by Diana Palmer
She groaned helplessly, and her body arched again, inviting him.
“Priss,” he whispered, sliding his hands slowly under her back. “Priss, come here.”
He lifted her to his parted lips. She stiffened and cried out with the shock of pleasure as his mouth took her, and the excited little cry aroused him instantly. He took the hardness into his mouth and eased closer, feeling her reactions, glorying in her headlong response. Her hands tangled in his hair, frantic. Those wild little cries were pushing him right over the edge, making him shudder with a kind of desire he’d never experienced.
“Oh, God,” he whispered with reverence, because she was so deliciously innocent, so trusting. She was giving him free license to do what he liked to her smooth young body, and he was going crazy with the freedom.
His mouth moved down her body, to her waist, her hips, the flatness of her stomach, as he eased the dress farther down to bare her body to his greedy lips. She tasted of delicate soap and powder, and he wanted to taste all of her....
“Do you want me now?” he whispered roughly. His mouth ran back up her body, over her creamy breasts to her face, and he cupped her breast as his lips made nonsense of any protest she might have made. “Do you want to lie with me and touch me the way I’m touching you with nothing between us except air?”
“I...ache,” she said through parched lips, clinging, trembling.
“So do I,” he said unsteadily. “You’ve taken my mind from me. Lie still, darling. Let me touch you, let me have you.”
His face moved, touching, brushing. His mouth loved her, cherished her. She was shuddering under its tenderness, and he knew she’d make no further protest if he undressed her completely and took her. But even as he was drowning in the anguished pleasure of the knowledge, he began to think about consequences. She was a virgin. The first time for her was probably not going to be as good as it would be for him. He was more aroused than he’d ever been in his life—too aroused to take his time, to give her patience. And worst of all, she’d be unprotected. He could make her pregnant. It was that thought that brought him suddenly to his senses. She was hardly more than a child herself.
He dragged his mouth from her soft belly and managed to pull his tormented body into a sitting position, breathing roughly, running his hands through his damp hair. She was breathing roughly herself, and her body was trembling wildly.
With a harsh mutter, he brought her up into his arms and rocked her damp body against his. “Hold me hard, darling,” he whispered into her ear, feeling the heat of her breasts through the cotton of his shirt. Her back under his hands was like silk. “Hold me. It will stop. Hold me hard.”
She clung to him, vaguely embarrassed at the intensity of her response, wildly frustrated, wanting something he hadn’t given her but not realizing exactly what.
“Oh, gosh,” she whispered, awed.
“Now you know,” he said gently.
Her nails bit into his shoulders, and she nuzzled her head into his neck, shuddering a little as her heartbeat calmed and her breath steadied. “You...weren’t going to stop...at first. Why...did you?” It was a statement, not a question.
His big hand smoothed her hair slowly. “I could have made you pregnant.”
Thrills of pleasure wafted through her. She might have liked that, being pregnant with his child. It wasn’t at all frightening. But it would be a poor way of getting him, a mean trick. She sighed.
“I’d have let you,” she answered.
He laughed softly. “Yes, I know. Delicious, delightful little virgin.” He bit her shoulder, quite hard, and she shuddered with unexpected pleasure and laughed.
He half threw her back on the pillows and sat looking down at her seminudity with possessive, glittering blue eyes. “I’ve never wanted anyone so much,” he said huskily. “I was on fire for you. I still am.”
It was plain speaking, and a little embarrassing—like her wanton behavior. He seemed to sense those uncertainties, because he smiled tenderly when she sat up and began to tug her dress back in place.
“Don’t be embarrassed,” he said gently. “Only the two of us will ever know what happened here today.” He touched her mouth with a long finger. “And I won’t tell if you won’t.”
That was the John she loved so much, teasing, mischievous. She couldn’t help smiling at him. He smiled back and bent, kissing her softly, amorously, as his hands drew the bodice down again. “I’ll never see anything else so beautiful as long as I live,” he ground out, staring at her pink skin where his mouth had pressed and pulled and tasted it, with something like reverence on his hard face.
She flushed wildly and blushed even there, and he bent and kissed the shyness from her eyes, her mouth.
His fingers moved the damp hair away from her face, and he looked at her as if she were a sunrise he was committing to memory. “You belong to me now,” he said quietly. “Keep your body for me, and no other man. I’ll wait for you.”
“It belonged to you long before now,” she said in a choked tone, her eyes searching his. “John, I...!”
He put his fingers over her lips. “Don’t say it.” His mouth replaced his fingers, and he kissed her with an expertise that left her moaning, in tears, when he lifted his head. “You’re very young,” he said, as if it bothered him. “There’s plenty of time.”
“Plenty?” she queried. “When I’m leaving today?”
“Darling,” he breathed, staring down at her, “if you weren’t leaving today, you might damned well find yourself in my bed by nightfall.”
He got to his feet, stretching lazily and indulgently watched her efforts to rearrange her dress. There was possession in his eyes, and quiet pride, but she wasn’t looking.
“See what happens when you avoid me?” he asked as she got to her feet, smoothing back her disheveled hair. “Frustration can push a man to the very limits.”
She smiled shakily. “Was that what it was?”
