Midnight Runaway

by JoAnn Ross

  “I thought you hired me to take care of things around the house.”

  “I did, but—”

  “So I was only doing my job. Come on, Claren, it’d take you and I at least a week to clean that place.”

  “True,” she admitted, still dazed, “but when did you arrange this?”

  “While I was out.”

  “Just now.”

  “Yep.”

  “But you don’t know anyone around here,” she persisted. There was something about this that was too easy. Too neat.

  “Ever hear of the Yellow Pages?”

  “But most businesses aren’t open at—” she glanced down at the watch she’d forgotten to take off “—eleven o’clock at night.”

  He’d been so busy concentrating on her grief that Dash had almost forgotten exactly how frustrating this woman could be. “I took care of it,” he ground out. “That’s all you need to know.”

  Claren opened her mouth to protest his autocratic attitude, then shut it, deciding that to enter into an argument now would take more energy than she had.

  Dash read her decision in her expressive face and was relieved. The way she’d had him swinging from caring to frustrated to sexually aching all day had taken its toll.

  “Don’t worry about it,” he said, softening his tone. “Right now you need to get some rest.”

  Now that she could agree with. “Where are you going to sleep?”

  He’d already considered that and had come to the conclusion that he wasn’t about to test himself by sleeping in this ridiculous bed with Claren. “I’ll just sack out in the chair.”

  She glanced over at the piece of furniture in question. “You’re too big. You’ll never be able to sleep.”

  She had a point. “Then I’ll sleep on the floor.”

  Claren shuddered at that thought. “That carpet probably hasn’t been cleaned since the Nixon administration.” She shifted over and pulled back the shiny black polyester sheets in invitation. “It’s a big bed, Dash. And I trust you.”

  Which showed how gullible the woman could be, Dash decided with a burst of self-revulsion. When St. John had come to him with the scheme, going back to work had been the last thing on Dash’s mind. But after a great deal of argument, he’d reluctantly accepted the assignment, if for no other reason than to prove the innocence of the man who’d become his friend.

  It had seemed so simple. Watch the niece and wait for something to happen. It hadn’t bothered his conscience that he’d have to lie; Dash figured that whatever conscience he may have been born with had died along with his innocence a long time ago.

  The job was not that different from so many others; the woman, Dash had told himself, would be no different from all the other women who’d passed through his life.

  That’s what he’d told himself. Unfortunately he’d been dead wrong. On both counts.

  He carefully judged the distance from bed to door. Then he switched off the lamp, placed his pistol on the floor and finally, headed hell-bent into temptation, climbed between the slippery sheets. His weight started yet another tidal wave that sent Claren sliding into him.

  Her flesh, so cold earlier, was as warm as summer sunshine. And as soft as the billowy white clouds found in those same summer skies. She seemed to melt into him; Dash could practically feel her bones liquify. She didn’t immediately pull back; instead, from the way she looked up at him, her emerald eyes gleaming invitingly in the silvery moonlight, he knew that her surrender was imminent.

  His hands curled around her shoulders. “Now I remember why I hate water beds.” He shoved her over to her own side with a rough strength that belied his earlier gentleness. “Better get some sleep, Irish. You’ve had one hell of a couple of days.”

  Claren was hurt by his ungallant rejection, but after a short sulk she decided that it was all for the best. Because it was true that they were both tired. It was also true that he’d promised to stay. She was smiling as she drifted off.

  * * *

  THE SUN WAS SHINING through the slit in the red brocade draperies. Frustrated at the way the bright light had intruded on her sensual dream, Claren tried to turn her back to the window, only to find herself held captive by a heavy arm wrapped around her waist, a long leg crossed possessively over hers. It felt, she decided as she cuddled closer to Dash’s solid bulk, wonderful.

  He thought he was dreaming. But then he realized that the soft feminine body pressed so tightly against his was all too real. “I’m sorry,” he muttered, pulling away.

  “Don’t be.” Smiling, Claren ran her fingers over his face, enjoying the feel of his morning beard against her fingertips.

