by Diana Palmer
She clung to him, shivering helplessly, her face buried in the heated skin of his throat. “You won’t give me a child, ever, will you?” she whimpered.
His breath caught. He paused at the bedroom door, meeting her sad, hungry eyes. He started to speak, failed. He looked down at her mouth. “I won’t…use anything, if you like,” he whispered. His eyes went back up to hers, lost in their shocked delight. “It’s all right,” he said, his voice tender. “A child…will be all right.”
She was crying. He undressed her gently, but she couldn’t even see him through her tears. She loved him. He loved her. There would be children and years of being together, wherever they chose to live. On the reservation, off it, in the desert, anywhere at all.
She said so, seeing him come down on the bed beside her, a blur of mahogany skin and lean muscle.
“Say the words while I’m loving you,” he whispered, his lips slow and tender on her yielded body.
“The…words?” she echoed, arching as his mouth pressed down on her flat belly.
“That you love me,” he said lazily. “I said it, but you didn’t.”
“How could you not know?” she moaned achingly. “I offered myself every time you looked at me. I did everything but wear a button Oh!” She stiffened as his mouth touched her in an unexpected way.
He lifted his head, his eyes darkly smoldering. “Do you want that?” he whispered.
She almost didn’t answer him. She had a feeling that the experienced women he’d known had expected it, and an equally strong feeling that it was something he’d do for her sake, but never for his own.
She sat up, touching his lean face lovingly. “If you want it,” she whispered. “I…” Her eyes fell to his chest, and further. She caught her breath at the sight of him. “I’ll do anything you want me to.”
He tilted her eyes back up to his. “Is it something you want?”
She shook her head. “I’m sorry…”
“Sorry!” He laughed with soft delight and caught her close, his mouth rough on her bare shoulder. “I’m as old-fashioned as you are, in some ways. Not really modern enough for this day and age. But if you want that kind of intimacy, you can have it.”
“Maybe someday,” she whispered. “When I’m less inhibited.” She flushed. “Right now, all of it is a little scary…”
He lifted his head and his dark eyes searched hers. “We’ll sit up this time, and you can control when it happens.”
She went scarlet. He brushed her mouth with his. “Don’t be shy,” he whispered into her lips. “It’s as new to me as it is to you, to make love and be in love. I don’t want to make it disappointing for you.”
“It could never be that,” she said gently. “Not with you.”
“Try to remember that it’s an art, like any other,” he said, brushing back her hair. “It isn’t perfection at first. It may be uncomfortable despite what we did in my bed that night, and there may not be much pleasure in it for you. I can make it up to you afterward.” He drew in a slow breath. “I’ve been without a woman for a long time, and my body isn’t always mine to control. I’ll hold back as long as I can….”
His anguish made her feel protective. She lifted her lips to his face and kissed his eyes closed, loving the newness of being in love, of being loved in return, of being wanted. “Whatever you do to me will be all right,” she whispered. “Love me, now, please. Teach me.”
“God, what a thing to tempt a man with,” he groaned. He eased her down on the bed, and his mouth found her with aching expertness. He kissed and touched and teased until the flames were blazing in her slender body, until she was crying and twisting up to his mouth and hurting with her need of him.
She was only dimly aware when he moved, sitting back against the headboard with her body over his. He lifted her, his hands faintly tremulous, and positioned her so that she felt him suddenly in stark, hot intimacy.
Her eyes dilated, looking straight into his. He took her hands and placed them on his hips.
“Now,” he whispered.
She hesitated, but the strain in his face made her realize the torment he was enduring for her sake. She bit her lower lip and pushed. To her amazement, there was only a little discomfort, but not pain. She gasped.
He smiled gently, even through his excitement. “Yes,” he whispered. “I thought it might be so. There’s nothing to be afraid of now.”
His hands settled, warm and hard on her hips. He whispered to her, something that made her body shiver, something so intimate that she gasped and her blood surged in her veins. And at that moment, his hands jerked mercilessly and she felt the white-hot fury of sudden pleasure biting into her.
