by Diana Palmer
"Someone will see," she managed in a shaky whisper.
"No," he replied. "They're leaving now."
And they were. The senior citizens followed the tour guide down the steps, leaving Ryder and Ivy alone on the battlements overlooking the bay.
"Alone at last," he whispered, and bent his head.
She felt his lips brush lightly over her mouth. This time there was no violence at all. His mouth teased hers in the windy silence, coaxing it to follow him, to plead for a harder, deeper contact. He was her heart, and she wanted nothing more than to be close to him for as long as she could.
Her arms slid under his and around him and she pressed close. His hands moved abruptly to her hips and drew them to his in a slow, sensual rhythm that dragged a moan from the lips his were nibbling. He was fiercely aroused, and she could feel the evidence of it like a hot brand against her belly. But even that was welcome.
He wondered at the lack of resistance from her. His hands contracted and he lifted his head to look down into her eyes as he shifted her hips deliberately from one side to the other against him.
"Feel it?" he bit off.
"Yes." She searched his eyes, blushing a little at the sensual, faintly mocking smile she found on his hard face.
"Thank your lucky stars that we aren't in that suite alone. This is what you've been inviting for the past week, every time you turned those bedroom eyes on me."
That wasn't what she wanted to hear. Her face paled at the insinuation that she'd been teasing him. Could he really think her that callous?
"You started it," she accused helplessly.
"You started it," he corrected. He moved back, his eyes blatantly on her breasts. "No bra, either. Was that for my benefit, to make it easier for me to get to your skin?"
She flushed and dragged her blouse together, fastening it with hands that shook. He always seemed to find a way to blame her when things got out of control. Didn't he have any idea why it kept happening?
He moved away from her, staring out toward the bay. His body was still in anguish. Why did she keep letting him do that, he wondered. And then, all at once, a horrible suspicion grew in his mind.
"Are you missing sex?" he asked abruptly, turning fiercely accusing eyes on her.
Chapter 6
Ivy spared a moment to wonder at the density of the male mind before she reacted to the question. Had she missed sex, indeed, when it had been nothing more than a hated, frightening ordeal fraught with embarrassment and humiliation.
Her dark eyes searched his and trembling hands drew the nylon jacket closer around her shoulders. Why should he ask such a question, after the sweet intimacy they'd just shared? He lost his temper every time he touched her.
"I seem to be missing the boat, if you want to know," she said after a minute. She moved to the edge of the wall and leaned against it, staring out over the snaky outlines of the earthen breastworks with their smooth green cover of grass, beyond the moat.
He joined her, but he didn't quite look at her. His head was bare, and the dampness made his hair look even blacker than usual.
"You…disturb me," he said roughly.
"I've noticed." She smoothed her fingers over the rough, weathered stone, aware of the musty, dusty smell of it in the dampness around her. "Why do you lose your temper every time you touch me?"
He blew out a heavy breath, his eyes narrowing on the distant horizon. "I want you."
Her fingers bit into the stone. "Yes, I know," she said softly. "But that doesn't really explain it."
He glanced down at her. "It was a long time ago, but you surely remember that I damned near lost control with you that night when you were eighteen?"
"I remember." She closed her eyes. "All you do is push me away."
He turned to face her, his jaw tensing before he spoke, his eyes slow and bold on her body.
"I have to," he said, his voice curt. "My God, all it's going to take is one kiss that lasts five seconds too long, and we'll be lovers. Or are you going to pretend you don't know that?"
She couldn't deny it. She traced a pattern in the stone and tried to breathe normally.
"It's for your sake," he said roughly. "You and I both know that you aren't ready for a physical relationship with a man. Not when you're still having nightmares about betraying Ben."
She wanted more than that from him, although she was touched that he'd felt that way for so long. It was now or never, she thought. She was going to trust to luck and tell him the truth about her marriage. Perhaps if he understood why she felt the way she did, they might be able to start over.