He caught her waist and pulled her to him. “What do you think it was?” he asked.
She stared at his shirt, curious about how he looked without it. She’d only seen him that way from a distance, when he was working on fences with the men or digging a new bore.
“It’s too late now,” he said deeply, his voice amused. “If you wanted to go on safari, you should have indulged yourself while we were lying together on the bed.”
She flushed, and he laughed.
“The months will pass,” he said lightly, giving her a last careless kiss. “Write to me.”
“Could I?” she asked, breathless.
“Of course.”
“Will you write back?”
He shifted from one foot to the other. “I’m not much good at letters, honey,” he confessed. “I’ll get Mother to write for me.”
His words hurt her. They wouldn’t be love letters—he was saying as much. Perhaps he’d meant what they had just shared as a going-away present, a fond farewell. Something to make up for the times when he’d ignored her, crumbs from his table.
She felt sick all over, but she was too proud to let it show. How could she have forgotten what her father had said, about John being glad to let her go, about his being too old to be interested in her?
“I’ll see you at the Easter holidays,” he said. “You’ll be home then?”
“Of course,” she said woodenly. “’Bye, John.”
He traced her cheek lightly with his finger, and his eyes met hers in a long hot exchange, but he didn’t touch her again. “’Bye, Priss. Keep well.”
“You, too.”
And he was gone, leaving her with the memory of a few wild minutes in his arms. It might have been kinder, she thought, if he’d spared her that. Coming from heaven back to earth was painful. She went to the window and watched him drive away. He waved from the end of
the driveway, and she knew that he was aware of her watchful eyes. He knew how she felt. It had all been a pacifier, a consolation prize. Give the girl a few kisses to thrill her.
She went back to her suitcase and stared at it, denying her eyes the tears they wanted to shed. Well, she didn’t need John’s crumbs, thank you, she told herself. She’d go away and forget him. She’d forget him completely.
Sure, she would. She sat down on the bed and wailed. The coverlet still smelled of the spicy cologne he wore. Her lips touched it with aching passion, and it was a long time before she could force herself to get up and finish packing.
Hours later she said good-bye to her parents in Brisbane and climbed aboard a plane bound for the Hawaiian Islands. Despite the fact that she had promised herself she wouldn’t, her helpless eyes scanned the airport terminal for a glimpse of John. But he wasn’t there. Why should he be? He’d said his good-byes. She sat back in her seat and closed her eyes. It was going to be a long day.
Chapter Four
Priss settled in at the University of Hawaii in Honolulu, on the island of Oahu, and found the diversity of cultures and races as fascinating as she’d found Australia. She lived off campus, with Aunt Margaret, and found her young-minded aunt a lively and delightful companion. When Priss wasn’t attending classes, her aunt toured her around the island. Priss found breathtaking beauty in the beaches and mountains and volcanos and flowers, and day by day the hurt of leaving behind her family and the man she loved began to ease.
One of her biggest consolations was the new friend she’d found in Ronald George, a tall dark-haired Englishman with blue eyes who was studying for a degree in education, too.
Her introduction to him had come the first day of classes, when he’d sidled up to her in the auditorium and leaned down to whisper in her ear.
“I say,” he asked conspiratorially, “would you be interested in having a blazing affair with me during algebra? It is a bit crowded in here right now, but I do see a place just behind the curtains in the auditorium...”
She’d looked up at him dumbfounded. “What?”
“Just a short affair,” he continued. “Until second period class? All right, then, you’ve talked me into marriage. But you’ll have to wait until I have an hour to spare. Say, around lunchtime?” He grinned. “I’m Ronald George, by the way. You’d have seen the name on our marriage certificate, but I thought you might like to know beforehand.”
“You’re incredible!” she burst out. She stared up at him while she decided between running for help or laughing aloud.
“Yes, and just think, you haven’t even seen me in action yet!” He leered at her playfully. “How about it? Or we could become engaged now. The thing is, old girl, I don’t have a ring on me....”
She decided in favor of laughter. “Oh, stop, I’ll hurt myself,” she gasped after laughing until her stomach ached.
He brushed back a lock of his wavy dark hair. “I knew we’d hit it off. You’re just my type. A girl.”
She held out her hand. “I’m Priscilla Johnson, from Queensland, Australia.”
“What an odd accent you have, if you don’t mind my saying so,” he commented. “Sort of southern Australian?”
“I’m from Alabama originally,” she confessed. “My father teaches in Providence. That’s a small town northwest of Brisbane, near several large stations.”
“Ah, yes. Australia.” He studied her with a warm smile. “I’d like to teach there myself, when I take my degree. Especially if that’s where you’re going to teach.”
“It is.” She smiled back. “Been here long?”
“Two whole nights,” he said. “I miss the rain and the fog and the cold back home,” he sighed.
“I left spring in Australia.”
“I say, we’ll probably both die in this island paradise,” he predicted.
“I know a girl who’s studying to be a doctor,” she told him. “She’ll save us once she gets through premed. You can’t possibly catch pneumonia until then.”
“Oh. Well, in that case, I shall put on a mustard plaster tonight. And perhaps a couple of hot dogs to keep it company.”
