Calhoun

by Diana Palmer

  “I’m going to make you that way, too,” he murmured. He turned her slowly so that she was on her back. His long, powerful leg insinuated itself between hers.

  She stiffened as she felt his big, muscular body spread over hers, pushing her down into the mattress. His masculinity was blatant now. The intimacy was shocking, and the sensations it caused were a little frightening.

  He saw her fear, and his hands slid into her hair, caressing as he let his weight down on her slender body, his elbows catching a little of it as he moved.

  “I won’t hurt you,” he said softly. “Lie very still for me, Abby. I want to show you what passion is.”

  “I already know…oh!” She clenched her teeth. Her nails bit into the fine fabric of his jacket, and her eyes widened in shock when he moved against her. She felt him in a way that turned her face blood red with embarrassed knowledge, and a tiny cry forced its way out of her throat.

  His mouth covered hers. His tongue teased, probed, withdrew, probed again and began a taunting invasion that was every bit as intimate as his huge, softly moving body on hers. She moaned. She grasped him. She bit at his firm, chiseled lower lip. Her tongue shyly grasped him. She bit at his firm, chiseled lower lip. Her tongue shyly encountered his and began to fence with it. She began to shudder, and so did he, and just when she was going under for the third time he slid away from her and gathered her against his side, holding her cheek to his shoulder while the trembling grew.

  “Calhoun.” Her voice broke.

  “It’s all right,” he whispered. “I’ll make it bearable.”

  His big hands found her jacket and eased it off. He unfastened the sweater where it buttoned over one shoulder, and levered it up lazily, unfastening the hooks of her lacy bra and tugging the whole of her upper covering over her head and moved it aside.

  She started to cover herself, but his mouth was suddenly on her breasts, and what he did to them was too sweet, too addictive to protest.

  She gave in, arching toward his mouth, drowning in his ardor. He knew exactly what to do, how to arouse her to a fever pitch. She let him, welcomed him, her body fluid in his hands, her voice softly inciting him.

  He sat up for just a minute, long enough to strip off his jacket and shirt. Then he was poised over her, vibrantly male with his hair-roughened chest bare and muscular, his eyes glittering with desire as they caressed her own bareness.

  “I can’t stop you,” she whispered shakily, tears stinging her eyes as she watched him come to her. “I don’t want to stop you.”

  “I want to hold you like this,” he whispered, levering his chest over her bare, aroused breasts, rubbing softly against her body. “Isn’t it sweet, Abby? Skin against skin. Breast to breast in the darkness, mouth to aching mouth…Kiss me, sweetheart. Open your mouth and kiss me until you can’t bear the wanting any longer.”

  She did. Her arms held him, trembling, her body welcomed the crush of his. The mattress moved under them and the air washed over her body while his mouth fed on hers, seduced hers, intimate and ardent and tender.

  His mouth lifted seconds later, and he looked into her eyes in the faint light from the hall. “I don’t think I can stop,” he whispered, his voice oddly husky.

  “I don’t want you to stop,” she moaned. “Oh, Calhoun, please, please…please!”

  His mouth slid down to her breast, taking it inside. His hand went to the fastening of her skirt and loosened it. His lean fingers slid onto the soft skin of her belly, pressing there, savoring the soft skin.

  “The…risk,” she whispered shakily.

  “Of a child?” he murmured against her breasts. He nuzzled her soft skin with his cheek, his eyes closed, the scent of her all around him, in his blood. His hand slid under her hips, lifting them hungrily into the hard contours of his own, holding her there with undisguised passion. “For the first time in my life, I’m not afraid of the consequences, Abby.”

  His mouth was over hers again, and she wasn’t quite sure she’d heard him. Her mind was on fire, her body was burning. Her legs moved helplessly against his. She wanted him. She wanted all of him. She moaned as she tried to get closer, to absorb him, possess him. She felt savage and wild. She wanted to join with him, to be a part of the massive, muscular body that was slowly driving her mad.

  Her arms reached up, her fingers tangled in his thick blond hair as she moved her hips sensually under his in movements that made him cry out.