She pushed back a strand of her long black hair hesitantly. "The nightmares aren't about betraying Ben," she said huskily.
He felt his breath catch. "Then what are they about?" he asked.
"He hurt me, physically," she said nervously. Her eyes fell to his throat.
It was the first time she'd ever confided in him, even if she was telling him something he already knew. That was a start, at least. But he had secrets of his own, that she didn't know about. Secrets that were involved with Ben's life and death. He was carrying around a lot of guilt that he hadn't tried to deal with. Every time he touched Ivy, the guilt came back, and that was half of what made him mad. The other half was the desire borne of his desperate love for her, so sweeping that it possessed him. He wanted the communion of love with her, the oneness, knowing already that it was going to be the most profound experience of his life. But only if Ivy loved him, too. He couldn't bear to make love to her completely unless he had her love. That was what stopped him every time. That was what tormented him.
Now she was admitting that her marriage hadn't been perfect. Her love for Ben had apparently sustained it, though, despite his cruelty to her. It hurt him, thinking that the other man could have been so unkind to her. She was a gentle, sweet woman. But for his own lack of vision when she was eighteen, he might have spared her the anguish Ben had given her. She might have loved him instead of Ben, but he'd drawn back, thinking her too young for marriage. He could hardly bear to think about it.
"I assume you had no idea that he drank when you married him," he said, choosing his words carefully.
"I felt sorry for him," she said. "He was a kind, gentle man and he'd stopped drinking, for good, he said. I thought I could help keep him straight." She laughed bitterly. "I had no idea what I was letting myself in for. I thought he'd get better, but he only got worse."
"I'm sorry about that," he said, his voice heavy with regret.
"So am I," she said. "Once I was in, I couldn't get out, I was trapped, as much as by my conscience as by his need. I just seemed to go cold." She hesitated. "I still am, in a lot of ways." She drew in a slow breath. "I couldn't have an affair with you, though, Ryder. Desire alone just isn't enough," she managed slowly, trying not to think how beautiful that ultimate expression of love would be with him, if he cared even just a little. She glanced at him, but his face gave nothing away.
He lifted an eyebrow. "It may surprise you to hear it, but it isn't enough for me, either," he pointed out. "That's why I'm trying to keep my distance," he added meaningfully.
"Oh." She didn't know why she was surprised. After all, he'd never mentioned love. At least he was an honorable man. He wasn't going to seduce her out of a purely physical need. That was reassuring, and she relaxed.
A reluctant smile touched his wide, chiseled mouth at her expression. "Did you think I notched my bedpost?" he murmured.
The teasing remark was more like the Ryder she used to know. She smiled back. "Don't you?"
He shook his head. "I told you in the beginning that it had been a long time. I wasn't joking. I've outgrown my curiosity about the opposite sex. Although," he mused with a slow appraisal of her body, "not about you, I suppose. God, I love looking at you without your clothes."
She went scarlet and averted her face. "I don't know what possessed me!" she burst out.
"Nothing so terrible, little one," he said quietly
. "Loneliness gets to us all eventually. Don't worry about it. You're human, that's all. Just like me." He slid a big-brother arm around her. "We'll keep things on the old footing, okay? No pressure, no problems. We've been friends for a long time. Let's not lose that."
"I couldn't bear to," she confessed, savoring the nearness. She sighed contentedly. "The tour guide said they had an exhibit of arms and armor down below," she reminded him. "Want to go and see it?"
Her enthusiasm was contagious. He chuckled softly. "We might as well," he replied. "Then I'll treat you to some extraordinary seafood."
"Great!" She brightened as they went back down the steps. He seemed in a better mood altogether, and what he'd said, combined with his less threatening behavior, reassured her.
She wasn't paying attention to her footing and she missed a step. It was a long way to the stone floor below, and she would have had a bad fall. But Ryder threw himself toward her and caught her, spinning her into his hard arms.
"My God, watch what you're doing!" he exclaimed angrily.
