As his eyes widened in astonished comprehension, she gasped out, “You bastard!” Summoning all her strength, she bucked and twisted, lunging from under him to fall heavily to the floor.
“Lizzie!”
She stumbled to her feet at a run, pulling her straps up, feeling him snatch at the back of her gown as she tore across the room.
“Lizzie, wait!”
She ran down the hall and into the foyer, but caught herself at the bottom of the stairs. No. There was no place in this house where he couldn’t get to her, and she couldn’t bear to face him in her humiliation. On reflex she dashed through the foyer to the front door and fumbled with the locks, her fingers trembling violently. She heard him calling her from the hallway. The damn door wouldn’t open!
With desperate urgency she turned the locks clockwise, counterclockwise. She yanked on the doorknob, sobbing in frustration as she heard his voice in the foyer behind her.
“Lizzie, no!”
She shot a glance over her shoulder to see him charging toward her. Her sweaty fingers worked the locks, tugged on the door, and it opened!
She flung herself out of the house at a dead run. Instantly her hair and gown were plastered to her body by the icy, wind-driven rain. Caleb yelled something that she couldn’t make out. She hazarded a glance back to see his dark shape in the doorway, his face turned up as lightning forked overhead.
She tripped over a root and sprawled on the wet grass, but was up instantly, running toward the tree house. She started up the rope ladder, then stepped down and began tugging at one of the stakes securing the last rung to the ground. Cursing under her breath, she yanked and twisted till the thing finally wiggled loose. She freed the other stake, then started climbing.
The ladder was perilously unstable without its anchoring stakes, and her knuckles slammed against the bark all the way up, till they were raw and bleeding. At last she crawled through the doorway and pulled the ladder up after her.
She scooted over the plywood floor and huddled miserably in a puddle against the back wall, hugging herself. Water cascaded around the edges of the ill-fitting trapdoor in the ceiling, because the brick weighting it had been removed. There wasn’t a dry spot in the tree house.
Now that the frenzy of her flight was past, she trembled with cold and shame. She’d been ready to give herself to Caleb.... Never had she felt anything like the closeness they’d shared in those few magic moments, the driving need to be joined with him.
At least she was safe for the time being. He’d never come after her in this thunderstorm—his phobia wouldn’t let him. Pulling up the ladder was her extra bit of insurance.
“Lizzie!”
She jumped at the sound of his voice bellowing through the rain and thunder, as her heart tried to squeeze through her throat. She crawled on all fours till she could just see out the open doorway, wishing she’d thought to close it behind her.
He was in the yard!
Here was the warrior, the man in David’s snapshot, standing twenty yards away in the lashing downpour, methodically scanning the grounds for signs of his quarry. She crept back a little, keeping out of sight even as she stared at him, mesmerized. He seemed oblivious to the cold rain sluicing down his naked torso, molding his sweatpants to his powerful legs, though he tensed visibly at every thunderclap.
As if sensing her eyes on him, Caleb slowly turned his head and locked gazes with her. Or seemed to—she knew he couldn’t see her deep in the shadows, yet she froze with dread all the same. In that instant she empathized with every enemy this formidable man had faced as a commando. How could they stand a chance?
He slowly stalked toward her, his gaze fixed, and she scurried back to the far wall, forcing herself to breathe. Suddenly she realized that the ancient tree she sat in was the tallest one on the estate. She swallowed hard, and yelped at the next thunderclap, all too aware she’d taken refuge in a lightning magnet. Oh well, at least that was one more thing that would keep Caleb away.
When several minutes had passed, she allowed herself to relax. Not even Rambo would stay outside in this hellish storm with no chance of reaching his objective. She smiled at her own quick thinking as her gaze came to rest on the heap of rope and slats lying uselessly on the floor.
A head popped into view in the doorway and she screamed. Caleb hauled himself up and clambered into the tree house, as Elizabeth rose on wobbly legs. He kicked the rope ladder, hurling it outside to clatter against the tree. She noticed his arms and chest were scraped, his pants tom.
