by Sandra Brown
“Later, Andy. It can wait.” His lips moved against her nipple before he flicked it with his tongue. Then stroking it to the beat of the erotic rhythm of his fingertips at the portal of her womanhood, he robbed her of logical thought, and her senses took command of her brain. “That’s it. Give it all over to feeling,” he whispered in her ear as he lifted himself over her.
Instinct directed her, though she loved Lyon’s gentle commands. Robert had been a quick, silent lover. She knew a momentary panic that she might disappoint Lyon as she had Robert. What she had discussed during interviews with experts on human sexuality, she’d never been able to relate to herself. She’d certainly never tried a practical application of anything she’d discussed so openly and candidly. Perhaps she wasn’t a whole woman. Perhaps she couldn’t …
But as Lyon’s body sank into hers, and she felt his shudder of gratification, her worries were obliterated by the thrill of having him inside her.
“Andy,” he moaned, “you’re so right.” While his body remained completely motionless he raised his head from her shoulder to look at her. His eyes traveled over her face in the way they had often done. Propping himself up on one arm, his hand moved between their bodies and found her breast. “You take me so well,” he said softly.
Her throat arched and her head went back as he played with the distended bud that swelled even more between his fingers. He dipped his head to reward it. Her response rippled through her body, and he began to move. He touched her in a way she’d never been touched before. Not only physically, but spiritually, and she gave herself up to it.
She knew. In spite of their inauspicious meeting, his mistrust, his sarcasm, his rankling taunts, and the anger they had engendered in her, she loved this man. If she had not, she would have been able to ignore the insults he had heaped on her. She would have disregarded his threats that she tread lightly in her interviews with his father. But because she loved him, his insults had been like mortal wounds to her. His threats had been useless, because she would have done nothing to hurt him. It would have been like hurting herself.
She wouldn’t be with him now, engaged in this sacred rite of loving, if it were not for love. Les had often asked her who she was saving herself for. Now she knew. It wasn’t for want of opportunity that she hadn’t been involved with a man since Robert’s death. It was for want of loving. She loved Lyon Ratliff.
Having defined this emotion, which ran so high each time she saw him and that brought pain each time they hurt each other, she met each thrust of his body lovingly.
“Yes, yes, darling.” His breath was a rattling breeze in her ear. Her arms hugged him tighter, her thighs closed against his. “Andy, Andy, yes … yes. Lift … Oh, God, yes. So good.”
A wellspring was building up inside her, roiling and bubbling like those that fed the river. This fountain was unknown to her. She’d never encountered it before and was shy of it. It threatened to drown her, but she couldn’t fight its rushing current. It engulfed her heart, her throat, her mind, and just before it inundated her, she heard Lyon cry her name. She clutched at him tightly, and they were plunged beneath the surface together.
Long minutes later, lying still interlocked, breathing deeply of the same air in unison, he said again, “Andy …?”
And this time she was able to answer. “Yes, Lyon. Yes.”
“Satisfied?”
“Yes,” she said primly, taking the retrieved bikini out of his hand. The top had been found right away near the filter of the pool. The bottom had been elusive, requiring Lyon to make several searching dives. “I’ll sleep much better now.”
“Don’t bet on it,” he growled, grabbing her from behind and pulling her against his chest.
“Don’t bet on what?” she asked provocatively, running her fingers up his ribs.
“Don’t bet on sleeping.” He kissed her soundly, then pushed her away. “Get inside. You’re going to freeze.” They had wrapped in extra large towels from the cabana and were now sneaking through the dark house and up the staircase. Lyon carried his clothes in one arm and draped the other across her bare shoulders.
She hesitated at the door to her bedroom, but he ushered her farther down the hall to his room. He closed the door behind them, crossed over to the bed, and turned on a bedside lamp.
“At last. Now I can see you in the light.”
He padded over to her and reached for the towel she had tucked between her breasts. She stayed his hands by clasping his wrists. “Lyon, wait. Please.”