She only heard the anger at first, but then she felt the faint tremor in his hands, and when she regained her balance and looked up, she saw that his face was pale.
"Thank you," she said softly.
He let go of her abruptly. "No sweat. Just pay attention from now on, will you? It's a long way to the ground."
"I will." She felt his hand under her elbow, and she smiled to herself. It made her feel warm all over that he cared whether or not she hurt herself.
That sense of jubilation lasted the rest of the day. They toured the Ripley Museum nearby and she shuddered at the Iron Maiden exhibit and the Chinese man with two sets of eyes. They had fish and chips at a local restaurant and then went on to the small arcade, which featured a Christmas shop that stayed open year-round. Ivy found a whole roomful of teddy bears, and Ryder impulsively bought her one, a honey-colored bear with a lifelike face and a long nose. She hugged its plush softness against her as they walked along the sidewalk to the car.
"Thank you," she said, laughing up at him as she cuddled the huge toy. "I've wanted one of these most of my life. We were poor when I was little, so I did without a lot of toys."
"No one could call you spoiled," he murmured. It made him feel protective, watching her with the stuffed animal. He remembered how poor the McKenzies had been when he moved to south Georgia with his parents and sister. But Ivy, like her mother, had always been bright and cheerful despite their lack of material wealth. It was one of the things he admired about them.
"I'm beginning to feel spoiled," she murmured, hugging the bear. "Thank you, Ryder. I'll take good care of him."
"My pleasure." The look on her face was thanks enough. It amused him that she liked the toy so much. She had to be persuaded to put it in the back seat while he drove them back to Jacksonville.
He had to meet a businessman for supper, so Ivy ordered a chef's salad and watched a late-run movie on TV before she finally turned in. She lay on top of the covers with her precious bear next to her, praying that the nightmares wouldn't come back tonight. She'd wanted to tell Ryder about her marriage, about the way it had really been with Ben, in bed. She'd tried, but he'd changed the subject before she could. Perhaps it was a good thing. The last thing she wanted from him was pity.
Her mind went back to the way he'd kissed her at the Castillo, and the passionate way she'd responded to his ardor. Perhaps she wasn't completely frigid after all. It gave her a little hope. She closed her eyes and let the memories flow over her. She felt anew the impact of his eyes on her body, the warm, hard crush of his mouth on her own, the delicate caress of his warm, strong hands. She moved restlessly on the covers, her gown riding up around her thighs. She burned all over. The sensations she felt were new and delicious, and she watched the open door half hoping that Ryder would come in. But he didn't, and the fever her own memories aroused eventually exhausted her.
She pulled the covers over her, curled the bear closer and closed her eyes. Finally she slept, and without nightmares.
When Ryder came in, she was dead to the world. He paused at her open bedroom door, smiling as he saw her cuddling the bear. He moved to the bed, the smile fading as he looked down at her sleeping face. Her long black hair lay in disheveled ripples around her face. Long black eyelashes curled down on cheeks flushed with sleep. The cover was over her breasts, and he fought the need to pull it away, to bare her to his eyes. Every day brought a new struggle with himself to keep his distance. He loved her more than his own life. He didn't know how long he could hold out.
He bent and brushed his lips with breathless tenderness over her closed eyes. She stirred and smiled and whispered a name.
He stood up slowly, his heart pounding furiously in his chest. As he went out, closing the door behind him, he felt dazed. The name she'd whispered so huskily was his.
The next morning they headed home, but he stopped off in Savannah to buy her mother some pralines on River Street. They strolled along the cobblestone streets, made of ballast left off by visiting ships generations ago, past the statue of the Waving Girl. Ivy had never been to Savannah. The huge live oaks fascinated her, like the port itself. There were people milling around, and Ryder wanted privacy. He wanted to talk to Ivy, and not while he was trying to concentrate on driving. Privacy. Of course. Why hadn't he thought of it?
"How would you like to go to the beach?" he asked suddenly.
"It's winter!" she exclaimed.
