by Ginna Gray
He studied her flushed face. His pale eyes seemed to bore into her skin. Meghan stared at her clasped hands and fought the urge to squirm.
Suddenly the atmosphere in the small room altered, became thick and tense, and senses sharpened. In the taut silence she could hear her heart thudding, feel the heavy vibrations in her chest, the whispery touch of Rhys's breath where it seeped through her T-shirt and feathered over her midriff. The air around them pulsed with awareness—man to woman.
Meghan felt as though a tight band were constricting her chest. Her toes curled inside her sneakers.
"You know, Slugger," Rhys mused in his sexy rumble. "You're not half-bad looking. Or you wouldn't be if you got rid of this thing." Reaching up, he lifted the Astros cap from her head and tossed it aside. Before Meghan could react, he stabbed his fingers through her short curls and fluffed them. The touch of those blunt fingers against her scalp sent delicious tingles cascading through her and robbed her of the power of speech and movement. She stood between his spread knees, still as a rabbit caught in a predator's mesmerizing gaze, her heart caroming in her chest.
"There," Rhys murmured in a satisfied voice. "With a little makeup and a dress that at least let a man know you're female, you'd probably even turn heads."
Self-conscious, Meghan touched her hair. "R-really? You mean... that is... Are you saving you think I'm pretty?"
He considered her for another few seconds. "Yeah, you are, Slugger. I don't know why I never noticed before."
"Oh, Rhys." Meghan's heart swelled with so much happiness she thought it would surely burst. The love inside her demanded expression. Unable to resist, she framed his face with her palms and lowered her mouth to his.
At first Rhys stiffened and tried to pull back, but she tightened her hold and kissed him with all the pent-up passion in her love-starved soul. For several seconds he remained utterly still, but when her tongue probed his lips and shyly pressed into his mouth he made a harsh sound low in his throat and wrapped his arms around her hips.
He pulled her tight against him. Meghan answered with a joyous whimper and threaded her fingers through his hair as Rhys took control of the kiss. His mouth captured her startled cry as he fell back on the bed, bringing her with him. In a quick, continuous motion, he rolled her to her back.
His weight pressed Meghan into the mattress, and she sighed at the delicious feel of his body against hers. He kissed her with a raw passion that excited her almost beyond bearing and sent heat gushing to all the secret parts of her body. Eagerly she wrapped her arms around him and kissed him back with unbounded enthusiasm, her heart soaring.
Meghan was in heaven. This was everything she had ever dreamed of and more. So much more.
Rhys tasted of passion and whiskey, and his male scent made her head swim. As his lips devoured hers, his hands roamed her body, gliding with expert knowledge over her hips, her abdomen, burrowing beneath her T-shirt to cup her small breasts. Meghan returned the caress, her hands darting over his back and shoulders, eagerly clutching him closer, her body straining against his, instinctively seeking more.
Without warning, Rhys made an anguished sound and tore his mouth from hers. Just as quickly he rolled away, cursing vividly.
Meghan blinked. She was on fire, shaking. "R-Rhys?" She turned her head and saw him lying on his back beside her, one arm raised, his forearm slung over his eyes. His other arm lay rigid at his side, fist clenched.
"Get out of here, Meghan," he grated out between his teeth. "Now, dammit!"
Panic seized her. "Oh, no. Please, Rhys, don't send me away. Not now," she almost sobbed. Scooting closer, she raised up over him on one elbow, her expression pleading. "Please, Rhys, let me stay."
"Dammit, Meghan, if you don't get the hell out of here right now, you're going to get a helluva lot more than kisses. I'm a man, and my self-control will stretch just so far. Right now I'm teetering on the edge, so if you know what's good for you, you'll run like hell."
She blinked and stared at him, and finally he snapped, "Dammit, don't you understand? I won't be able to stop!"
"Ob, Rhys, darling." A tide of warmth filled her and relaxed her taut muscles. She smiled lovingly into Rhys's eyes, and he flinched when she laid her hand on his bare chest. "I don't want you to stop."
"Meghan, this isn't right—"
"Yes, it is. It is." She bent her head and strewed a flurry of hectic kisses across his chest and neck and shoulders. "It's what I want. What I've always wanted." Operating solely on instinct, she burrowed her nose in the thatch of black hair on his chest, and experienced a burst of elation when he groaned.
"I'm too.. .too old for you, kid," he gasped as her tongue delved through the silky mat and traced wet patterns on his skin. "Meghan, now cut...that out," he ordered, but he seemed to have no idea that Ins hand cupped the back of her head, holding her face pressed against his chest. "Besides, I'm not... not interested in a serious... relationship right... now."
"I know that. Neither am I," she lied. "I just want you to make love to me."
He groaned and his hand tightened on her head. "Th-that wouldn't be smar— Ahhh!"
Rhys jerked and sucked in a hissing breath, his back arching off the mattress as Meghan found a flat nipple. She smiled and laved the tiny nub. "Ahh, sweet Jesus!"
His reaction filled her with a heady sense of power. With a wisdom born of Eve, she instinctively pressed her advantage, her hands quickly going to work on the buttons of his jeans.
