"I thought maybe my first one made you uncomfortable," she confessed with a smile. "I sort of used yours as a pattern."
He smiled, too, because that explained everything. Now he understood what she'd done, and why.
"I don't know how to write a letter to a woman," he said after a minute, when he'd pulled into traffic and was negotiating lanes. "That was the first time I ever had."
Her face brightened. "I didn't know."
He shrugged. "No reason you should."
"How long can you stay?"
"I had to see a client," he replied. "I did that this morning."
"Then, you're on your way home. I see," she said quietly. She twisted her purse on her lap and stared out at traffic. Disappointment lined her face, but she didn't let him see. "Well, I'm glad you stopped by, anyway. It was a nice surprise."
He cocked an eyebrow. Either she was transparent, or he was learning to read her very well. "Can't wait to get rid of me, can you?" he mused. "I had thought about staying until tomorrow, at least."
Her face turned toward his, and her eyes brightened. "Were you? I could cook supper."
"I might let you, this time," he said. "I don't want to waste the whole evening in a restaurant."
"Do you need to go back to your hotel first?" she asked.
"What for? I'm wearing the only suit I brought with me, and I've got my wallet in my pocket."
She laughed. "Then we can just go straight home."
He remembered where her apartment house was without any difficulty. He parked the car as close to it as he could get, locked it, and escorted her inside.
While she was changing into jeans and a pink knit top, he wandered around her living room. Nothing had changed, except that there were more books. He picked up one of the paperbacks on the table beside the couch and smiled at her taste. Detective stories and romance novels.
"I like Erie Stanley Gardner," he remarked when she was busy in the kitchen.
"So do I," she told him, smiling over her shoulder as she put coffee on to perk. "And I'm crazy about Sherlock Holmes—on the educational channel, you know."
"I watch that myself."
He perched himself on a stool in front of her breakfast bar and folded his arms on it to study her trim figure as she worked. She produced an ashtray for him, but as she put it down, he caught her waist and pulled her between his legs.
"Kiss me," he said quietly, holding her gaze. "It's been a long, dry spell."
"You haven't been kissed in three months?" she stammered, a little nervous of the proximity.
He smiled. "I hate women, remember? Kiss me, before you start on the steak."
She smiled jerkily. "All right." She leaned fore-ward, closed her eyes, and brushed her mouth softly against his.
His lean hand tangled in her long hair and held her there, taking over, parting her lips, deepening the kiss. His breath caught at the intensity of it, like a lightning bolt in the silence of the kitchen.
"It isn't enough," he said tersely, drawing back just long enough to crush out his cigarette. Both arms slid around her and brought her intimately close, so that her belly was against his, her face on an unnerving level with his glittery blue eyes. "I've missed you, woman," he whispered roughly.
His mouth met hers with enough force to push her head back against his hand. He was rough because he was starved for her, and it was a mutual thing. She hesitated only for a second before her arms went around his neck and she pressed close with a soft moan, loving the warm strength of his body as she was enveloped against it. She could hear his breath sighing out as his mouth grew harder on hers, bruising her lips, pushing them apart to give him total access to their moist inner softness.
All at once, his tongue pushed past her lips and into her mouth, and a sensation like liquid fire burst in her stomach. It was as intimate as lovemaking. She felt her whole body begin to throb as he tasted her in a quick, hard rhythm. She made a sound she'd never heard from her throat in her life and shuddered as she moved closer to him, her legs trembling against his.
"Yes," he breathed unsteadily into her mouth.“Yes, sweetheart, like... that...!"
He stood up, taking her with him, one lean hand dropping to her hips to grind them into his own. She stiffened at his fierce arousal, but he ignored her instinctive withdrawal.
"It's all right," he whispered. "Relax. Just relax. I won't hurt you."
His voice had the oddest effect on her. The struggle went out of her all at once, and she gave in to him with an unsteady sigh. Her hands pressed gently into his shirt front and lingered there while the kiss went on and on and she felt a slight tremor in his own powerful legs.