  “Abby—!” he bit off, shuddering.

  “I love you,” she sobbed.

  His mouth was over hers, and he began to remove her skirt with unsteady hands. It was going to happen. Here, now, she was going to know him in every way there was.

  But in the middle of her feverish pleas, there was the sudden, unexpected pealing of the doorbell.

  He paused, his body racked by shudders. “Oh, my God,” he said, choking.

  “Don’t answer it,” she whispered tearfully.

  He lifted his head, pushing back sweaty hair. He was gasping for breath, his body vibrating with frustrated need, driving urgency. He shuddered. “I can’t get up,” he whispered with a hollow laugh. He pushed away from her and lay on his stomach, groaning, his lean hands speared into the pillow, crushing it.

  Abby didn’t know what to do. She knew better than to touch him. She lay there, not moving, sanity coming back slowly. She concentrated on trying to breathe while her heartbeat shook her.

  The doorbell kept ringing. After a moment, Calhoun managed to sit up. He looked a little foggy as he got to his feet, but he was breathing almost normally.

  “Are you all right?” she whispered shyly.

  “I’m all right,” he said softly. “Are you?”

  At least he wasn’t angry. “Yes,” she replied, her tone equally soft.

  He took a steadying breath and got to the door. Unexpectedly he switched on the light and turned to look at her, his eyes narrow, full of possession and something violent, dark, hungry.

  Her breasts were mauve and peach, exquisitely formed, taut with arousal. Where he’d pulled her skirt down, he could see the graceful curve of her hips below her small waist.

  “God, I could die looking at you,” he said huskily. “I’ve never seen a woman so perfect.”

  She flushed, but the intensity of his delight in her was overwhelming. She sat up slowly, watching his gaze move to the firm thrust of her breasts, and she felt herself go hot with pride and pleasure.

  He looked up then, catching the light in her eyes. “You belong to me now,” he said. “As surely as if I hadn’t stopped. We’ll work out the details later, but there won’t be anyone else for me from this night on. I’ll never touch another woman until I die.” And with that quiet, terse statement, he turned and left the room.

  Abby wasn’t sure she hadn’t dreamed the whole thing. She got into her clothes in a daze, shaking with pent-up emotion. She wanted to cry and scream and laugh and dance.

  He was talking to someone. His voice was curt and almost angry. Frowning, Abby stepped out into the hall, her mouth swollen, her hair in tangles, her silk skirt hopelessly wrinkled. As she went into the living room, she recognized Calhoun’s guest. It was the blonde from the restaurant, the one he’d taken out the night Abby had gone to dinner with Justin.

  “So that’s why you didn’t have time for me,” the older woman said when she saw Abby. “My God, she’s barely out of school!”

  “Abby, go back into the bedroom,” Calhoun said.

  “Yes, Abby, go and hide,” the blonde added viciously, although tears were visible in her big eyes.

  But Abby didn’t. She went quietly to Calhoun and slid her hand trustingly into his.

  “I love him with all my heart,” Abby told the other woman. “I guess you probably do, too, and I’m sorry. But I’d rather die than lose him.”

  The blonde looked at her for a long moment, and then at Calhoun. “It would have served you right if she hated you, as many hearts as you’ve broken,” she cried, her lower lip
trembling. “But that won’t ever happen, any more than you’ll ever love any one of us. Not even she can reach that stone you call a heart!” She turned to Abby. “You’ll never have all of him.” She laughed bitterly. “All he can give you is his body, and he’ll soon get tired of yours and go off to conquer new worlds. Men like him don’t settle down, honey, so if you’re looking for happy endings, you’d better run like hell.”

  She gave Calhoun a final, bitter glance and was gone as quickly as she’d arrived.

  Calhoun closed the door, his face hard, unyielding.

  “I’m sorry you had to hear that,” he said quietly.

  “So am I.” Abby searched his eyes sadly, wondering if the other woman was right about his lack of feeling. Perhaps she should run. But how could she, when she loved him?

  His eyes narrowed as he saw the indecision and fear in hers. “You don’t trust me, do you?” he asked. “You think she might be right, that you can’t have a future with me.”