Now that she knew she loved him, it bothered her more than ever to think he might not trust her. She couldn’t bear it if he thought the motive for her surrender was anything but love. Any other reason would be so ludicrous, she couldn’t believe he’d think that, not after the fierceness of their lovemaking in the cabana only half an hour ago. But she had to make sure.
“Why?” he asked softly.
“Because I want to talk to you.” The immediate suspicious lowering of his brows confirmed her anxiety that she might still be suspect. Taking his hand, she led him to the bed and sat down. She sat with her knees together, her head bowed, looking down at her hands as she pleated the hem of the towel between her fingers. “You’re mistaken.”
“About what?” He sat at the end of the bed, his back braced against the bedpost.
“About what you think of me. I know you heard Jeff this afternoon.”
“You mean the part about getting chummy with me in order to pump me for information?”
“Yes. That’s not the case.”
“Les didn’t ask you to do that?”
She swallowed and looked at him, then quickly away. “Yes. He did. But I don’t always listen to him. Not even as frequently as before,” she added almost to herself.
Now she looked straight at Lyon, turning slightly to face him. “I’ve never had to prostitute myself for a story. In the first place I have a higher regard for myself than that. I was brought up to respect my body. I never considered it as something to barter with.
“But even disregarding the morality of it, I’ve never had to resort to so desperate a measure. I’m a professional. Some have been reluctant to bare their souls in front of a camera, but usually I’ve been able to persuade them to do so without coercion of any kind.
“I’m good at my work. I’m ambitious, though now … never mind. Anyway I like getting a story or an incisive interview that no one else has been able to get, but I don’t have the ruthlessness, the go-for-the-jugular instinct that Les does. It’s corny, but I’ve always advocated the saying about vinegar and honey. To my knowledge I’ve never seriously harmed anyone with one of my interviews, nor have I ever abused the privilege of confidentiality.”
She sat still and waited. Before her monologue was finished, he had stood up and begun pacing at the foot of the bed. Now he stopped and sat down again. “You have to admit that the evidence is pretty incriminating. Not long after your conversation with Les, you warmed up to me considerably.”
“I know. That had nothing to do with Les. The only time I’ve even thought of Les when I was with you was when you asked me who he was. Up to that point he was the furthest thing from my mind.” She looked at him earnestly. “Lyon, do you really think I would try to exploit what happened a while ago? Do you think it meant no more to me than that?”
She felt tears shimmering in her eyes. “I know you’re wary of women after what Jerri did, but don’t condemn me unfairly. I pulled a childish stunt to get into this house. I’ll admit that. But I haven’t been playing games with you.”
He watched one tear as it lost its precarious grip on her lower lid and began to roll down her cheek. He lifted it off with his fingertip and then brought it to his lips and sucked it into his mouth. “Will you take off that towel now?”
She cried out in relief and, still vacillating between laughter and tears, fell against him. They managed to get rid of the towels, pull down the bedspread and blankets, and slide between the sheets without breaking
the kiss.
His strong arms encompassed her. The quickening pulse and shortness of breath that were now becoming familiar seized her again. She and Lyon fell on each other like starving beasts of prey. He rolled them both over to one side of the bed, then to the other, their mouths and bodies glued together.
When at last they drew apart, he was content to lie docilely and let her be the aggressor. Her mouth impressed fervent kisses into his throat. Seductively she lowered herself along his body until she reached his chest. Moving her head from side to side, she let the warm chest hair caress her features. She kissed his breastbone. Lifting her head slightly, she studied his nipple as her finger touched it. Then she followed suit with her tongue, delicately at first before a newfound courage dictated that she apply more pressure.
“Andy,” he rasped and closed his arms around her, pulling her on top of him. He scorched a trail of avid kisses along the top curve of her breasts, working his way up to her mouth. “You’re creating a monster, Andy Malone,” he said into her mouth as his lips teasingly avoided hers. “A sex-crazed monster.”