He rolled over with her, still a part of her body, his voice whispering, coaxing. His mouth brushed against hers, his lips tender, his hands touching her. His mouth settled gently on hers and he began to move, very slowly.
She jerked helplessly. “Phillip!” she exclaimed as the sudden pleasure made her rigid.
“Hold on,” he murmured against her mouth. “I’m going to make you want me so badly that you’ll fly in my arms. Bite me. That’s it, bite me!” he whispered fiercely.
She’d dreamed of a tender, slow initiation with moonbeams and pink clouds. Instead, it was like a vicious fever with pleasure so throbbing and fierce and merciless that she became wanton.
Her nails bit into him, like her teeth. He pushed her down into the mattress with the rough thrust of his body and she arched up to receive it, her legs tangling in his. She looked up at him, her eyes fastened to his, her breath gasping out as his face moved closer and then away, and the mattress rose and fell noisily.
“Look down,” he said under his breath.
She did, too lost in him to be shy anymore. He looked, too, and when her eyes met his, passion was smoldering in them.
“Show me where, Jennifer,” he whispered, moving her hands to his hips. “Teach me where you feel the most pleasure when I move.”
She flushed, but she obeyed him, guided his body, and cried out when he followed her lead. And then it all seemed to explode at once. His movements were rough and quick, his powerful body strong enough for both of them, his hands controlling her wild thrashing, holding her down, making her submit. His mouth crushed into hers and she heard his tortured breathing, his harsh groans, as the pleasure arched him into her body.
Incredibly she went with him. Soaring. Up into the sun. Shivering with cold and heat so intricately mingled that she was only living as part of him. She was saying something, but she couldn’t hear her own voice.
When she opened her eyes again, there was a new kind of lassitude in her limbs. They felt numb and boneless, like the rest of her body. She could breathe again. Her heartbeat was almost normal.
A dark, loving pair of eyes came into view above her. “That,” he whispered, “is the sweetest expression of love I’ll ever experience in my life. You’re my woman.”
“Yes.” She said it with shy pride, because now it was over. The mystery was gone, but the magic remained. She touched his mouth, fascinated. “Will I get pregnant from it?” she whispered.
He smiled lazily. “I hope so,” he whispered. “Creation should be like this, from seed so exquisitely planted in love. Now do you understand what I meant, about not making a casual entertainment out of something so profound? The ultimate glory of lovemaking is the act of creation.” He bent and kissed her with rapt tenderness. “I want to plant my seed in you. If we can make a baby together, even if he is a product of two worlds, I want to.”
She clung to him, her mouth ardent and loving. “So do I,” she whispered huskily. “Oh, so do I! I love you.”
“I love you just as much,” he said with fierce possession. He was surprised at how quickly his body responded when he kissed her, at the kindling passion that bound them together almost at once.
“No, don’t stop,” she whispered when he hesitated.
“It’s too soon…”
“No!” She pulled
him down to her and put her mouth hungrily against his and felt him shudder. She opened her eyes as his body slid over hers and they melted together with delicious ease.
“You see?” she whispered shakily. “It’s so easy now.”
“So easy.” He smiled tenderly and his mouth bent to hers. He bit at it, very gently, and his body echoed that tenderness, his arms enfolding hers. He rolled abruptly onto his side and smiled at her surprise. “That night in Washington, I wanted to do it like this, remember? Now we can. Put this leg over mine, here,” he guided softly. “Now, like this…!”
She watched his face contort as his hand brought her hips suddenly against his. It was fascinating to watch him, to see the passion kindle and ignite.
“Jennifer, you’re staring,” he whispered.
“I know. I want to watch you,” she whispered back, her eyes wide and soft and curious. “Is it all right if I look?”
He shuddered. Her fascination with his pleasure brought it all too soon. His body buckled and began to shudder. He felt the familiar tension building to flashpoint, hamstringing him, racking him. He looked into her eyes and felt her hands shyly tugging at his hips and he cried out.