He’d climbed the tree to get to her!
He stood backlit in the tiny room, his head nearly brushing the ceiling as rainwater trickled over him through the loose trapdoor. She couldn’t make out his expression at first, and for that she was thankful—his tense stance was revealing enough. But then he moved toward her, and soft light from the window caught his face, chiseling his taut features and making his eyes seem to glow from within.
His hunger was a living thing, radiating from him in waves as his gaze traveled down her body. Her wet gown was transparent and clung to her skin. He closed the distance between them and grabbed two handfuls of silk, pulling the gown up and off her in one swift motion. Her body responded immediately with a renewed surge of throbbing heat.
He pulled off his sweatpants and she glimpsed the awesome and startling proof of his desire in the instant before he lifted her by the hips and crushed her to the rough plywood wall. Her legs encircled his waist as he tilted her hips to receive him. She clung to his shoulders, staring up at him, transfixed by his intensity.
His eyes never left hers as he pressed the rigid tip into her. She gasped at the burning pressure and reflexively arched away, digging her nails into his shoulders. He stopped immediately, not yet truly penetrating her, his expression one of startled disbelief. He stared at her as if he’d never seen her before, and she knew he felt the constriction that told him he would be her first.
His body quivered with strain; his fierce grimace betrayed the supreme effort he was making not to plunge into her and finish what he’d started. Even as her body and heart clamored for completion, he pulled away and released her.
Trembling, she slid down the wall and watched him turn and stagger to the doorway. He grasped the door frame with both hands and leaned out into the storm, flexing his powerful back, letting the icy needles of rain batter his unappeased body. Lightning flashes illuminated his magnificent form. He shook his head as if to clear it and raised his face to the hammering rain.
Elizabeth crawled unsteadily to where her nightgown lay in a puddle. She struggled to tug the garment over her head, but the wet silk clung to itself and to her, twisting around her nose and mouth. Panicking, half-suffocated, she finally pulled it down and pushed her sodden hair off her face.
And found herself alone.
6
NINE...
Caleb riveted his concentration on the weight-laden barbell resting on his shoulders behind his neck. Standing with knees slightly bent, he slowly pushed the bar straight up till his arms were fully extended, then just as slowly lowered it, counting his repetitions. He’d hoped the exertion of a tough workout in his basement gym would occupy his mind as well as his body, and keep unwelcome thoughts at bay.
No such luck.
Ten...eleven...
Sweat trickled down his bare chest and stung the fresh abrasions he’d earned climbing that tree this morning to get at—
Twelve...
—a virgin.
In his mind’s eye he saw Elizabeth as she’d looked at the very moment he began to unthinkingly drive himself into her body. She’d stared straight into his eyes, her own wide with trepidation...longing. Trust.
Thirteen...fourteen...
His body quivered from more than physical strain. When he thought of how close he’d come to savagely taking her virginity against the wall of that damn tree house, he felt sick with self-disgust. Hell, you couldn’t come much closer. The effort of holding back had t
aken more raw grit than he’d known he had.
Thank God he’d found that grit, somewhere deep within himself. In that stunning instant when he’d realized what he was about to do, it had all come crashing in on him like a tidal wave—all the reasons he’d been so careful, for so long, to keep her at arm’s length. The most important reason being her helplessness, the fact that she was under his control.
Fifteen.
He eased the barbell over his head and lowered it to the floor for a short break between sets. Flexing his hands in his fingerless weight-lifting gloves, he grabbed a towel from his workout bench and mopped his face and chest. After a minute he hefted the barbell and began his third set And nearly dropped it on his head when Elizabeth’s voice rang out behind him.
“A roomful of heavy, blunt objects. Be still, my heart!”
