by Diana Palmer
“Don’t, for God’s sake,” he groaned.
She moved his hand against her, drowning in the sweetness of his touch, arching toward it. Both her hands went there, pushing his fingers completely over her. “Calhoun,” she moaned. She felt so weak that she thought she’d have to lie down again, but she couldn’t let go of his hand.
“You aren’t sober enough,” he whispered roughly, although the feel of her was doing terrible things to his self-control. He was already going rigid with need as he followed her down.
“I’m not sober enough to be afraid,” she whispered. Her eyes searched his glittering eyes. “Teach me.”
He actually shuddered. “I can’t.”
“Why?” she asked. “Because I’m plain and unsophisticated, because I’m not blond—” Her voice broke.
So did his control. He leaned down, his smoky breath mingling with hers as his hand cupped her. “Because you’re a virgin,” he breathed into her mouth as he took it.
She moaned. It was sweet, so sweet. Nothing like that other time, when he’d been rough and hadn’t given her enough room to respond. He’d been impatient and demanding, but now he was gentle. His fingers stroked her body from her breasts to her waist to her flat stomach. His mouth teased at hers, probed it, traced it in a silence that was thick with sensual pleasure. Abby felt warm all over, safe and cared-about. She let her lips admit the probing of his tongue, admit him into the sweet darkness of her mouth. She didn’t even protest when the kiss grew much deeper, much slower, or when she felt his hand slide under her to find the catch at her back.
The air was cool on her body. He removed the lacy covering that was no covering at all, and his hands were heaven on her hot skin. She moaned, helping him, pressing his fingers against her, drawing them over her hungry body.
“Abby,” he groaned against her mouth, half-crazy with the hunger to make love to her completely, to salve the ache that was throbbing through his body.
She opened her eyes, letting her gaze fall lazily to his chest. Her hands went to his shirt, and she worked at the buttons, feeling him tense. But he didn’t protest, even though his heartbeat was shaking his big body as it lay beside hers.
“There,” she whispered when she could see and touch the thick wedge of hair that ran down to his belt. “I’ll bet women love to touch you there,” she murmured as she pressed her fingers hungrily against him.
“I’ve never let a woman touch me like this before,” he said huskily. “I didn’t like it until now.”
Her eyes searched his, and she shifted restlessly on the coverlet, hungry, aching for something without a name, without an image.
“What do you want?” he asked gruffly, searching her eyes. “Tell me. I’ll do anything you want me to.”
She swallowed, and her lips parted unsteadily. She took his head in her hands and tugged at it, lifting her body. And he understood without her having to put it into words.
“Here?” he whispered tenderly, and put his open mouth completely over the swollen tip of her breast.
She moaned helplessly. It was beyond her wildest imaginings of what passion would feel like. Her body was in control. Her mind could only watch, it couldn’t slow down what was happening. She twisted the cool, thick strands of his blond hair while he smoothed his warm mouth over her breasts and stomach, her faint cries encouraging him, her body welcoming him.
His mouth slid back up to meet hers. And as she opened her own lips to welcome him, she felt his body slowly cover her.
Her eyes opened then as his mouth lifted fractionally, and she watched his face, hard with passion, as his body fit itself perfectly to her slenderness.
She barely breathed, her eyes wide and full of new knowledge as she felt him intimately and knew without words how badly he wanted her.
“Are you afraid this time?” he whispered quietly.
“I should be,” she replied. She reached up and touched his face as he drew his chest slowly, teasingly over her breasts. Her breath caught, but she traced his eyebrows, his cheeks, his mouth with fingers that trembled and adored him.
His big, callused hands slid under her back, lifting her up into the curve of his body. “I want you, Abby,” he whispered, bending to her mouth as his body shuddered over hers. “I want you so much….”
She curled her arms around his head and held his mouth against her eager one. “I want you, too, Calhoun,” she whispered into his mouth.
