He laughed softly, as if her jealousy delighted him. “Amelia Glenn, you delight me beyond bearing sometimes,” he murmured. “Mrs. Cade, for your information, is no longer a lover. She is now the executive vice-president of one of my subcontractors.”
Her face froze, and she echoed, “Executive…?”
“Vice-president,” he repeated. He looked down at her taut breasts, the dark, hardened tips outlined under the too-thin fabric. “And the urgent business has to do with that South American venture of mine. She’s the contact person for the project; she’s been making all the overtures to the government. She just got in, and I’m going over to discuss with her, and her husband,” he added emphatically, “how to proceed.”
She bit her lower lip. “Oh.”
“Are you cold?” he asked suddenly.
“No,” she said absently. “Why?”
“Then you must be damned aroused, Amy,” he murmured wickedly, and brushed a long forefinger over a hard nipple.
She gasped and started to move away.
“This won’t get you pregnant,” he promised, sliding a hand behind her shoulders to hold her there. “Look, darling,” he whispered, coaxing her eyes down to the gown.
His slender, elegant hand unfastened the ribbons that held the bodice together, one by one, and slowly peeled it away from her full, high breasts, baring their cream and rose beauty to his eyes.
Her breath caught and she started to lift her hand to pull the gown together again, but he brought her hand to his lips and settled it against his hard, warm chest.
“Just stand still,” he murmured softly. He eased the gown down to her waist while she trembled at the newness of a man’s eyes on her body, and then he moved away and looked until she blushed.
“If I didn’t have to see Terie,” he said softly, “I’d carry you to the bed and strip you, and I’d let you feel my mouth on every inch of your body.”
Her lips trembled. Her body trembled. She was being burned by a fever she’d never experienced in her life, at the mercy of unfamiliar hungers. “H…here, too?” she whispered, and brushed her fingers against her breast.
“Especially, there,” he said. He caught her waist and lifted her up, so that her breasts were within a breath of his mouth. His lips parted and he brought her close, swallowing one taut, trembling nipple in the moist warmth of his mouth, savoring it.
She arched backward, her hands holding his thick, dark hair, holding his mouth over her, and she moaned.
His breath quickened, as if the sound aroused him. Blind, deaf and dumb, she felt him lift her, carry her, toss her onto the bed. And she suddenly felt cold and alone.
Her eyes opened, to find him standing over her with dark, unreadable eyes in a face like stone as he looked down at her partial nudity.
“That,” he said quietly, “is highly addictive and leads to a kind of exercise you haven’t experienced yet. I’m not in the market for a sensual virgin, Amy, although I’m flattered by the offer.”
With tremendous dignity, she sat up and replaced her bodice, trying not to let him see the tears that were welling in her eyes.
She even smiled, although she didn’t look at him. “Oh, well, you can’t blame a girl for trying,” she said lightly. “We old maids have to get our experience where we can.”
“You’re no old maid. You’re a beautiful, compassionate, sexy woman. And I want you like hell. But not tonight.”
“No, you have work to do,” she said for him.
He started to say something, scowled blackly, and turned away. “Yes. I have work to do. Listen for the phone, please.”
He went out without looking back and slammed the door behind him.
She lay awake until the early hours of the morning, when she finally heard him come back. Well, maybe he’d worn himself out enough to sleep, she thought drowsily. She only hoped the angiogram wouldn’t show any need for Mrs. Carson to have open heart surgery. Since his grandmother was the only person Worth loved, it would be horrible for him.
Amelia would have to stay with him, for the time being. He might not want her body enough to risk commitment, but he did need someone, and who else was there? As odd as it sounded, she was probably closer to him than anyone except his grandmother. They’d talked a lot over the weeks and she felt that she understood him. She could give him comfort, she thought bitterly, if nothing else. She could give him that, even if he didn’t want her to love him.
The next morning, she went with him to the hospital. The angiogram was run, and much later that afternoon, the doctor told Worth that his grandmother’s need for a bypass was imperative, and urgent. The surgery was scheduled for early the next morning.
Worth went in to see his grandmother and came out looking wild and restless. Amelia tried to get him to eat something, but he wouldn’t. She went back home finally to tell the staff what was happening and answer the mail.
She hadn’t gone in to see Jeanette, because Worth was reluctant to let her. He seemed to feel that it might be upsetting for the older woman. Amelia didn’t agree, but she wouldn’t have argued with him for the world. Any kind of major surgery had its risk factor, and she knew even if Worth didn’t that the seventy-two hours following that surgery were very precarious. The elderly woman could die. He had to know that, though, and was hoarding these last few visits with her. Amelia didn’t want to deprive him of a single minute. So she sent her love instead, and then tried to keep busy at the house answering the phone and wondering how she was going to survive when she had to leave Worth.
It was late when Worth came back from the hospital, and the staff had long since gone home. Amelia had waited up, taking time to fix a platter of cold cuts and ready the coffeepot just in case he wanted food. She walked out into the hall to ask if he’d like anything. But he didn’t even see her. He went straight into the den, and closed the door.
She kept thinking that eventually he’d come out. She made coffee and put some sandwiches on a platter, and then tried to think what to do. She remembered the long days before her grandmother had died, the anguish of waiting, the nearness of death and the hopelessness of being able to do nothing. It must be worse for a man, she thought. Much worse.
She paced the kitchen, her blue eyes troubled, her jeans and T-shirt confining. She was tired and wanted her bed, but she couldn’t possibly just go to sleep and leave Worth alone.
Risking his anger, she put a cup of coffee on the tray with the sandwiches, knocked at his door and boldly walked in.
