and see if you were okay.” He sighed with heartfelt relief. “I’d been calling you all night and getting no answer. Miss Rose said you’d been picked up yesterday by a man in a Ferrari and hadn’t come back.” He studied her suddenly flushed face. “An observant lady, Miss Rose. And an incurable romantic. She’s convinced that you and John ran away and got married.”
She felt hot all over at just the thought of it. “Uh, not exactly,” she hedged, averting her eyes.
“Well, it’s not any of my business, after all,” he returned, but his eyes were curious. “I’ll see what I can salvage.”
She stood there in the cold rain and watched him go, her mind whirling. The shock had been tremendous, and she still felt numb. To come from John’s warm bed to this….
Her eyes closed and she tried not to remember how it had been last night. She could still feel John’s hands under her back, gently lifting; and his mouth against her soft, bare skin with the mustache like a velvet brush over every inch of it. The feel of his taut, powerful body against hers, the man scent of him, the husky sound of his voice as he whispered urgently, ardently, at her throat….
Everything had changed between them by morning: everything, including the easy camaraderie of the past. This morning he’d been strangely reticent, and she’d been wary of him, frankly shy of his penetrating gaze as she’d huddled under the brown sheets and the chocolate and cream striped bedspread.
“We’ll talk when I get back from Denver,”
he’d said.
“Yes,” she’d replied quietly, and he’d put her in a cab and gone back inside the apartment house without glancing back at her….
“I said, are you ready to go?” Donald asked, indicating the suitcase in his hand. “I closed off the rooms that weren’t damaged, so the rain wouldn’t get in. It’s only the living room, and it shouldn’t be all that difficult to repair. The biggest job will be getting the tree removed.”
“I’ll, uh, I’ll call someone about it later,” she said. Her dress was dripping wet and clinging unpleasantly to her body. “I’d like to get into something dry.”
“Let’s go, then. I parked over at Miss Rose’s.”
She followed him blindly, pausing just long enough to smile and talk briefly with Miss Rose, who was delighted to find her alive and overtly curious about where she’d been. Madeline sidestepped the question diplomatically and eased away before Miss Rose realized that she hadn’t been answered.
“Where were you, really?” Donald probed, his eyes speculative as they drove back to his house. “Not with John all night—I know you too well to believe that.”
If only you knew the truth, she thought, laughing inside. But she shrugged and gave him a slightly forced smile. “Wouldn’t you like to know?” she murmured. “Maybe I was out committing a murder—doing research for my next book.”
He sighed dramatically. “And now you’ve just made me an accomplice after the fact.”
“I know a good attorney who’ll defend us both,” she said.
He chuckled. “I’ll just bet you do.”
She leaned back in the seat. “Thanks for offering me the use of your apartment. Are you sure you don’t need it for visiting…friends?” she teased.
“What do you think you are?”
“I know what I’m going to be when John Durango finds out where I am,” she moaned, closing her eyes. He would be livid, she knew that already, and with their relationship on new and shaky ground, she didn’t know how she was going to explain it to him.
“Miss Rose did offer you a room in her house,” Donald pointed out, his blue eyes teasing.
“Miss Rose is a member of the War Widows Historical Society,” she told him.