He almost lost control completely then. He kissed her until he had to stop for breath, his body shuddering rhythmically, his knee between her long, soft legs, his hand low on her hips. He felt her trembling and heard her whimper. Oddly, it brought him to his senses.
Slowly, so slowly, he rolled onto his side, bringing her with him, cradling her against his damp body. He slid his hands to her head, holding her forehead to his throbbing chest.
“Lie still, honey,” he whispered raggedly when she began to move again. He caught her hips and stilled them. “Just lie against me and breathe. It will be all right in a minute. Lie still, baby.”
Her hands were flat against his chest, trembling there in the thick mat of hair, and she felt his unsteady breathing against her hair. He was as shaken as she was, but why had he stopped? She didn’t understand. If he wanted her, then why had he stopped?
“Sweet thing,” he breathed when the tremor was almost out of his big arms. “Sweet, precious thing, another few seconds and nothing on earth would have stopped me, did you know?”
She nuzzled her head against him. “Why did you stop?” she asked dazedly.
He tilted her head back on the pillow and smiled into her drowsy eyes. “Don’t you know?”
“Because I’m not blond, I guess,” she sighed, almost weeping with frustration and disappointment.
“Because you’re not lucid,” he corrected. He brushed the long, soft hair away from her face. “Abby, you’re half lit.”
“I want you,” she moaned.
“I know. I can see it. Feel it.” He hugged her close for a minute, because he was almost in control now. Then he let go and quickly and efficiently slid her into her gown. “Sit up, honey.”
She did, and he eased back the covers and helped her get under them. She lay quietly beneath two layers of fabric and blinked at him sleepily. “Calhoun, stay with me,” she whispered.
He smiled gently, his dark eyes possessive on her flushed face. “Justin would love finding us in your bed together. He’d probably make me marry you.”
“And I guess that would be the end of your world,” she replied.
His expression hardened. He drew in a slow breath and touched her cheek gently, thoughtfully. “I’ve been alone a long time. I like being my own boss, answering to no one. I’ve been a rounder, and in some ways I still am. I’m a bad marriage risk.”
“One woman wouldn’t satisfy you, I guess,” she murmured, hiding her eyes from him. All her dreams were dead now. Every last one. He wanted her, but not enough for marriage. He was telling her so.
He shrugged, confused and feeling faintly hunted. “One woman never has,” he said curtly. “I don’t want to be tied.”
“God forbid that I should try,” Abby said, forcing a smile. “Don’t worry, Calhoun, I was just…experimenting. I wondered why you were so rough with me the other morning, and I wanted to see if passion made people rough. I guess it does, because that’s how I felt tonight. Thanks for the…the lesson.”
He frowned slightly, searching her eyes. “Is that all it felt like. An experiment? A lesson in making love?”
“Tyler said I needed teaching,” she said with a yawn, missing the flash of fury in his face. “But I don’t anymore.” She closed her eyes and turned her face against the pillow. “I’m sleepy.”
Calhoun sat watching her, his eyes stormy. She’d used him. That was all she’d wanted. She’d been experimenting, seeing how it felt to be touched. Damn her!
He got up, glaring at the lacy bra he’d removed from her soft breasts just befo
re she’d let him touch them. Let him! God, she’d helped him! His blood ran hot at the memory of how uninhibited she’d been with him tonight. Had she been competing with Shelby, or had it been curiosity alone? Could she care about him and be hiding it? And how did he feel? Did he just want her physically, or was it more than that? Could he bear the loss of his freedom? Because it would come to that if he took her. Marriage. Trap.
He tossed the bra onto the chair beside her bed and took a long last look at her sleeping face. She didn’t need to be blond. She was exquisite. Her long hair was spread out around her, her lashes were feathering her flushed cheek, and her parted lips were pink and faintly swollen because he’d been hungry. She was delicious. Virginal and sweet-tasting and exquisitely beautiful without her clothes. He wondered if he’d ever get over the taste of her—if he’d be able to forget. Hell, would he ever be able to have another woman, or would the memory of Abby always stand in the way?