“What do sex-crazed monsters do?” She leaned forward to provide him access to her straining nipples.
“Ravish gorgeous women.” His hands smoothed over her hips to curve around the backs of her thighs.
“Am I gorgeous?”
“Yes.”
“Well, then?”
They slept for a while, the deep, dreamless sleep of satisfaction. He nudged her awake only a few hours later when an arc of sunlight spread across the wide bed.
“You’d better go to your room. We need to keep up the pretense of propriety.”
“I don’t want to,” she said, snuggling against him and pressing her breasts against his side.
He moaned. “Andy stop that, dammit.”
She giggled and struggled to separate her tangled limbs from his. “You old fuddy-duddy.”
She sprang out of bed, but not before he slapped her on the fanny. “I’ll see you downstairs for breakfast, won’t I?” she asked, wrapping up in the towel and getting her bikini.
“If I can still walk.”
She winked at him wickedly and swayed with a saucy gait to the door. She blew him a kiss before checking the hallway and then hurrying down it to her room.
She took special care with her toilette, bathing in scented water and styling her freshly washed hair in a more casual style. She’d dress for the interviews later. For breakfast she put on a bright cotton print sundress. She felt totally feminine today and wanted to proclaim to the world her womanhood, which had only blossomed to full bloom under Lyon’s tender nurturing.
She was humming a catchy tune when she skipped out into the hallway and collided with a waiting Lyon. His arm surrounded her waist, and his mouth swooped down for a possessive kiss that stole her breath away.
“On your way to breakfast?” she asked when he at last released her.
“I could be persuaded to skip it.”
“I couldn’t. I’m starving.”
They nuzzled and their hips bumped together as they wrapped their arms around each other’s waists and started down the stairs. Halfway down they saw that Gracie was conversing with someone at the door. Andy’s animation died. Her light footsteps became leaden. Panic stopped her heart and clogged her throat.
She couldn’t see the man. Gracie’s generous figure was blocking him from her view. But she could see the top of his head. Only one person had hair that shade of red.
Les Trapper.
Chapter Eight
She stumbled against Lyon and gripped the bannister. Should Les find out about her and Lyon, his suspicions would increase a hundredfold. He would jump to the conclusion that her objectivity had been compromised. It hadn’t been, but there would be no convincing Les of that.
He had no jurisdiction over her life. She was free to love whoever she wanted, but her being with Lyon last night had put her credibility in jeopardy. She’d have to play the consummate professional and put Les off the track. There was no time to explain that to Lyon now. Surely he would understand.
Before she could talk herself out of it, she shoved away from him and took the last few steps on a run. “Les!” she cried.
He spied her over Gracie’s broad shoulder and sidestepped the housekeeper to meet Andy halfway. She flew into his warm embrace. He kissed her roundly on the mouth. Would he taste Lyon there? she thought in panic.
“Andy baby, Lord, but I’ve missed you, sweetheart,” he exclaimed, hugging her tighter.
“I’ve missed you, too.” She had been lying so often lately. Hopefully without arousing his suspicions, she eased out of his arms. “What are you doing here? And this early in the morning?”
“I got a red-eye flight out of Nashville and made it to San Antonio last night. I drove the rest of the way this morning.”
“I guess everyone’s going to want coffee.” Gracie had never sounded so ungracious. She was glaring at Les with undisguised resentment.
“Please, Gracie.” The deep voice came from above them on the stairs.
Les’s red head went up and back as he noticed Lyon for the first time. Andy’s heart swelled with pride as she watched him descend the stairs with the ease and grace of a proud man. A man in a three-piece business suit couldn’t look any more distinguished than Lyon did wearing his faded jeans and cotton shirt. The sleeves had been rolled up to the elbows to reveal the strong arms that had held her through the night. His dark hair shone in the sunlight that was filtering through the windows. It had been well brushed but was already getting out of control.
