by Diana Palmer
* * *
“I must be out of my mind to go off with you,” Margie told him once they were on the road.
“Especially at night,” he agreed. “So why did you?”
She stared down at her lap, where the neon lights from signs along the highway made colorful patterns. “I don’t know. I could have cheerfully choked you earlier.”
“You fight for your sister, honey. Don’t expect me to do less for my brother.”
She turned her attention to the whitecaps that were just visible behind the rows of motels, crashing on the wet beach. “In other words, it’s all in the point of view?”
“Exactly.”
“Where are we going?” she asked.
He glanced at her. “That question has a familiar ring. Do you always suspect me of evil motives when I get into a car with you?”
She laughed. “Is that how I sounded? I was just curious.”
“Don’t worry,” he said, executing a turn that led them onto a long stretch of road paralleling the beach. “I won’t try to stop at any motels.”
Her cheeks went hot. “I wasn’t expecting you to.”
“No?” He glanced her way. “Most of the time you act as if I were an escaped rapist.”
“You told me yourself that you weren’t a gentle man,” she said, clenching her fingers together in her lap.
He glanced sideways. “The word I used was lover,” he reminded her. “And I think you may have misunderstood me. I meant that I was demanding in bed, not cruel.”
She felt her face burn, but she knew the dim light wasn’t going to reveal that.
“No comment?’ he asked. He let up on the accelerator while he took a cigarette from his pocket and lit it.
“I’m nursing my bruises,” she murmured.
“You wouldn’t have any if you hadn’t tried to break my jaw,” he reminded her.
“Well, you insulted me!” she accused.
“And just what the hell were you doing to me?” he returned. “I wouldn’t presume to brag, but my God, it’s been twenty years since I had to fight for a kiss from any woman—and it’s never been called `disgusting.’”
She began to understand his attitude, and felt a little ashamed of herself. He was a proud man, and her description of that kiss must have hurt something vulnerable in him. She’d been afraid, and nervous of liking it too much, but in no way had he disgusted her. She began to wonder if he ever could.
“I shouldn’t have said that,” she admitted quietly. “It wasn’t true.”
He took a long draw from the cigarette. “I’m not usually rough with woman,” he said after a minute. “I’ve never forced one. Damn it, it’s the way you react to me,” he added gruffly. “I can’t get near you.”
“And I’ve told you already, it’s nothing personal,” she threw back. She sighed, wrapping her arms around herself. “I don’t enjoy sex,” she confessed quietly. “It’s something I can’t help, so please just accept it and don’t…don’t push.”
He pulled the car off the road onto a small paved area with picnic tables overlooking a stretch of sand dunes and scrub grass and diamond-sparkled water with whitecaps crashing down on the beach. He cut the engine and turned to her, his face shadowy in the moonlit confines of the car, his eyes glittering above the orange tip of his cigarette.
“Women aren’t frigid unless some man makes them that way,” he said shortly.
She looked down at the paleness of her skirt under her fingers. “What do you want from me, a confession?” She laughed nervously. “I’m sorry, I told you once, I’m a very private person.”
“That makes two of us.” He took a long draw from the cigarette. “Why do I frighten you?”
She tucked a fold into her skirt. “You’re very big,” she murmured.
His mouth curved slightly. “What do you want, a man half your size so that you can beat him in hand-to-hand?” he teased.
It sounded so absurd that she laughed involuntarily. “No, I don’t suppose so.”
He took another draw from the cigarette and leaned forward to crush it out in the ashtray, an action that brought him close—so close that she could feel the warmth of his body, smell the intoxicating fragrance of his very masculine cologne.
He turned suddenly, so that his face was only inches away from hers, and her heart pounded wildly.
“You let me hold you once, do you remember?” he asked softly, searching her wide eyes. “I made you angry and you cried, the night we went out with Andy and Jan.”
She licked her dry lips, hypnotized by his gaze. “I wanted to hit you,” she recalled.