  “You said yourself that you didn’t want to be tied,” she replied. “I understand.” She dropped her eyes. “Maybe I’m too young for marriage anyway. I’ve never been out on my own at all. I’ve hardly even dated. Maybe what I feel for you is just a crush and my first taste of desire.”

  She didn’t really mean what she’d just told him, but it gave him an out if he wanted one. He’d wanted her in the bedroom, and perhaps he’d said things he didn’t really mean. She didn’t want him to feel obligated just because they’d almost gone too far.

  But Calhoun didn’t realize that she was trying to save him from himself. He took her words at face value and felt their impact as if they were bullets. She was telling him that she wasn’t sure she loved him, and at the worst possible moment. When she’d put her slender hand so trustingly in his, he’d known for the first time what he felt for her. His feelings went deeper than lust, and they wouldn’t fade. But now he was afraid to tell her, to put the emotion into words. She was admitting that she might have mistaken infatuation and desire for something lasting. She was young, all right, and inexperienced. He might be taking advantage of a natural step in her progression to womanhood. What if he risked his heart and she kicked it aside when she got through this phase? She was young, and she’d bounce back. But Calhoun had never loved before, and the thought of being rejected terrified him.

  He stared down at her with bitter realization darkening his eyes to black. He’d fallen into the trap that he’d swore he’d never be taken by. Now here they were, almost lovers, and she was telling him that it was all a mistake. He felt as if she’d hit him in the chest with an ax.

  “Would you take me home, please?” she asked without looking at him.

  He straightened. “Of course.”

  He turned toward the bedroom, and she sat on the sofa, reaching for the purse she’d tossed there when they’d first arrived. She sat twisting and turning it, listening to his quick, sharp movements in the bedroom while he dressed. Her eyes closed in mingled shame and embarrassment. It had only just occurred to her how many liberties she’d allowed him, how close they’d come to making love completely. She hadn’t had the presence of mind to think of stopping, and neither had he. If that woman hadn’t interrupted them—

  Her face went hot. He’d been undressing her. He wouldn’t have stopped at all, he hadn’t had any intention of denying himself. And afterward, how would it have been? She’d have been eaten up by guilt and sorrow, and he’d have felt obligated to marry her because she’d been a virgin. He’d have been well and truly trapped.

  She didn’t take seriously anything Calhoun had said in the semi-darkness of his bedroom, because men didn’t think when they were engulfed by passion. Even though she was innocent, she knew that much. He’d wanted her for a long time, and tonight had been his one chance to get her into bed. He’d almost taken her. He knew she loved him, and it didn’t even seem to bother him that he was taking advantage of something she couldn’t help.

  Calhoun came into the living room minutes later, pale and strained but neatly dressed. He’d even combed his thick blond hair. After one quick glance, she didn’t look at him again. She stood up.

  He opened the door for her, noticing her unnatural stiffness. “I don’t know what to say, Abby,” he said quietly. “I don’t know how she traced me here.”

  “It doesn’t matter,” she replied, looking only as high as his chin. “It would be unrealistic to expect that we’d never run across any of your discarded lovers.”

  His dark eyes flashed fire. He reached beside her and slammed the door before she could get out, forcing her shocked eyes up to his angry ones.

  “And that’s what you think you would have been if she hadn’t interrupted us?” he asked coldly.

  She ground her teeth together to keep from breaking down. “You weren’t going to stop,” she said.

  “I couldn’t stop,” he corrected. “Any more than you could. If you want to know, it was a first. I’ve always been able to pull back before.”

  “Should I be flattered?” she asked on a trembling laugh. “Because I’m not. Bodies are cheap.”

  “Yours isn’t,” he returned. “Yours is young and sweet and exquisitely formed. Innocent, when I’ve never had innocence in my life. I might have been half out of my head, but I’d have managed to make you want me back and I wouldn’t have hurt you.”

  “And after you were through?” she probed, lifting her pained eyes.

  He touched her swollen lips with a cool forefinger. “That would have taken all night,” he said softly. “And by then you wouldn’t have had any doubts left about where we stood with each other. I’d have made sure of it.”