  Dash jerked away and sat up against the padded velveteen headboard. His blistering scowl would have intimidated a lesser woman. “Dammit, Irish—”

  Nothing had ever felt so right as the feeling she’d experienced waking up in Dash’s arms. Having dreamed about the heated kiss they’d shared all night, Claren was ready for an encore. Sitting up, as well, she took confidence from the fact that he hadn’t left the bed.

  “I thought you wanted me,” she said prettily as she traced the harshly cut line of his lips with a seashell-pink-tinted fingernail.

  Desire flared, hot and restless. Even as Dash struggled to bank it down, he knew that to deny her soft statement was one lie even he couldn’t pull off. “I do. I have from the beginning.”

  He grasped the tops of her arms. Hard. Whether to push her away or draw her closer, Dash could not decide. “But wanting and having are two different things. Dammit, Irish, this can’t go anywhere.”

  Claren knew that her reckless behavior was totally against every tenet she’d been brought up to believe. But the way this man could make her feel, with a single touch, a lingering look, was like nothing she’d ever known. She knew that he was not a man to stay in one place for long. And knowing that, she felt that she had to take advantage of the emotions sparking between them now, before he moved on, taking with him erotic secrets she was desperate to know.

  Dash knew those secrets. She’d seen it in his eyes, dark and dangerous and tempting. Tempting enough that she was willing—eager—to discard years of self-discipline, of rationality, to give herself to a man she’d just met.

  “I’d say it already has.”

  “I’m not like Byrd,” he warned.

  “Thank goodness.” Claren smiled. His fingers were digging into her flesh, but she refused to flinch. “If you were, we wouldn’t be here,” she murmured silkily. “Like this. You wanting me. Me wanting you.”

  Leaning forward, she brushed her lips against his. Offering sweet temptations.

  Dash told himself he was a fool for turning down what she was so willingly offering. After all, hadn’t he already determined to have her before this was over?

  But that was before he’d come to realize that this was not the type of woman a man could easily walk away from. Dash was shaken by the intensity of his feelings, and he was wary of committing himself to something he didn’t want to understand.

  “Do you have any idea what the hell you’re doing?”

  “I’m trying to seduce you,” she murmured as she scattered kisses from one corner of his frowning mouth to the other. “But you seem to be resisting.” She tilted her head back to look up at him. “Am I doing something wrong?”

  “Claren, there are a thousand—dammit—a million reasons why this is wrong.”

  “At least,” she agreed, refusing to consider any of them. There would be time enough to face the consequences. “But I’m tired of being logical.” Shifting, she caught his earlobe between her teeth. “I want to break all thousand, all million rules.” Sighing, she pressed her body against him, soft female flesh to rigid male. “I want to break them with you, Dash.”

  Was that her heart pounding? Or his? Dash was on fire. He was trapped in a furnace without any way to escape. His fingers tightened on her arms; it took every ounce of his willpower to keep from shaking her. It took even more to keep
from dragging her down to the mattress, stripping that little scrap of crimson silk from her and taking her with a ruthlessness that would leave them both breathless.

  He decided to give her one last chance. “I won’t treat you like a lady. I don’t remember how. If I ever knew in the first place.”

  She found the lambent, strangely angry flame in his eyes exhilarating. Knowing that she was playing with fire and unable to resist, she laughed softly. “Is that supposed to frighten me away?”

  Her eyes were emerald insolence. Passion too long denied blazed in her gaze. But along with the passion, he saw emotions too dangerous to categorize. She had no right to ask him for things he couldn’t give. He had no right to want to give them to her.

  Impatient, frustrated, aching, he dragged her closer. Passion overcame logic, and need trampled vigilance. She was right about one thing, Dash decided. The hell with the rules.

  “Damn you, Irish,” he groaned as his mouth savaged hers. With her scent, her smile, her soft eyes, she’d lured him deeper and deeper into quicksand until now he’d sunk in over his head. “Damn you and your crooked uncle.”