“I’ve noticed that’s becoming a habit with you,” he murmured with a smile. His hands caught her shoulders, very gently, and tugged until her resistance lessened enough to let him ease her against his body.
“Here,” he breathed, sliding his arms slowly around her, giving her time to pull away if she wanted to. “Just like this, Margie, no threats, no demands. I just want to hold you.”
She felt his cheek rough against hers, felt the slow, steady rhythm of his breathing against her soft breasts, which were pressed gently against his broad chest. He wasn’t forcing her or overpowering her, and she knew that if she struggled the least bit, he’d let her go. The knowledge reassured her, and she relaxed, letting her hands rest gently on his shoulders.
“You see?” he murmured, his voice as deep and soothing as the sound of the waves on the beach. “I won’t hurt you.”
Her eyes closed, and she let him take her full weight, for the first time giving in without a fight. It was odd, the sensations this kind of yielding caused in her slender body: a tingling, a muffled excitement heightening her senses, making her aware of his warmth, his powerful body, the scent of him, the hard strength of his hands pressing lightly against her back through the whisper-thin fabric of her dress.
She felt him shift, easing her closer so that she was lying across his broad thighs with her head falling naturally onto his shoulder. She watched him as he watched her, his eyes wandering quietly over every visible inch of her.
“It’s like holding a tiny wild thing,” he murmured softly. His hand came up to brush the wisps of unruly hair away from her flushed cheeks. “You’re very soft, Margie. Skin like silk to touch.”
Her fingers touched his mouth hesitantly, feeling the hard warmth of it, tracing it. They touched his square jaw, his cheek, the roughness where his skin was shadowed with a day’s growth of beard. She liked the feel of him. It was the first time since her marriage that she’d wanted to touch a man.
His nose rubbed lightly, sensuously, against hers. “Kiss me, Margie,” he coaxed, his mouth poised just over hers, almost but not quite touching, taunting, tormenting.
Her fingers stilled on his cheek. “You could make me,” she whispered nervously, feeling her ground.
“Isn’t that what’s wrong with you now, honey?” he asked. “Too much `making’? I’m not going to force you. If you want my mouth, take it.”
Her hands moved over his jacket and she looked up at him, dazed, feeling the hard, heavy beat of his heart at her fingertips. Experimentally, she touched her lips to his. Once. Twice. She kissed him with a teasing pressure that left her unsatisfied, and still he didn’t move.
Confident now, she slid her hands up into the thick, cool strands of hair at the back of his head and lifted her body against his. She felt her breasts crushed softly against his shirt front as she put her lips slowly over his mouth; her eyes looked straight into his the whole time. Her mouth opened, coaxing him to do the same, so that she could taste his smoky flavor. His eyes were open too, watching her responses when his tongue flicked sensually at her parted lips, teasing the inner softness with maddening expertise.
She caught her breath at the new sensations he was making her feel.
His lips touched hers when he spoke. “It shocked you that night, didn’t it?” he murmured. “Watching each other while we kissed.”
“I never had,” she
confessed breathlessly. Her fingers tangled in his hair; she liked the feel of it.
“Neither had I,” he replied. “I wanted to watch you. I still do. Open your mouth a little.”
Her heart throbbed as she obeyed him, still looking up into his darkening eyes. Then his teeth nipped and his tongue stroked, and she felt his hands moving her, shifting her, catching her hips to press them intimately into the hard contours of his own. His mouth grew hungry, and her body turned traitor, burning with sweet new fires as she felt his need, emphasized by what his mouth was doing to her, and she went under like a drowning swimmer. Her eyes closed, the pleasure greater than she had expected. Unable to sustain the piercing gaze of his blazing dark eyes, she gave in without the whisper of a protest. She moaned, a strange, long, aching sound in the hot darkness. Her legs trembled against his, her knees curving into his thighs, her stomach pressing into his, her breasts aching as she tried to get closer.
She felt a shudder go through his large body, and then his hand was cupping her breast through the fabric, possessing it, and she panicked.