He lifted his head finally and looked down at her, breathing unsteadily, fighting to control what he felt for her.
His hands at her waist tightened and the helpless, submissive look on her soft face pushed him over the edge. "Is there anything cooking that won't keep for a few minutes, Miranda?" he asked quietly.
She swallowed. "No. But..."
He bent and lifted her gently into his arms and carried her out of the kitchen. "Don't be afraid, little one," he said quietly.
"Harden, I don't...I'm still not using anything," she stammered.
He didn't look at her as he walked into her bedroom. "We won't make love."
Her lips parted. They felt sore and they tasted of him when she touched them with her tongue. He laid her down on the bed and stood looking at her for a long moment before he sat down beside her and bent to take her mouth softly under his once again.
The look in his eyes fascinated her. It was desire mingled with irritation and something darker, something far less identifiable. His gaze fell to the unsteady rise and fall of the knit top she was wearing and his hand moved to smooth down her shoulder to her collarbone.
"No bra tonight?" he asked bluntly, meeting her eyes.
She flushed. "I..."
He put a long forefinger on her lips. "What we do together is between you and me," he said solemnly. "Not even my own brothers know anything about my personal life. I want very badly to touch you again, Miranda. I think you want it just as much. If you do, there isn't really any reason we can't indulge each other."
She searched his eyes quietly. "I couldn't sleep, for dreaming about how it was between us, last time," she whispered.
"Neither could I," he replied. His hands moved to her waist and brought her into a sitting position. Gently he removed the pink knit top and put it aside, letting his eyes adore her pink and mauve nudity. He smiled when her nipples went hard under the scrutiny.
Her hands touched his lean cheeks hesitantly and she shivered as she drew his face toward her, arching her back to show him what she wanted most.
"Here?" he whispered, obliging her.
She drew in her breath as his mouth opened over her breast, taking almost all of one inside. The faint suction made her tremble, made her nails bite into the shoulders of his suit jacket.
"Too...many clothes, Harden," she whispered.
He lifted his head and pressed a soft kiss on her mouth before he stood up. "Yes. Far too many."
He watched her while he removed everything above his belt, enjoying the way her eyes sketched over him.
"Harden," she began shyly, her eyes falling to the wide silver belt.
"No," he said, reading the question in her eyes. He sat down beside her and drew her gently across his lap, moving her breasts into the thick mat of hair over his chest. "If I take anything else off, we'll be lovers."
"Don't you want to?" she asked breathlessly.
"Yes," he said simply. "But it's still too soon for that." He looked down where her pale body was pressed to his darkly tanned one. "I want you to come home with me, Miranda."
Chapter Seven
Miranda didn't believe at first that she'd heard him. She stared at him blankly. "What?"
He met her eyes. "I want you to come home with me," he said, shocking himself as much as he was obviously shocking her. "I want mo
re than this," he added, dragging her breasts sensually against his bare chest. "As sweet as it is, I want to get to know all of you, not just your body."
"But...my job," she began.
"I have in mind asking you to marry me, once we've gotten used to each other a little more," he said then, driving the point home. "And don't look so shocked. You know as well as I do that we're going to wind up in bed together. It's inevitable. I'm no more liberated than you are, so we have to do something. Either we get married, or we stop seeing each other altogether. That being the case, you have to come home with me."
"And stay...with you?" she echoed.
"With Theodora. My mother," he clarified it. "I'm buying a place in Jacobsville, but it isn't ready to move into. Even if it was," he added with a rueful smile, "things aren't done that way in Jacobsville. You'd stay with Theodora anyway, to keep everything aboveboard. Or didn't I mention that I was a deacon in our Baptist church?"
"No," she stammered. "You didn't."
"I thought about being a minister once," he murmured, searching her rapt eyes. "But I didn't feel called to it, and that makes the difference. I still feel uncomfortable with so-called modern attitudes. Holding you like this is one thing. Sleeping with you— my conscience isn't going to allow that."