  CHAPTER 8

  THEY CAME together like thunder, lost in a storm of their own making. Dash knew it was insane to want—to need—Claren like this. He knew it would be madness to make love to her, knew it would complicate things beyond reason. But as her lips moved urgently over his face and her hands fretted against his hot, moist flesh, he decided that this was a woman worth going mad for.

  She was on fire. Heat like nothing she’d ever known, or imagined, was building inside her. And outside. The air practically sparked with it. Claren had never known that a man and a woman could share something so dark, so incendiary. So dangerous. And even as the flames threatened to engulf her, she wanted more. Much, much more.

  His hands ran bruisingly over her, heating the silk covering her to the melting point. The scent of passion rose to surround them, heady, arousing, erotic. All Claren’s senses were heightened. She could taste the anger, the frustration, in his kiss. She felt his fingers struggling with the ribbon laces running down the front of the teddy; she heard him swear. When she heard the sound of silk tearing, she nearly wept with relief.

  As a lover, he was everything she’d expected, dangerous, thrilling, terrifying. She’d thought she’d been prepared. She’d thought she’d known desire, understood passion. But at the first touch of his lips on her breast, Claren knew that she’d been wrong. She arched against his mouth and let her mind empty.

  His fingers were cool, his mouth hot. The morning stubble of beard scraped against her skin like the finest grade of sandpaper, stimulating her flesh, arousing her desire. Incredibly, magically, he seemed to know just where she wanted him to touch, where she yearned to have his hands linger. When his lips followed those clever, wicked hands, Claren cried out in astonished delight. Her blood pumped hot and hard. Passion was a white-hot flame burning inside her.

  Her name was torn from him on a moan of need. He ripped the torn teddy from her in a frenzy, his mouth devouring every bit of newly exposed skin. In the smoky haze surrounding her mind, Claren realized with an erotic start that his briefs were gone as well, whipped away, perhaps by the heated, rising winds. Hot flesh to hot flesh, mouth to mouth, they moved together, driving each other to the brink of sanity. And beyond.

  He was lost in the grip of an impossible greed, an unbearable hunger. Dash had made love to women before. More than he cared to count. But every one of those women was swept from his mind, their faces, their names, seared away by a fire hotter than any he’d ever known.

  Her eyes were dark with an emerald heat; her tangled hair surrounded her head like a fiery aura; her heart hammered beneath his lips. Her ivory flesh gleamed like silk and tasted like temptation. Naked and eager, she was every midnight fantasy come to life, every secret dream fulfilled. And for now, for this one stolen moment, she was his.

  Needs drove him to take without patience or tenderness. Emotions were clawing at him, making him forget all about finesse or style. Low, rumbling, inarticulate words were ripped from him—mad curses, impossible promises.

  There couldn’t be more. For the first time in her life, she was totally, amazingly aware of her body—every nerve, every pulse, every pore. Dizzy from the scent, the touch, the taste of him, Claren clung to Dash, thinking that surely they’d broken all the rules. Passion couldn’t possibly get any hotter than this. Or pleasure more intense. But she was mistaken.

  When his teeth nipped at the tender white skin at the inside of her thighs, she began to tremble. His mouth was hard and hot and hungry, creating pinpoints of painful pleasure. Drunk with the glory of it, she whispered his name, over and over like a prayer.

  Her body was hot and damp and agile as she lifted her hips in instinctive feminine appeal. She’d waited for this all her life. And now finally she was going to experience pure passion.

  The blood was pounding in his veins, in his head. Mindlessly he stabbed his tongue into her and heard the strangled gasp of pleasure from her. A gasp that quickly became a moan of need. He felt the sting of her fingernails cutting into the moist flesh of his back, the tightening of her thighs beneath his hands, the tensing of her body as he drove her closer and closer to the brink.

  A sulphurous bolt of lightning shot from his lips to some secret, urgent core. Her breath grew shallow, her skin sensitized as that heat gathered, knotted, then exploded, the building flame turning into a sudden flash that raced outward to her fingertips.