With a tiny cry, she drew back, catching his hand with cold fingers, her eyes revealing shocked confusion.
He took a deep, harsh breath. “I’m a grown man,” he ground out. “What did you expect when you rubbed yourself against me like that?”
She swallowed a harsh retort and eased herself off his lap, back into her own seat, wrapping her arms tightly around herself. “Sorry,” she managed in a shaky tone.
He didn’t speak. He felt for cigarettes and lit another one with fingers that weren’t quite as steady as before. He sat quietly, smoking for a few seconds before he spoke. He looked darkly sensuous, his hair ruffled by her hands, his eyes still black with frustrated passion.
“Presumably, men do touch you from time to time?” he challenged mockingly.
“Not like that, no,” she confessed, shooting him a sheepish glance.
He looked shocked. “No mild petting allowed?” he murmured.
She drew a deep breath. She owed him some kind of explanation, at least. “If you want the truth, I don’t know a great deal about petting.”
“For God’s sake, you were married!”
“Yes,” she threw back, her eyes bitter. “To a man who looked upon a marriage license as justification for legalized rape!”
Six
He stared at her for a long time, his face as hard as a statue’s, his eyes narrowed and calculating.
She turned her eyes away, embarrassed at the confession she’d never made to anyone except Jan. “I’m sorry I let it go that far,” she said tightly. “I can’t bear intimacy with a man. I remember all too well what it leads to.”
He blew out a heavy cloud of smoke. “My fault,” he contradicted, shifting in the seat to place his arm along the back of the seat while he studied her. “I’ve been a hell of a lot more interested in mergers than women lately. I didn’t realize I was that hungry.”
She peeked at him out of the corner of her eyes. “If it’s any consolation,” she told him dryly, “it’s been a very long time since I wanted to kiss anyone that much.”
One corner of his sensuous mouth curved. “That works both ways,” he murmured.
She smiled, lowering her gaze to her wrinkled skirt. “Now I understand why they line up trying to get close to you.” She laughed. “And you’re crazy if you think it’s just because you’re rich.”
He reached across and untangled one of her hands from her skirt, linking it with his in a slow, exciting caress. “Can you talk about your marriage?” he asked.
She shook her head. “Hurts too much,” she confessed. “I went into it with bright eyes and came out crying. It destroyed every illusion I ever had about the pleasures of the boudoir.”
He sighed. “He must have hurt you one hell of a lot.”
She shrugged. “I was a virgin. I didn’t know anything, except what little I had learned from books and listening to other girls talk. I suppose my ignorance made him mad, and things just got worse.”
His fingers tightened. “Most men care enough to be gentle the first time.”
She laughed bitterly. “Not Larry,” she recalled. “It was my fault. Always my fault.” She shifted restlessly. “Can we talk about something else, please?”
“In a minute.” He turned her face around so that she had to look at him. “Did you ever enjoy it?”
She searched his eyes and smiled faintly. “No,” she admitted. “I found it painful at first, and then just…terribly unpleasant.”
“One more question, and I’ll leave it alone. Did you ever feel with him what you just felt with me?” he asked gently.
She raised her eyebrows. “If you think I’m going to answer that, you’re crazy,” she told him.
“Afraid?” he asked silkily.
Her lower lip pouted at him. “Just sensible. You’ve got a big enough ego as it is.”
“Not ego,” he said, shaking his head. “Just confidence. In some things,” he clarified, smiling. “I’m having to feel my way with you.”
She lifted an eyebrow. “Literally?” she murmured.
He laughed softly. “I usually do have more finesse than I’ve shown tonight. God, woman, you were burning me alive already. All it took to push me over the edge was the feel of you grinding into me that way.”
She actually blushed. Her eyes fell to their entangled fingers. She studied his hand, so much darker than her own, enormous, flat-nailed and strong. “I like your hands,” she said softly.