He opened the door and went out, closing it quietly behind him. He should never have touched her in the first place, he thought furiously.
He had to get away for a while. Far away, so that he could think things through. Now that he’d touched Abby, it was going to be the purest kind of hell keeping his hands off her. And Justin wouldn’t like having that sort of loveplay going on, not if it threatened Abby. Calhoun knew that if he took Abby into his arms again, it wasn’t going to end with a few kisses. He wanted her too badly, and she was too responsive. He aroused her as no man ever had. That meant she’d give herself to him with hardly any coaxing. Calhoun was terrified that he might lose his head and take her.
He didn’t want marriage. He didn’t want ties. Abby wouldn’t understand that. In her world, lovemaking meant marriage. Maybe in his, too, when the woman was a virgin. He didn’t like the noose she was tying around his neck, but he hated the thought of never touching her again almost as much.
She was heaven to love. Her mouth was young and sweet and so eager to learn. Her body was nectar. Just the sight of it made him drunk, not to mention the exquisite feel of it between his hands, under his skin.
Abby, he groaned inwardly as he made his way to his own room. He couldn’t have her and he couldn’t give her up. He didn’t know what in hell he was going to do. Maybe when he got back from wherever he wound up he would have reached a decision.
He sat down at the small desk in a corner of his room and wrote Justin a note telling him he was going away for a few days to check on some stockers in Montana. Justin might think it strange, but Abby wouldn’t. He wondered how she was going to feel when she woke up and found him gone. He hoped she wouldn’t even remember what they’d done in her bed together. But even if she did, that was going to be one private memory. Abby wouldn’t share it any more than he would.
Chapter Eight
Abby groaned the minute the light got to her eyes. She had the world’s biggest headache, and nausea sat in the pit of her stomach like acid.
She managed to get on her feet and into the bathroom, where she bathed her face with cold water and pressed a cold cloth against her eyes. She remembered drinking whiskey in the study with Justin. Then Calhoun had taken her to bed, and—
Her head jerked up. In the mirror her eyes looked wild, and her paleness had been eclipsed by a scarlet blush. She’d let Calhoun see her. Worse, she’d let him touch her. She swallowed. Well, at least she remembered that he’d stopped before she’d gone to sleep, so nothing unspeakable had happened, thank God. As more of the details of her eagerness came back, she groaned in embarrassment. She’d never be able to look at him again, although what had happened would make the sweetest of memories to tuck in a corner of her mind for solace in her old age. Calhoun would never settle down or fall in love with her. He’d be forever out chasing his blondes. But this was something of him that Abby would always have. A tiny crumb of loving to live on.
Now she understood what had happened that morning in her room. He hadn’t been rough on purpose. He’d wanted her. It gave her the oddest feeling of pride that she could have thrown him that far off balance. She was almost sure that no other woman ever had. Looking back, she thought she must have seemed terribly naive to him for reacting that way to an intimate kiss. But at the time his actions had seemed shocking and frightening. For all her dreams about Calhoun, she hadn’t realized what the reality of his lovemaking would be like. Now that she knew, it was like an addiction. She wanted more. But could she afford the risk of letting him that close again?
A sob racked her slender body. Well, she had to get herself together. She had to remember her pride. She held her aching head. She had to remember, most of all, to never accept a drink of whiskey from Justin again! Or from anyone, for that matter. Drowning one’s sorrows was vastly overrated. She’d tried it, and now she knew that it only brought hangovers, not oblivion.
She put on a gray slacks suit with a blue blouse, left her hair around her shoulders because she was hurting too much to worry with putting it up, and pulled on a pair of sunglasses. Then she felt her way down the staircase and into the dining room.
Justin was sitting at the table with his head in his hands. He was dressed in jeans and a blue checked shirt, and when he looked up, his eyes looked even worse than Abby’s.
“Nice touch,” he remarked, noticing the dark glasses. “I wish I had mine, but they’re out in the car.”