"I was married," she began.
"Yes. But not to me." He smiled gently, looking down to the blatant thrust of her soft breasts with their hard tips brushing against his chest. "And it didn't feel like this, did it?"
"No," she admitted, going breathless when he brushed her body lazily against his. "Oh, no, it didn't feel anything like this!" She pressed even closer, gripping his shoulders tightly. "But you say you hate women. How are you going to manage to marry me?"
"I didn't say I hated you," he replied. His hands tangled in her hair and raised her face to his quiet eyes. "I've never wanted anyone like this," he said simply. "All I've done since I left Chicago is brood over you. I haven't looked at another woman in all that time."
She drew back a little, tingling with pleasure when the action drew his eyes immediately to her breasts. She didn't try to hide them this time.
After a minute, he lifted his eyes to hers and searched them, reading with pinpoint accuracy the pride and pleasure there. "You like it, don't you?" he asked quietly. "You like my eyes on you."
"Yes," she said hesitantly.
"Shame isn't something you should feel with me," he told her. "Not ever. I know too much about you to think you're easy."
She smiled then. "Thank you."
His lean hands smoothed down to her waist, and he shook his head. "I can't imagine being able to do this anytime I please, do you know that?" he said unexpectedly. "I've never had...anyone of my own before." It surprised him to realize that it was true. He'd thought he had, once, but it had been more illusion than reality and he was only discovering it.
"Actually, neither have I," she said. Her eyes ran over his hair-roughened chest down to the ripple of his stomach muscles above his belt and back to the width of his shoulders and his upper arms. "I love to look at you," she said huskily.
"It's mutual." His fingers brushed over the taut curve of one breast, tracing it lovingly. "Don't you ever put on a padded bra again," he said shortly, meeting her eyes. "Do you hear me, Miranda?"
She laughed breathlessly. "Yes."
He laughed, too, at his own vehemence. "Too small. My God. Maybe he was shortsighted." He stood up, drawing her with him, his eyes eloquent on her body. "I don't suppose you'd like to cook supper like that..." He sighed heavily.
"Harden!"
"Well, I like looking at you," he said irritably. "Touching you." His fingers brushed over her breasts lovingly, so that she gasped. "Kissing you..."
He bent, caressing her with his mouth until she began to burn. Somehow, they were back on the bed again, and his mouth was on her breasts, his hands adoring her while he brushed her silky skin with his lips.
"It won't...be enough," she moaned.
"My God, I know that," he said unsteadily.
He moved, easing his body over hers so that she could feel his arousal, his eyes holding hers as he caught his weight on his forearms and pressed his hips into hers.
"You'd let me, right now, wouldn't you?" he asked roughly.
"Yes." She let her hands learn the rigid muscles of his back, delighting in the slight roughness of his skin.
His mouth bent to hers and nibbled at her lower lip. "This is really stupid."
"I don't care. I belong to you."
He shuddered. The words went through him with incredible impact. He actually gasped.
"Well, I do," she whispered defensively. Her mouth opened under his. "Lift up, Harden."
He obeyed the soft whisper, feeling her hands suddenly between them. His shocked eyes met hers while she worked at the fastening of his belt. "My God, no!" he burst out. He caught her hand and rolled onto his back, shivering.
She sat up, her eyes curious. "No?"
"You don't understand," he ground out.
Her soft eyes searched his face, seeing the restraint that was almost gone. "Oh. You mean that if I touch you that way, the same thing will happen to you that happened to me when...when you did it?"
"Yes." His cheeks went ruddy. He stared at her with desire and irritation and pain mingling. "I can't let you do that."
"Why?" she asked quietly.
"Call it an overdose of male pride," he muttered, and threw his long legs off the side of the bed. "Or a vicious hang-up. Call it whatever the hell you like, but I can't let you."
She watched him get to his feet and come around the bed, his eyes slow and quiet on her bare breasts as she sat watching him. "I let you," she pointed out.