He carefully lowered the bar to his shoulders and glanced over it to see her standing in the doorway. Despite her droll greeting, she didn’t meet his eyes. She held herself with telling stiffness, hands stuffed into the kangaroo pocket of her long, light green sweatshirt. It was now midafternoon, and they hadn’t seen each other since he’d left her in the tree house at dawn.
She eyed the rack of dumbbells and weighted plates. “Am I allowed in here?”
“I’ll take my chances.” Though after the way he’d treated her that morning, maybe he should reconsider. He continued raising and lowering the barbell, feeling her eyes on his back the whole time.
“Military presses,” she observed. “You can take the boy out of the army, but...”
He lost count of the repetitions, but his shrieking deltoids knew when he’d reached his limit. As he strained to raise the barbell one last time, she crossed to stand in front of him, waggling the plastic water bottle he’d brought down with him.
“Open up.”
Elbows locked over his head, he growled, “Move.” He couldn’t put down the bar till she did. And she knew it.
“Come on.” Smiling sweetly, she aimed the nozzle. “You’ve gotta be thirsty.”
Arms trembling precariously, he opened his mouth like a baby bird and she filled it with a stream of cool water, grinning triumphantly. “Now, isn’t that bet—”
He spewed the water into her face with the force of a geyser. She yelped and jumped back.
He let the bar down in a controlled drop to the accompaniment of her spontaneous laughter, muffled by the towel she’d grabbed to wipe her face. A smile tugged at his own lips. He’d known her reaction would be helpless mirth rather than outrage. She had the delightful capacity to laugh at her foibles and take a joke. It was one of the many surprising things he’d learned about her.
His smile faded. After his crude accusation in the sunroom that morning—and the cruder way he’d tried to demonstrate his point—he could only marvel that she was able to stomach his presence at all. He knew that in those few magic moments before he’d turned on her, she’d felt the same closeness he had, the same rightness, the same poignant beauty and fiery longing.
His gut twisted in shame when he recalled the stark pain in her eyes, the desperation that had sent her fleeing into the storm. Seeing Lugh’s tattoo had triggered his suspicions, but that was no excuse for what he’d done.
She finished drying her face, her expression subdued, as if she’d read his thoughts. After an awkward silence she said, “When did Natasha have her kittens?”
“About noon. I heard these strange noises coming from under the back porch and I went to investigate. Two of the kittens had already been born.”
She sat on the padded-vinyl exercise bench. “I counted four. Did you play kitty midwife?”
“Let’s say I provided moral support.” He paused. “You’re not saying I told you so,” he observed. She raised her eyebrows. “About bringing the damn things in the house.” Caleb had transferred the mother and her brood to a padded cardboard box in the kitchen.
“I don’t have to say I told you so,” she said, with a funny little smile. “I think you knew Natasha had you beat all along.”
And maybe Elizabeth knew him better than he wanted her to.
Her attention strayed to the bench she was sitting on, with its vertical posts at the head to support a barbell. “You gonna do some bench presses? Pump up those pathetically flabby pecs?” He saw her teasing smile falter as she took in the red welts and scrapes from his earlier encounter with the tree.
Bench presses were out of the question. Considering how much weight he pressed off his chest, he’d need a spotter to do them safely—someone to stand ready to catch the bar in case he got tired and accidentally dropped it over his throat
“I’ll spot you,” she said, her stare direct.
He stared back, keeping his expression carefully neutral. “No, thanks. I did some flyes and pullovers with the dumbbells. That’ll take care of the pecs.”
“You know there’s no substitute for bench presses. Bet you haven’t done them in a while, either, working out all by your lonesome down here. Come on.” With an imperious little pat to the bench, she commanded him to lie down, then rose and positioned herself at the head near the bar supports.
Just his luck to kidnap a woman who knew her way around a weight room. Refusing her offer would be tantamount to saying, I don’t trust you.
He couldn’t have said why he was loath to send that message, when he’d already made it abundantly clear he didn’t trust her. Hadn’t he locked away all the dangerous household objects? What had changed since then?
Too much.
Not enough.