“You look like I feel,” Abby said as she sat down, very gently, in the chair beside him, grimacing because even that slight jarring made her head feel like bursting. “How are we going to work today?”
“Beats me,” Justin replied. “Calhoun’s gone.”
Her heart skipped a beat, and she was glad she was wearing dark glasses. “Is he?”
“Skipped town. Gone to Montana to look at stockers, or so he said.” He fumbled for a cigarette and lit it. “I’m rather disappointed. I had consoled myself all morning with the thought of beating the hell out of him for last night.”
“How selfish,” Abby muttered as she tried to pour herself a cup of hot coffee from the carafe. “I ought to get in a lick or two of my own.”
“I’ll sit on him, you can hit him,” Justin offered. He sipped black coffee and smoked quietly.
Abby took one swallow of her coffee and sat back, feeling miserable. “Weren’t we singing something?” she thought, frowning. “Oh, yes, I remember….” She launched into a few measures of the song. Justin went white, and Maria came running out of the kitchen, beet red, waving her apron.
A tidal wave of Spanish hit Abby between the eyes, delivered in a scolding, furious tone. “For shame, for shame!” Maria wound up breathlessly, crossing herself. “Where you learn such terrible language?”
Abby stared at her blankly. “Justin taught me,” she said.
Justin had his face in his hands. Maria launched into him, and he replied in the same tongue, a little sheepishly. Maria shook her head and stormed out of the room.
“What did I say?” Abby asked him, wide-eyed.
He took a slow breath. “You don’t want to know,” he said finally. “I think you’d better forget the song, Abby, or we’re going to be eating burned meals for a month.”
“You taught it to me,” she pointed out.
He groaned. “I was sauced. That was a drinking song I learned when I was barely out of school from one of the Mexican boys I used to pal around with. I didn’t even remember it until last night, and I never should have taught it to you.”
“It’s all Calhoun’s fault,” she said.
“I wonder why he started it?” Justin asked, watching her. “He didn’t show any signs of wanting to dance until he saw you and Tyler.”
Abby shifted restlessly in her chair. “Well, he doesn’t want me,” she said miserably. “Not on any permanent basis, anyway. He told me last night that he was a bad marriage risk. He likes variety, you see.”
“Most men do, until they find themselves so hopelessly enthralled with one woman that they can’t even look at anyone else,�
�� Justin said tersely, staring at his coffee.
“Is that why you spend all your time alone?” she asked gently, searching his hard, drawn face. “Because your world begins and ends with Shelby?”
He glared at her. “Abby…”
“Sorry.” She sipped the coffee. “It’s just that I know how it feels now.” She traced the pattern of her lipstick on the edge of the cup. “I feel that way about your stupid, blind brother.”
The brief anger left his face, and he smiled gently. “I could pretend to be surprised, but I’m not. You’re pretty obvious. On the other hand,” he added, tilting his head back, “so is he. In all the years Calhoun’s been dating, this is the first time I’ve ever seen him behave as if he were jealous.”
Abby bit her lower lip. “He…wants me,” she said. She couldn’t look at him as she said it.
“Of course,” he replied carelessly, smiling at her shocked expression. “Abby, for a man that’s a big part of caring about a woman.”
“I guess I don’t know very much about men,” she said with a sigh. “In fact, I don’t know anything. Except that I want to live with him all my life, and have children with him, and look after him when he’s sick, and keep him company when he’s lonely.” She bit her lower lip. “So, that being the case, Justin, I think I’d better get out while I still can. Before something happens and Calhoun winds up trapped.” She looked up at Justin, her fear plain in her eyes. “You understand, don’t you?”
He nodded. “I think you’re very wise, Abby. If he cares enough, he’ll come after you. If he doesn’t…you might save both of you a lot of heartache by heading off trouble.” He shrugged. “But I’ll miss having you around.”
“I’ll come back and visit.” She sipped more coffee, and as she began to feel a little better she took off her dark glasses. “Can I still have my twenty-first birthday party here?”