"You're a woman." He drew in a jerky breath. "My God, you're all woman," he said huskily. "We'll set the bed on fire our first time."
She flushed. "You're avoiding the issue."
"Sure I am." He pulled her up, grabbed her knit top, and abruptly helped her back into it. "I'm an old-fashioned man with dozens of hang-ups—like being nude in front of a woman, like allowing myself to be satisfied with a woman seeing me helpless, like... Well, you get the idea, don't you?" he asked curtly. He shouldered into his shirt and caught her hand, tugging her along with him. "Feed me. I'm starving."
Her head whirled with the things she was learning about him as he led her into the kitchen. He was the most fascinating man she'd ever known. But she was beginning to wonder just how experienced he was. He didn't act like a ladies' man, even if he kissed like one.
The memory of the baby still nagged at the back of her mind. She was sorry about Tim, too, but as she went over and over the night of the wreck, she began to realize that no one could have done more than she had. She was an experienced driver, and a careful one. And Tim had been drinking. She couldn't have allowed him behind the wheel. The roads were slick, another car pulled out in front of her without warning, and she reacted instinctively, but a fraction of a second too late. It was fate. It had to be.
He watched her toy with her salad. "Brooding?" he asked gently.
She lifted her gray eyes to his and pushed back a long strand of disheveled dark hair. "Not really. I was thinking about the accident. I've been punishing myself for months, but the police said it was unavoidable, that there was nothing I could have done. They'd know, wouldn't they?"
"Yes," he told her gently. "They'd know."
"Tim wasn't good to me. All the same, I hate it that he died in such a way," she said sadly. "I regret losing my baby."
"I'll give you a baby," he said huskily, his pale eyes glittering with possession.
She looked up, surprised, straight into his face, and saw something that she didn't begin to understand. "You want children?" she asked softly.
His eyes fell to her breasts and back up to her mouth. "We're both dark haired. Your eyes are gray and mine are blue, and I'm darker skinned than you are. They'll probably favor both of us."
Her face brightened. "Yo
u...want a child with me?" she whispered.
He wondered about that wide-eyed delight. He knew she was still grieving for her child. If he could give her another one, it might help her to get over it. Even if she didn't love him, she might find some affection for him after the baby came. If he could get her pregnant. He knew that some men were sterile, and he'd never been tested. He didn't want to think about that possibility. He had to assume he could give her a child, for his own peace of mind. She was so terribly vulnerable. He found himself driven to protect her, to give her anything she needed to keep going.
"Yes," he said solemnly. "I want a child with you."
She beamed. Her eyes softened to the palest silver as they searched his hard face.
"But not right away," he said firmly. "First, you and I are going to do some serious socializing, get to know each other. There are a lot of hurdles we have to jump before we find a minister."
Meaning her marriage and her loss, she assumed. She managed a smile. "All right. Whatever you say, Harden."
He smiled back. Things were going better than he'd ever expected.
Miranda was nervous when he drove from the airport back to the Tremayne ranch. She barely heard what he said about the town and the landmarks they passed. His mother was an unknown quantity and she was half afraid of the first meeting. She'd seen Evan, his eldest brother, at the hotel, so he wouldn't be a stranger. But there were two other brothers, and both of them were married. She was all but holding her breath as Harden pulled the car onto the ranch road and eventually stopped in front of a white, two-story clapboard house.
"Don't fidget," Harden scolded gently, approving her white sundress with its colorful belt and her sexy high-heel sandals. "You look pretty and nobody here is going to savage you. All right?"
"All right," she said, but her eyes were troubled when he helped her out of the car.
Theodora Tremayne was hiding in the living room, peeking out of the curtains with Evan.
"He's brought a woman with him!" she burst out. "He's tormented me for years for what happened, first about his real father and then about that...that girl he loved." She closed her eyes. "He threatened once to bring me a prostitute, to get even, and that's what he's doing right now, isn't he, Evan? He's going to get even with me by bringing a woman of the streets into my home!"
Books By Diana Palmer Page 62