"Sure it is. But it's plenty warm enough for us to sit on the dunes and watch the ocean."
She laughed. It was crazy. "All right. I'd love it!"
"Then let's go," he said, catching her hand warmly in his. He took her back to the car, where the bear was sitting regally in the back seat, and drove out of town to Savannah Beach. It was pretty deserted at this time of year, but they could still walk along the strand and watch the waves roll in.
He pulled her down beside him near a dune rippling with sea oats and fingered part of a shell he'd found. They were both wearing jeans today, but he had on a green polo shirt, and she was wearing a white blouse and gray sweater. Amazing, she mused, how they never clashed in their color choices.
"Tell me about Ben, Ivy," he said unexpectedly.
She hesitated. There were things still too painful to talk about, but she'd wanted to tell him. Now was as good a time as any.
"I failed him," she said simply. "He was a good man when he wasn't drinking. But toward the last, he drank almost constantly."
"That was when he hurt you," he murmured.
She nodded. "He was always sorry afterward," she said. The wind caught her hair and tousled it. "I couldn't be what he wanted me to be. I did try," she said, lifting her tormented eyes to his. "But I… Ryder, I think I'm frigid."
He picked up a shell from the sand, rubbing it absently. "Do you?" he murmured, and smiled gently, a momentary softening of his hard face. "After what we did together in St. Augustine?"
She realized immediately what he was saying, and her breath caught. "Yes…well, I wondered about that."
"Wondered?" he prompted gently.
She swallowed. "I never felt like that with Ben," she confessed.
The shell froze in his fingers as he stared at her. "Never?" He exploded.
Her thin shoulders rose and fell. "Never," she said. "He knew, of course. I tried at first to pretend, but…"
"Why in God's name did you marry him, feeling like that?" he demanded.
"I didn't think it was that important. He was gentle and kind and I didn't mind when he kissed me. It's just that I didn't really feel anything, either. And in bed…oh, my God," she groaned, putting her hands over her face. "Oh, my God, I've never hated anything so much in all my life as I hated…that!"
At last, they were getting somewhere. He turned the shell over and over in his hand and chose his words. "That," he said, emphasizing the word, as she had, "is a beautiful communion between two people who care for each other. But the chemistry has t
o be there."
"I found that out the hard way," she said. "Ben and I were good friends. I thought it would be enough."
"Not in bed," he mused, watching her.
"No. Not ever in bed." She twined her fingers together. "I was afraid, after that time with you. Not only of you," she said, when she saw his face harden, "but of what I felt and the way I acted. I thought that since Ben was so gentle, and I didn't get very excited, that everything would be wonderful. I wasn't afraid of him, you see. He was safe…" Her voice trailed away.
"But I wasn't," he said, staring at her.
She glanced up and then back down again. "No. You weren't. You turned me into someone else when you touched me, and I couldn't handle it." She stared out at the crashing whitecaps and her eyes dulled. "My wedding night toppled all my illusions. And his. He thought I knew what to do. Isn't that incredible—?" Her voice broke.
"I don't want to hear about it," he said through his teeth.
Ivy glanced at him, surprised. He wouldn't look at her, and his body was rigid. Why…it mattered to him!
"It wouldn't have been like that with you, would it, Ryder?" she asked gently. "The way I felt with you—that wildness, I mean—it would have made it easy, wouldn't it?"
"Yes," he said. His voice seemed to vibrate with the same dull roar as the waves hitting the beach. "That wildness would probably have spared you most of the pain, because you'd have gone with me every step of the way. It would have been the way it was at the Castillo, Ivy, when you threw back your head and arched toward my lips. Only much, much more violent and sweet."
"I never thought of violence in bed," she said hesitantly.
"I don't mean cruelty," he said. "There's a difference."
"Is there?" Her voice was sad. "Until I married, the only experience I ever had was with you, that night."
His body reacted feverishly to that statement. He stood up and kept his back to her, struggling for control. "It might have been better for both of us if I'd never touched you," he said bitterly.