  She flushed. “I’d have been another conquest….”

  He drew her against him, sighing heavily as he smoothed her long, dark hair and felt her body shake with soft sobs.

  “It’s just frustration, sweetheart,” he whispered at the top of her head. “You wanted me and I wanted you, and neither of us had fulfillment, that’s all. It passes.”

  Her curled fingers pressed against him while tears ran down her pale cheeks. “I hate you,” she cried.

  He only smiled, because he understood. He kissed her hair gently. She was so very young. Too young, probably. He drew in a slow, sad breath and wondered how he was going to live without her.

  “You’ve got to see Maria about your birthday party,” he said after a few minutes. “She’s going to hire a caterer. And you’ll have to provide a guest list for us. I can have one of the women at the office send out the invitations.”

  She drew back, sniffing, and he pulled out a handkerchief and mopped her face. “You don’t have to do that,” she mumbled.

  “We want to.” He touched the handkerchief to her red eyes. “I won’t come near you until then, Abby,” he added to her surprise. His dark gaze was quiet and unblinking, and it did wild things to her pulse. “I won’t call you, or take you out, or see you until then.”

  “Because of tonight?” she asked with what dignity she still possessed.

  “In a way.” He put the handkerchief away and searched her face. “You’re afraid of giving in to me, aren’t you?”

  She moved restlessly.

  “Aren’t you?” he persisted.

  She bit her lower lip. “Yes.”

  “Why?”

  “I won’t have you forced into a marriage you don’t want,” she said warily. “Calhoun, you aren’t a marrying man. You even told me so.”

  He brushed his mouth against hers, and he nuzzled her nose with his, teasing her lips, playing with her mouth.

  “Abby, I told you not so long ago that my playboy days were over, and I meant it,” he said softly. “I haven’t lived like a recluse, but in the past few years, I’ve settled down. And if you want the truth,” he added, resting his forehead on hers, “I haven’t thought of any other woman since the night I found you bare-breasted on your bed, little one. You’ve been in my bed every night since then, a vision that haunts me from dawn t
o dusk.”

  Her heart jumped straight up. He’d never lied to her. He wasn’t doing it now, she knew.

  “Me?” she whispered.

  He smiled gently. “You.” He brushed her mouth lazily with his. “And if you’d given yourself to me in my bedroom a few minutes ago,” he whispered, “we’d have been on our way to get a marriage license by morning.”

  “Because of your conscience?” she asked.

  He chuckled softly. “Because of my body,” he breathed. “Lovemaking is addictive. The way I want you, little Abby, I’d have you pregnant by the end of the first week.”

  She flushed wildly and hid her face from him, feeling his chest shake with laughter.

  “Did you hear what I said,” he whispered, “when you warned me about the risk?”

  Her heart ran wild. “Yes.”

  His mouth bit at hers. “Didn’t it seem an odd response for a philandering playboy to make?”

  “You wanted me—”

  “God, I still do!” he breathed. “But a man interested in nothing but a good time is sure as hell not interested in making babies, Abby.”

  “Stop that!” she whispered.

  He smiled against her mouth, delighting in her innocence, in her reaction. He wasn’t worried anymore. Now, at last, he knew why she’d said what she had in front of his visitor. She’d been offering him a way out. But he didn’t want one. He wanted Abby. He wanted a future.

  “I’ll take you home now,” he said gently. “And you can have until your birthday to think about me and miss me and want me. And then, if you can’t stand it anymore, I’ll give you a birthday present you’ll never forget.”

  “What?” she asked breathlessly.

  He covered her open mouth with his own. “Me,” he breathed into it.

  Chapter Eleven

  Abby pondered that odd remark for the next few lonely weeks. What had Calhoun meant, that they were going to become lovers? Or had he meant something quite different?

  He’d taken her home after that last, passionate kiss, and he hadn’t made another single personal remark to her. He’d talked about the feedlot, about things at the house, even about the weather. And he’d left her at Mrs. Simpson’s with a warm, secretive smile, contenting himself with a chaste but breathlessly tender kiss on her forehead.