After that, there was no more discussion.
For several minutes the only sounds in the room were the labored rasp of their breathing, the rustle of clothing, the low moans and sighs of desperate passion. Their movements were hurried and frantic, their desire for one another at fever pitch by the time Rhys pulled her, naked, beneath him.
Meghan knew a flash of panic as he loomed above her, his face flushed and stiff with desire. Then, he paused to gaze with fever-bright eyes at her slim body. "Dear, God, you're lovely," he uttered in a ragged voice.
Pride and love flooded Meghan's being, washing away her fear, and she smiled and reached for him.
Needing no more encouragement, Rhys slipped his hands beneath her hips and lifted her into his possession.
Meghan wanted Rhys with all her being, but the sudden invasion of his body made her stiffen, and when he plunged through that delicate barrier she could not hold back the cry of pain that wrenched from her throat.
"What the-?"
Rhys stiffened. He raised his head and stared at her, his expression shocked. "Dammit, Meghan—" He started to pull back, but she clutched him tight.
"No, please! Don't stop," she whispered shakily in his ear. "Don't stop."
Gritting her teeth against the discomfort, she rotated her hips. Rhys moaned and shuddered in her arms... and then he surrendered to the driving need that consumed him.
Over and over, he sank into her warmth, thrusting deep and fast, a man lost to all but the intense pleasure, the eternal, pounding rhythm as old and irresistible as life itself.
Meghan's discomfort gradually faded, but the first flickers of pleasure had barely returned to her untried body when Rhys's intense pace quickly brought him to completion.
With a guttural cry he stiffened above her, back arched, head thrown back, his teeth bared in a grimace of exquisite pleasure. Then he collapsed on her, his heavy, sweat-slicked body pinning her to the mattress.
Meghan could barely breathe, but she didn't care. Though the act itself had been painful at first and vaguely disappointing, she loved the closeness, the intimacy of being one with Rhys. Smiling, she wrapped her arms around him and rubbed her palms over his damp back, relishing the moment. She had never been so happy in her life.
All too quickly, Rhys rolled off her. With jerky movements he sat up, swung his legs to the floor and snatched up his jeans.
Gazing dreamily at him, Meghan reached out and touched his bare back with her fingertips, but instead of turning to her, as she had hoped,
he shot off the bed and stomped to the opposite side of the room, angrily hitching up his jeans as he went. As soon as they were fastened he whirled on her and exploded.
"Dammit! Why didn't you tell me you were a virgin?"
His reaction was so opposed to what she had expected, she could only blink. He looked furious.
"I.. .I didn't think it mattered." Suddenly self-conscious, she sat up, wincing at the soreness between her legs, and pulled the sheet up over her naked body.
"You didn't think it mattered! Of course, it mattered. I damn well wouldn't have touched you if I had known."
"Well, then, I'm glad I didn't tell you," she answered pertly, flashing him a grin. "I wanted you to make love to me. I told you that. I love you, Rhys. I have ever since I met you."
"Oh, God." Rhys made an agonized sound and raked both hands through his mussed hair. He paced back and forth across the room, his bate feet soundless on the threadbare carpet. "I should never have let you in here. What the devil was I thinking? Hell, I don't need this. Not now. Not on top of everything else," he muttered under his breath.
Finally he stopped and glared at her again. "Dammit, Meghan, I don't want to hurt you, but I just can't handle a relationship right now. I told you that." .
"I know. And I understand. I don't expect anything from you, Rhys. Really, I don't. I just...well..." She plucked at the sheet and didn't look at him. "I just want you to let me love you," she said in a small voice.
It was the biggest lie she had ever told. Despite his earlier warning, she had hoped— 1 hoped—this night would lead to much mote than a casual relationship. From the look on Rhys's face, she suspected he knew it, too.
He dragged a hand down over his face and sighed. "Ah, kid. What the devil am I going to do about you? This is new territory for me. I've never—"
The sudden shrill of the telephone made them both start. Rhys stomped across the room and snatched up the receiver like a drowning man leaching for a lifeline. "Yeah, Morgan here."
He listened intently for several moments then blurted, "Are you serious?"
His tone and sudden alert stance aroused Meghan's curiosity and concern. It was obvious whoever he was talking with had not called merely to chat.
"You sure this is legit?" Rhys demanded. As he listened to the caller's answer his expression grew increasingly excited, and Meghan's uneasiness faded. "When?" He paused, nodding as he listened. All the way from where she sat Meghan could feel the excited tension coiling in him. "Yeah, sure. Tell him I'll be right there. And thanks, Nick."
His face wore a dazed expression when he turned from hanging up the phone. When his gaze fell on Meghan, for an instant he seemed surprised to see her. Then he sprang into action and snatched up his shirt from the floor.
"Look, kid, I'm sorry, but I've got to go," he said, stuffing his shirttail into his jeans. He grabbed his socks and sat down on the edge of the bed to put them on. "That was Nick. He wants me to come back to the club. There's some guy down there—a Quincy something or other—who's a scout for a record company." Standing, he quickly stuffed his feet into his loafers and ran a comb through his hair. "It seems this guy caught my act the other night and wants to talk to me about a record contract. It may be nothing, but I'd better check it out."