Convulsions of unbearable pleasure ripped through him. He was aware at some level of her stare, of her scarlet face as she saw him experience fulfillment. It made it all the more shattering. He was helpless and she was seeing him this way, but it didn’t matter. Nothing mattered. He was burning. Burning. Burning!
He cried out, his body rippling beside hers. She pressed into his arms and helped him, loving the fury of his hands gripping her hips, loving the unbridled pleasure she saw in his face. He was truly hers, now. Completely hers. She shivered, amazed that his own satisfaction caused her body to fulfill itself in one long, hot wave of shuddering pleasure.
Long afterward, they slept. When she woke at last, it was to the smell of something delicious cooking in the kitchen. She got up and dressed, slowly, with the memory of what had happened like a candle in her mind.
Phillip was standing at the stove cooking steak. He was wearing only the trousers from his suit. His chest and feet were bare. He glanced up as she joined him, and his eyes were warm and tender.
“Are you hungry?” he asked, opening one arm to draw her to him and kiss her softly.
“A little,” she whispered. Her eyes met his. “Do you really love me?”
“With all my heart,” he whispered back, his eyes punctuating the words. “Life without you is no life, Jennifer. You’ll have to get used to having an Apache husband.”
“You want to marry me?” she asked, holding her breath.
He put down the fork he was using to turn the steak and brought her against him, bending to kiss her with fierce hunger. “Of course I want to marry you!” he said impatiently, when he lifted his head. “I always did. But the memory of how it was for my mother colored my whole life. Until my grandfather told me the truth—that my father was only a conversation piece for her; that she never loved him. He sent me to you,” he added huskily. “He said that I was a fool.”
She smiled gently. “No. Just a man afraid to trust. But I’ll never hurt you, my darling,” she said, sliding her arms around him, laying her blond head on his bare chest. “I’ll give you children and live with you anywhere you say.”
“Your job…” he began.
“Geology isn’t something you forget. I’ll have babies for a few years, then when they’re in school, I’ll work out of the Tucson or Phoenix offices. Eugene won’t fire me completely.”
His lean hands stilled on her back. “I can’t let you make that kind of sacrifice for me.”
She lifted her head. “You gave up fieldwork,” she replied. “And I know how much you loved it. You did that because of me, didn’t you?”
“Yes,” he admitted finally. “I didn’t want the risk. I was thinking about how it would be for you and the children while I was away.”
She smiled with pure delight. “Me and the children,” she mused. “And yet you went away swearing that you wanted nothing to do with me.”
“Lying through my teeth,” he added with a dry chuckle. “I drove my grandfather crazy.”
She reached up and touched his thick, dark eyebrows. “We’re so different in coloring. I wonder if our children will look like you or me?”
“I hope they’ll look like both of us,” he replied. “My grandfather said that I was living proof that a man can have a foot in two worlds.” He smiled at her. “He doesn’t like whites, as a rule, but he’ll like you.”
“My parents will like you,” she returned.
He frowned. “Are you sure?”
“Well, I did just happen to tell them about you a few thousand times over the past few years, and I had this picture that I begged out of the personnel files. My mother thought you were striking, and my father was sure you’d be able to keep me out of dangerous places if I ever married you.”
“They don’t mind the cultural differences?” he stressed.
“They raised me with a mind of my own and let me use it,” she replied. “They’re not rigid people, as you’ll see when you meet them. They’re very educated people with tolerant personalities. Besides all that, they want grandchildren.”
“I see. That was the selling point, was it?” he murmured.
“Yes, it was. So we’d better set a date and get busy.”
He bent and kissed her, ignoring the smell of burning steak. “How does next Friday suit you?” he asked.
“Just fine.” She kissed him back, smiling. The steak went right on burning, and nobody noticed until it was the color of tar and the texture of old leather. Which was just as well, because they were in too much of a hurry to get to the courthouse for a marriage license to worry about food, anyway.