  Weak, limp, stunned, she was still trying to catch her breath when he surged into her, experiencing a resistance he’d neither expected nor understood. Comprehension dawned with a harsh bright light, but then it was too late. She’d given up her innocence with a soft cry and then she was moving against him, urging him on, racing with him, higher and higher to a place where there was only lightning and thunder. And blinding heat.

  * * *

  IT WAS THE SCENT of her hair—like wildflowers under a summer sun—that brought him back to earth. He was crushing her. Dash felt her lying warm and limp beneath him and felt a despair like nothing he’d ever known.

  He rolled off her, cursing himself as he looked down at her face. Her mouth was swollen from his, and a lingering passion clouded her eyes. Under normal conditions he might have experienced male pride for having been responsible for that passion. But these were far from ordinary circumstances.

  “Why the hell didn’t you tell me?”

  Well, they certainly weren’t the words of undying love she’d been hoping to hear. Claren, who’d been thinking that now he knew all her secrets, that she’d never be able to hide anything from this man again, slowly opened her eyes. Although she’d been the one to initiate their lovemaking, he’d quickly taken control, tearing down all the barricades she’d spent years erecting, unearthing emotions she’d never dared permit herself to feel.

  The dark expression on Dash’s face was anything but encouraging. Reminding herself that she’d known from the first what kind of man he was, Claren forced herself to remain calm.

  “I didn’t think it mattered.”

  “You didn’t think it mattered?” he repeated unbelievingly on a voice that was almost a shout. “You didn’t think that a man just might want to know that the woman he’s about to practically rape has never been with a man?”

  Her aunt had always told her that men preferred virgins. From the tone of his voice, Claren decided that this was yet another thing Aunt Winifred had been mistaken about. Sitting up, she pulled her knees up and wrapped her arms around them. She met his blistering glare with a calm, level look of her own.

  “It was far from rape,” she reminded him. “Since I was the one who practically attacked you.”

  Dash was a head taller than Claren, and outweighed her by eighty pounds. That being the case, she damn well couldn’t have attacked anyone. “I don’t understand. You were engaged. What was Byrd, anyway, a eunuch?”

  “Hardly,” she
reminded him dryly. “He did, however, believe that we should wait to make love until marriage.”

  “And you went along with that?” Dash stared at her incredulously, wondering how a woman who possessed so much passion could possibly settle for chaste good-night kisses.

  “I didn’t really want to,” she admitted. “But then I didn’t really try very hard to change his mind.”

  Dash wondered about that, but didn’t feel up to delving any deeper into the intimate details of Claren’s relationship with her former fiancé. “You still should have told me.”

  “Are you saying that you wouldn’t have wanted to make love to me if you’d known I was a virgin?”

  “Don’t be an idiot.” Experiencing that unsettling tenderness once again, he brushed her hair away from her troubled face with fingers that weren’t steady. “I’ve never been known for being very gentle. Or tender. But I would have tried to be. For you.”

  He frowned as he looked at the darkening bruises on her arms, her legs, her hips. He resisted the urge to kiss the skin his rough beard had irritated. “I would have tried, dammit,” he repeated gruffly. “The first time should be special.” And damn him to hell, he’d ruined it. Dash wondered if she would ever forgive him for that. And then he wondered, uncomfortably, why he cared.

  “It was special. Incredibly so.” Reaching up, Claren pressed her fingers against his cheek and gave him a soft, womanly smile that was as old as Eve.

  “I never knew,” she whispered. “I never knew it could be like this.”

  For what he’d done, he owed her the truth. “Neither did I.” The moment he heard the words come out of his mouth, Dash was ashamed of the hope he saw rising in her soft green eyes. “But as good as it was, it still doesn’t change anything. Because I’m no good for you, Irish.” There, it had to be said.

  “I wouldn’t say that.”

  He hadn’t had an easy life, Claren had determined. The lines fanning outward from his eyes, the deep furrow on his brow, the ridges bracketing his mouth attested to experiences both painful and violent. But sometimes, when he let his guard slip, as he’d done a minute ago, she saw a tenderness that assured her that all he needed was time. And love.