The bell rang just as she was warming to him, but in the weeks and months that followed, they became fast friends. Both of them knew it wasn’t going to be any mad romance, but they found they genuinely liked each other. And Priss needed a friend desperately. The longer she was away from John Sterling, the more she missed him. It became an actual pain to lie down at night and think about him.
By the time six months had passed and Easter rolled around, she’d had all too much time to think about how she’d hounded John for the last two years. It hadn’t helped that Renée had written that John was riding around with Janie Weeks, a notorious divorcée in the district. It was probably nothing, Renée had written, but people were talking about it. Still, Priss was certain John was carrying on an affair and it hurt in an intolerable way.
She cried for hours after that, and her usually bright face was full of bitter hurt as she went to her sociology class just before school let out for Easter vacation.
“What’s wrong, Priss?” Ronald asked her, his fond eyes concerned. “I say, you aren’t breaking your heart over me, I hope?” He grinned. “Dying of unbridled passion...?”
“Well, maybe,” she teased. Then her face became serious. “I don’t want to go home at Easter,” she lied.
“Good!” he chuckled. “Stay here and I’ll take you to a luau at my roommate’s parents’ home.”
“That sounds like fun,” she said. “Really?”
“Really. I’ve talked about you so much, Danny’s dying to meet you.”
Her eyes searched his. “Well...”
“Come on,” he chided. “I’m not trying to talk you into anything. Just friends, as we agreed.”
She relaxed. “Okay. I’ll stay.”
“Great!” he exclaimed. “I’ll tell Danny you’re coming. This is going to be a gala affair, old girl; they’re even roasting a suckling pig I hear.” He leaned down. “Not to worry, the pig had absolutely nothing left to live for—he’d only just been jilted by his girlfriend.”
She burst out laughing. “Oh, you’re good for me!”
“What did I tell you in the beginning?” he asked with a smug smile.
She relaxed a little then, because she had a concrete reason to stay in Hawaii. She didn’t want to have to tell her parents the truth: that she was dying because John didn’t care enough to write to her. That she couldn’t bear to see him with another woman.
That night she called Renée and Adam from Margaret’s house.
“Not coming home?” Renée gasped. “But, darling, we’ve made plans...”
“I’m sorry,” she said, pretending cheerfulness, “but you remember I told you about Ronald George? Well, he’s invited me to this big luau at his friend’s home a couple of days from now, and he’s such a nice guy...well, I said yes before I thought.” She crossed her fingers against the lie.
“He’s the British boy,” Renée recalled. She sighed. “Priss, we’ve invited some people over tomorrow night, kind of a homecoming party for you. John was coming.”
She closed her eyes on a wave of loneliness and love. “With his new lady, no doubt?” she grated.
There was a pause. “You don’t understand,” Renée began. “I need to explain—”
“Yes, I understand very well,” Priscilla interrupted, sounding mature and sophisticated. “I had a wild crush on John, but being over here has cured me. I want someone younger, like Ronald, who can enjoy the things I do. I’m having such a good time, Mom. You don’t really mind if I skip this one holiday, do you?”
“No, of course not,” Renée said, “if it’s what you really want.”
“It is,” Priscilla said firmly. “Is Dad there?”
> “He’s working late tonight, but I’ll have him call you when he comes in if you like.”
“No, don’t. I’ll call back in a day or so. Mom...?” She wanted to ask about John—if he was healthy and if he might marry that new woman—but she didn’t dare, not after the fabrications she’d just put forth. “I love you,” she said instead.
“I love you, too, darling,” Renée said. “Priss, about John...”
“That part of my life is over, and I’m sure he’s glad,” Priscilla said quietly. “It must be lovely for him, not being chased by me.”
“He looks rather lonely, if you want to know,” came the soft reply. “He asks about you all the time. He said you were supposed to write to him.”
She felt hot and cold all at once. “He...didn’t really want me to, you know. It was just that he felt sorry for me.”
“I don’t believe that.”
“Mom, you and Dad have to meet Ronald,” she said enthusiastically. “He comes from a very upper-crust British family. He’s wildly intelligent and full of fun, and he’s going to come back to Providence with me when we graduate to teach! Isn’t that great? He’s super. You and Dad will like him a lot.”
Renée sighed heavily. “Yes, dear, I’m sure we will. You must bring him home with you sometime.”
After that the conversation became general, and John wasn’t mentioned again. But when Renée said good-bye and hung up, memories of him ran around and around in Priscilla’s head until she wanted to scream. He’d made all those comments about waiting for her and putting his mark on her, but he hadn’t meant them. Her mother was a hopeless romantic, and she loved John. It was no wonder she was still playing matchmaker. But Priss was through mooning over John Sterling. She was going to survive, one way or another, and close him out of her life and her heart. She was going to get over him.
* * *
The luau was wonderful, very Polynesian and exciting. Ronald’s roommate, Danny, was Hawaiian, an intelligent young man with liquid brown eyes and a quick wit. Priss liked him immediately. And Danny’s parents were as open and friendly as he was. Besides, several of the kids from college were there. Priss enjoyed herself. Yet part of her was still mourning John, as she had been since leaving Australia.