MAN IN CONTROL
PROLOGUE
Alexander Tyrell Cobb glared at his desk in the Houston Drug Enforcement Administration office with barely contained frustration. There was a photograph of a lovely woman in a ball gown in an expensive frame, the only visible sign of any emotional connections. Like the conservative clothes he wore to work, the photograph gave away little of the private man.
The photograph was misleading. The woman in it wasn’t a close friend. She was a casual date, when he was between assignments. The frame had been given to him with the photo in it. He’d never put a woman’s photo in a frame. Well, except for Jodie Clayburn. She and his sister, Margie, were best friends from years past. Most of the family photos he had included Jodie. She wasn’t really family, of course. But there was no other Cobb family left, just as there was no other Clayburn family left. The three survivors of the two families were a forced mixture of different lifestyles.
Jodie was in love with Alexander. He knew it, and tried not to acknowledge it. She was totally wrong for him. He had no desire to marry and have a family. On the other hand, if he’d been seriously interested in children and a home life, Jodie would have been at the top of his list of potential mates. She had wonderful qualities. He wasn’t about to tell her so. She’d been hung up on him in the past to a disturbing degree. He’d managed to keep her at arm’s length, and he had no plans to lessen the space between them. He was married to his job.
Jodie, on the other hand, was an employee at a local oil corporation which was being used in an international drug smuggling operation. Alexander was almost certain of it. But he couldn’t prove it. He was going to have to find some way to investigate one of Jodie’s acquaintances without letting anyone realize they were being watched.
In the meantime, there was a party planned at the Cobb ranch in Jacobsville, Texas, on Saturday. He dreaded it already. He hated parties. Margie had already invited Jodie, probably because their housekeeper, Jessie, refused to work that weekend. Jodie cooked with a masterful hand, and she could make canapés. Kirry had been invited, too, because Margie was a budding dress designer who needed a friend in the business. Kirry was senior buyer for the department store where she worked. She w
as pretty and capable, but Alexander found her good company and not much more. Their relationship had always been lukewarm and even now, it was slowly fizzling out. She was demanding. He had enough demands on the job.
He put the picture facedown on his desk and pulled a file folder closer, opening it to the photograph of a suspected drug smuggler who was working out of Houston. He had his work cut out for him. He wished he could avoid going home for the party, but Margie would never forgive him. If he didn’t show up, neither would Kirry, and Alexander would never hear the end of it. He put the weekend to the back of his mind and concentrated on the job at hand.
1
There was no way out of it. Margie Cobb had invited her to a party on the family ranch in Jacobsville, Texas. Jodie Clayburn had gone through her entire repertoire of excuses. Her favorite was that, given the right incentive, Margie’s big brother, Alexander Tyrell Cobb, would feed her to his cattle. Not even that one had worked.
“He hates me, Margie,” she groaned over the phone from her apartment in Houston, Texas. “You know he does. He’d be perfectly happy if I stayed away from him for the rest of my natural life and he never had to see me again.”
“That’s not true,” Margie defended. “Lex really likes you, I know he does,” she added with forced conviction, using the nickname that only a handful of people on earth were allowed to use. Jodie wasn’t one of them.
“Right. He just hides his affection for me in bouts of bad temper laced with sarcasm,” came the dry reply.
“Sure,” Margie replied with failing humor.
Jodie lay back on her sofa with the freedom phone at her ear and pushed back her long blond hair. It was getting too long. She really needed to have it cut, but she liked the feel of it. Her gray eyes smiled as she remembered how much Brody Vance liked long hair. He worked at the Ritter Oil Corporation branch office in Houston with her, and was on the management fast track. As Jody was. She was administrative assistant to Brody, and if Brody had his way, she’d take his job as Human Resources generalist when he moved up to Human Resources manager. He liked her. She liked him, too. Of course he had a knockout girlfriend who was a Marketing Division manager in Houston, but she was always on the road somewhere. He was lonely. So he had lunch frequently with Jodie. She was trying very hard to develop a crush on him. He was beginning to notice her. Alexander had accused her of trying to sleep her way to the executive washroom…