She heard Gracie huffing off to get the coffee, but Andy’s attention didn’t waver from the two men as they confronted each other. The way they measured each other could only be defined as a confrontation. Lyon was taller, leaner, brawnier, but Les exuded the cunning of a street fighter.
Their dislike for each other was instantaneous and intense, and the air practically crackled with it. So palpable was it that Andy had to clear her throat in the suddenly dense atmosphere before she said, “Ly … Mr. Ratliff, this is Les Trapper, my producer. Les, Lyon Ratliff.”
Lyon stepped down to floor level, but didn’t extend his hand. “Mr. Trapper,” he said by way of greeting.
“Lyon.” The casual use of Lyon’s first name was intended as an affront, and Lyon took it as such. Andy could see that he was bristling, even though he was clearly trying to conceal his reactions from them both. “Thank you for taking care of Andy for me,” Les said, placing a protective, possessive arm across her shoulders.
Lyon’s steely eyes stabbed into her and she wanted to cry out in protest at the accusation in them. No, no, Lyon, none of this has anything to do with last night.
“Ms. Malone impresses me as a woman who can take care of herself.”
“That she can,” Les said heartily. “After all, she convinced you and your father to grant her an interview that others have tried to get and failed. Speaking of which, I have some good news. One of the networks got wind of the project and has offered to buy the whole kit and caboodle from the cable company.”
Andy turned to him in surprise. “Are you kidding?”
“No,” Les laughed. His blue eyes were sparkling behind the lenses of his glasses. “They want to see the interviews before they make a firm offer, but they’re very interested. The management of the cable company is willing to sell them if they get credit for them.”
Andy wondered why she wasn’t dancing with jubilation. This was her dream come true. This is what she had worked for, hoped for, for years. Why was she only moderately happy? Les was looking at her quizzically. Play the part, Andy. She threw her arms around his neck and hugged him tight. “Les, that is wonderful!” she exclaimed and hoped that her words didn’t ring as hollow in his ears as they did in hers.
“If you’ll excuse me,” Lyon said with all the repugnance and scorn in the world wrapped around his exit line. He stalked through the door that led into the kitchen. Andy kn
ew Les was still watching her carefully, so she refrained from looking after him mournfully. Every impulse in her body was urging her to run to him. Later, when this is over with, I’ll make him understand.
Les snapped his fingers in front of her nose. “Hey, remember me?”
She looked up with a smile that she thought might very well crack her face. “Ready for coffee?” she said brightly, turning toward the same door Lyon had used.
“Not so fast,” Les said, grabbing her arm and turning her around. “What’s going on here?”
“W—what do you mean?” She hoped her perplexed expression looked more genuine than it felt.
“I mean that something here isn’t right, and I want to know what it is.”
“Les, you’re shooting in the dark,” she said trying to pass off her alarm as impatience. Les mustn’t find out, mustn’t guess. “What could be wrong?”
“I don’t know,” he said slowly, eyeing her with clinical bemusement. “But I intend to find out. Like why did you look like you’d seen a ghost when you came barrelling down the stairs? That in itself was unlike you. I’m thrilled that you’re glad to see me, but something—”
“Les, really, you’re going daft. Ever since I came down here, you’ve been talking like Ellery Queen, searching for clues to something that doesn’t exist.”
“Yeah, helluva coincidence, isn’t it? That I started acting like a whacko the minute you got to Texas.”
She was saved from making a reply when Jeff pushed through the kitchen door. “Hey, Les! Gracie said you were here. It’s a real occasion when you pry yourself away from that garbage heap you call a desk.”
Les expounded on the whys and wherefores of his unexpected appearance, which Andy knew to be contrived. He was there for one reason and one reason only. To check up on her.
She was relieved that Lyon had excused himself from having breakfast with them. He had already left for his day’s work on the ranch by the time she, Les, and Jeff filed into the dining room to join the rest of the crew. Over Gracie’s delicious breakfast they discussed the taping session planned for that day.