What the hell, he thought, crouching to change the plates on the barbell. He’d never come close to dropping the damn thing anyway. Placing the bar in the supports, he lay back on the narrow bench with his legs braced on either side and looked at her upside down.
“Ready when you are,” she said.
Caleb reached up and positioned his gloved hands on the bar, then lifted it from its brackets. Slowly he lowered it to his chest and pushed it back up, concentrating on working his pectorals, feeling them jump and twitch. He was careful to keep his movements smooth and controlled, to inhale on the down movement and exhale on the up.
“You’ve got good form,” she said, but it was her form he was remembering, naked and rain-slick and wrapped around him, her hair lying wet and bedraggled over her full breasts...her slippery, tight opening stretching around his—
Enough! All he had on was a thin pair of gym shorts. Besides, pitching a tent would only steal vital blood flow from the task at hand.
She said, “Why are you smiling?”
“Just concentrating on form, sweetheart.”
He finished the first set, replaced the barbell in its brackets and lay there stretching his arms and shaking them out. He noticed her faded, pine green leggings with a pinhole in the knee.
Offhandedly he said, “Next time I go into town I’ll pick you up some new clothes.”
“No.” Her voice was flat, her features hard. “I won’t accept anything from you.”
In a heartbeat, the world swooped into keen-edged clarity, reminding him that she wasn’t here by choice, that nothing had changed between them.
He could have kicked himself for thoughtlessly trampling her pride, when it was obvious she was embarrassed by her shabby wardrobe. And this definitely wasn’t the time to make such an offer, on the heels of this morning’s encounter, when it could be misconstrued as payment for services almost rendered. If he’d thought she’d been after David’s money, one look at her face right now was enough to obliterate any such notion.
Feeling heat rush to his face, he said, “I just meant...”
Oh hell. He settled back on the bench and concentrated on his second set of presses.
She said, “When you do go into town, are you going to handcuff me again?”
“No,” he answered without hesitation. He’d made that decision the instant his Land Rover broke down on his way home from the supermarket four days ago. Hour after interminable
hour, as he’d waited for the tow truck, then harangued, threatened and cajoled the overworked mechanic, all he could think of was Elizabeth helplessly shackled to the daybed. What if he had been lying unconscious somewhere? The horrible truth was, no one would have known she was there. It was an unacceptable risk, and one he refused to take again. If anything had happened to her...
He couldn’t recall ever feeling this protective of anyone, not since his mother. Of course, his feelings for Elizabeth were in a different league altogether. And far too complex for comfort.
When he started the third set of bench presses, her stance changed subtly, her hands hovering near the bar. His gaze lingered on her knuckles, scraped as raw as his chest and arms. Puffing with exertion, he grunted, “Damn tree.”
A hint of a smile. “Don’t talk. Breathe.”
“Yes, Coach.”
When he started to slip the bar back into its brackets, she said, “I know you can do one more.”
He wasn’t so sure. His muscles felt as wobbly and weak as those newborn kittens upstairs. He took in her alert stance, her confident expression. Urging him to push himself to the limit.
“Don’t worry,” she said. “I’m right here.”
Unbidden memories swamped him...of her clinging to him, ready to give herself to him. I could never hurt you, he’d told her, and she’d believed him. Trusted him. Yielded to him as she’d never yielded to another.
And now she was asking him to trust her.
Damn it, he could bull through one more bench press. Struggling to maintain his breathing, he lowered the bar to his chest and huffed as he slowly raised it. Before she could grab it and slide it back onto the supports, he started lowering it again, his eyes burning into hers, wondering if he’d lost his mind. What ever happened to him at this point was his own miserable fault.
On the down movement he thought he was going to lose it. His eyes squeezed shut and she talked him through it, her encouraging tone of voice registering more than the words. A bark of exertion escaped him as he pushed the bar off his chest, his entire body vibrating with the effort
A Hard-Hearted Hero (Harlequin Temptation) Page 8