Disappointment settled heavy in Meghan's chest, but she could tell that Rhys was excited and anxious to leave. "I see. Do you want me to drive you?"
"No. No, that's okay, I'll walk. It's only a few blocks, and the fresh air will clear my head." He looked around, frowning. "Look, we need to talk. I guess you can wait here if you want to, but I have no idea how long this will take." He headed for the door, then hesitated and turned back. "I teD you what, if I'm not back by midnight just go on back to your dorm and I'll call you tomorrow. Okay?"
"Okay," Meghan agreed. "And good luck."
"Uh, thanks," he muttered, and with a distracted nod he was gone.
She lay back in his rumpled bed and smiled, hugging the sheet up to her chin. No matter what he said, he had wanted her just as desperately as she had wanted him. She might be inexperienced, but that much had been obvious.
Rhys was just a bit uneasy about the attraction between them because of her youth. That was all. She would just have to convince him that the age difference didn't matter.
After all, he wasn't that much older than she was. All right, so maybe in experience he was, but eight years wasn't really so much. It would all work out. She was sure of it. Her natural optimism simply would not allow her to believe otherwise.
The time seemed to creep by. Midnight came and went but Meghan did not leave, for fear she would just miss Rhys. At one, then again at two, she told herself the same thing. By three, however, he still had not appeared, and finally she gave up and left.
Five hours later, much to the disgust of her roommate, Carole Simpson, Meghan was up, showered and dressed and pacing the floor of her dorm room. The hours ticked by with agonizing slowness, but the telephone remained silent. By eleven, Meghan was so anxious to be with Rhys she could not stand it any longer and went looking for him.
There was no sign of him at his apartment, but when she drove to D'Angelo's his motorcycle was still in the parking lot. She parked her car and went inside.
At that hour the place was all but deserted. The cleaning lady's cart sat in the lobby, and the strong odor of pine-scented disinfectant hung in the air. Through the open rest-room doors Meghan could hear the woman thumping and banging.
Following the murmur of male voices, Meghan crossed the lobby and eased down the three shallow steps into the main room. At the bottom she paused to get her bearings and peered through the gloom. All-the chairs had been stacked on top of the tables, but through the forest of wooden chair legs she could see Rhys sitting at a table by the piano. With him were Nick Sabbatini, Brian Prescott and Gary Williams. Before them on the table were two empty champagne bottles and numerous glasses and coffee cups. Meghan took a step forward, then hesitated. She caught her lower lip between her teeth and gazed at the group of men. For the first time it occurred to her that perhaps it had not been such a good idea to track down Rhys. Particularly since he was with his friends.
She backed away, intending to leave before they noticed her, but when she heard her name mentioned she halted.
"Meghan McCall! You've got to be kidding," Brian hooted.
Meghan's heart began to pick up speed. Cautiously, she eased partway behind the potted ficus tree beside the bottom step.
"It's true. I swear it. Man I couldn't believe my eyes when I came home last night and saw Meghan's car parked out side our building," Gary Williams crowed. He gave Rhys a playful punch. "You sly, old dog. The other day when I ribbed you about her, you said redheaded tomboys didn't appeal to you.''
"Just drop it, okay," Rhys warned, scowling at Gary over the top of his coffee mug. "I don't want to talk about Meghan."
"Hell, man. Why're you surprised, anyway," Brian chimed in jovially. "So what if she's not his type? Meghan's been throwing herself at Rhys for months. You can't blame him for taking what's offered. I mean, hell... a roll in the hay is a roll in the hay."
"Dammit! I said..."
* * *
Meghan closed her eyes and rolled her head on the mattress. Even after all these years, the memory of that awful conversation was still painful.
Hurt beyond bearing, she had not waited around to hear more but fled before anyone noticed her, her heart breaking with the knowledge that not only did Rhys not return her feelings, he didn't even find her attractive. And what had made the whole thing even worse, had been the humiliation. Everyone else had obviously known and had been laughing at her. She had made an utter fool of herself and surrendered her innocence to a man who had no feelings for her whatsoever.
That last two weeks of her freshman year had been the most excruciating period of her life. She had avoided Rhys like the plague. To give him credit, he had tried to contact her. He had called her room several times every day, but at
her instructions her roommate had always told him she was out. Whenever Meghan had spied Rhys anywhere on campus she had always ducked out of sight.
She had moved through her remaining classes in a haze of pain, but somehow she had managed to get through finals. When they were done, like a wounded animal going to ground, all she had wanted was to get away from Rhys and his friends and escape to her home in Crockett.
She almost made it, Meghan recalled with a wry grimace. She had been bent over the trunk, loading the last of her things into her car when Rhys waylaid her in the parking lot.
"Meghan, I want to talk to you."
At the sound of his voice she had spun around, panic squeezing her chest. "Rhys."
"Yeah, Rhys. The fellow who's been calling you and leaving messages for the last two weeks. I want to know why you haven't returned any of my calls? And why you've been avoiding me?"