His fingers contracted. “I like yours, too, honey,” he said. He leaned back against the seat and smoked his cigarette quietly. It was a good silence, secure and comforting and deliciously intimate. She let her head slide sideways onto his arm, and, without a word, he drew her to his side so that she could pillow her cheek on his chest.
“I don’t want to,” he said after a minute, “but I suppose we’d better go home.”
She opened her eyes and looked out the window across his broad chest. “I like being with you,” she said quietly.
His arm contracted gently and she felt his breath against her hair. “I like being with you,” he murmured. “Very much.”
It was like being a girl all over again, on a first date with a special boy. She nuzzled her cheek against him with a sigh.
He crushed out the cigarette and reached for the ignition. She started to move away, but he wouldn’t let her.
“No,” he said in a strange, soft tone, his eyes holding hers for an instant. “No, stay where you are. I like the feel of you like this.”
He started the car and put it into drive, easing it back to the highway. They went all the way to the beach house with his arm holding her like some sweet, fragile treasure.
He came around to open the door for her when they reached the dark house. He caught her hand in his, holding it firmly as they walked to the porch.
“Looks like they’ve all gone to bed,” he observed with a smile.
She looked up at him. “Do you think Jan and Andy are lovers?” she asked.
He glanced down at her. “I don’t know,” he said quietly. “For both their sakes, I hope it hasn’t gone that far. I don’t want them forced into marriage by an unwanted pregnancy.”
“How do you know that it wouldn’t be wanted?” she asked him.
He looked deep into her eyes, his jaw clenching. “Did you want children?” he asked.
She nodded sadly. “More than anything. He didn’t.”
“It was just as well, under the circumstances,” he remarked, and she nodded.
“Did you?” she asked, feeling comfortable enough with him to ask.
For a moment his own mask slipped and she saw the lonely man inside the shell. He nodded.
“And she didn’t?” she probed softly.
He laughed bitterly. “She decided that having a baby would ruin her waistline. It wasn’t worth the sacrifice.”
“Oh, Cal, I’m sorry,” she whispered, hurting for him.
He studied her for a long minute, searching her eyes. His chest rose and fell heavily and his eyes darkened. Catching her arm, he drew her back into the shadows beside the door, and pulled her slowly against the length of his body.
“Tell me if I frighten you,” he breathed roughly, and bent his head. His mouth opened as it touched hers, parting the soft, trembling line of her lips, his tongue tasting her in a silence that blazed with new sensation, new emotion. She slid her arms hesitantly around his waist, under his unbut-toned jacket, and savored the warmth of his body beneath the thin silk shirt. She melted into him, loving the feel of his powerful legs, the protective warmth of his arms gathering her even closer. Her tongue touched the long, broad line of his upper lip and traced its inner moistness with a totally new sensuality.
He drew back, his breath coming hard. “Don’t do that,” he whispered roughly.
She searched his dark eyes with a breathless new abandon. “I like the way you taste,” she whispered back. Then she smiled up at him, her eyes full of wonder. “You taste smoky.”
Involuntarily his mouth tugged into a smile. “You taste like honey. Sweet and smooth and tempting. Much too tempting for this hour of the night,” he added. “Unless you’d like to lie in my arms in bed…?”
She tingled from head to toe and her breath caught in her throat as she imagined the picture they’d make—his dark, hair-roughened body poised above her paleness in the dim room, her arms uplifted, welcoming….
“You’re blushing,” he murmured.
She dropped her eyes and moved away. What she was feeling was too new. “I think I’d better call it a night, Mr. Van Dyne, before I get myself in too deep.”
“I was Cal a minute ago,” he murmured as he unlocked the door and opened it for her.
She glanced up at him as she went in. “You make me feel like a threatened species.” She laughed.
“And I’ve barely begun,” he murmured wickedly. “Come swimming with me in the morning.”
She hesitated. “I’d sort of planned to drop a line off the pier and see what I could catch,” she admitted.
Both heavy eyebrows arched. “You like to fish?” he burst out.