He was sitting on the sofa, an open bottle of whiskey and an empty glass on the coffee table in front of him. His head had been in his hands until she walked in. He glared at her, as if the whole situation was her fault, with stormy dark eyes in a face laid bare by grief and worry.
“What the hell do you want?” he demanded.
“I came to feed you, and please stop growling at me,” she returned, not at all put off by his cold temper. She knew what was causing it; she could see through the anger to the pain.
“Well, I’m not hungry,” he returned. He poured another glass of whiskey. “Go away.”
She put the sandwiches down on the coffee table and sat beside him. He was wearing suit slacks with a totally unbuttoned white shirt. His dark, hairy chest was bare and this, added to the slight growth of beard on his broad face, gave him a disreputable look.
“I said…” he began again.
“I heard you. Have a sandwich and some coffee.” She picked up a full cup and saucer and began to sip her own.
“Damn you,” he said with a rough laugh.
“Old maids are stubborn,” she told him. “But if you humor us, we go away.”
“I’m not sure I want that.” He took a sandwich and bit into it. “Chicken salad. My favorite.”
“I must be psychic,” she murmured, but she’d watched him, and she knew his preferences in food.
“Really? These are good.”
“Thank you.”
He finished the sandwich and sip
ped coffee, staring straight ahead. “What will I do if she dies, Amy?”
“A tough old bird like you?” she scoffed, refusing to take him seriously. “You’ll manage, just as she would, if the situation was reversed. But I wouldn’t give up on her, if I were you,” she added. “A woman who takes up break dancing at the age of seventy-five is not really likely to let an operation get her down.”
He turned and looked at her for a long time, frowning. “You’re always like this,” he said quietly. “Always optimistic, encouraging. You’re unique, Amy.” He sipped some more coffee. “I’ve never had anyone except my grandmother. I suppose, in the past year, I’ve more or less built my world around her.” He looked up, his eyes narrow as they met hers. “She talks when she trusts people. And she trusts you. She told you about Connie, didn’t she?”
It was no time to lie. “Yes,” she confessed. “She did.”
He studied his hands. “She tried to tell me, and I wouldn’t listen. I was so crazy about that damned woman that I wouldn’t let myself believe what she was. Because of it, Grandmother had a heart attack. I’ve lived with the guilt ever since.” He laughed bitterly. “I’ve lived like a monk ever since, except for an occasional lapse. I haven’t let anyone come close. I’ve been afraid to.”
“Are you going to punish yourself for the rest of your life for that one time you didn’t believe her?” she asked gently. “She wouldn’t want that, Worth.”
“It’s easier said than done. I don’t trust my judgment, Amy. I don’t trust women.”
“I can understand that,” she admitted. Her eyes wandered over him, loving the bigness of him, the strength, even this very rare vulnerability. If only it wasn’t such a potentially tragic situation that was causing it.
“I wish I could say something that would help,” she faltered. “I remember times like this. There aren’t adequate words, you know.”
His eyes stared blankly into his coffee. “I hate like hell to feel helpless. There’s nothing I can do, nothing at all, except sit and wait.”
“And you hate waiting,” she murmured dryly. “Yes, I know. But what you have to keep in mind is that she has competent doctors, and she’s in excellent health, and she has a will like forged steel. That’s a powerful combination.”
“I keep telling myself that. But I can’t be sure. Neither can they.” He put the coffee cup down and took another large sip of whiskey.
“That can’t be helping,” she said hesitantly.
He laughed bitterly. “It’s this or a woman,” he murmured. He glanced at her. “And the only available one I know is taboo.”
“Worth…” she began hesitantly.
He touched her mouth with a long finger. “I don’t need a virgin sacrifice,” he whispered.
“It wouldn’t be one,” she whispered back. Her eyes searched his. “I want you.”
His breath drew in and went out very slowly. “Amy…”
“I know I’m not beautiful,” she ground out. “I’m too thin, and my face has odd angles. But I’m twenty-eight, damn it, and I’ve been saving it all up for the right time and the right man.” Her eyes, tearful, searched his. “I know you’re not offering me commitment and happily ever after. I don’t even care. Tonight you need someone very badly, and I’d like to be that someone. You could think of me as a bad tasting medicine….” she faltered with a wobbly laugh.
“Bad tasting,” he scoffed. He bent and kissed her very softly. “There isn’t one thing wrong with you, Amy Glenn, and I want you obsessively. But…”
“Let me give you the little comfort I can,” she whispered. “I know all too well how long this night is going to be for you. I’ll lie in your arms and hold you and you can have me.”
His lips parted on a rough breath. “Amy, the risk,” he began slowly.
“There isn’t any risk,” she lied, easing his conscience. She put her mouth very slowly to his, loving him, wanting him. It would never be more than this, and perhaps it was wrong. But she’d live on this all her life. And this poor, tormented man would be able to face his crisis tomorrow a little more rested and at peace than he would otherwise. “Please,” she whispered at his lips.
With a hard groan, he pulled her into his arms and returned the kiss wildly, hungrily, his heart slamming against his chest, his breath ragged. Seconds later, he picked her up and carried her to his room.
She felt tingly all over as she looked at him, measuring the sheer size of him, all muscle, all man. She thought about lying with him in bed, with nothing between them, in the darkness, and her breath caught. Dark against light, hard muscle against soft skin…
He laid her gently on his bed, with the single lamp by the bed burning softly, and he sat down beside her and looked at her for a long time. His fingers slid under her jeans to brush over her flat belly and she tensed. He looked up at her frozen face. “Like it?” he asked gently. He flattened his hand, and it was so big that it almost completely covered her stomach. His fingers brushed, teased, and his eyes never left her face. “You’re very soft.”
“Your hand…is enormous,” she whispered.
“Like my feet.” He laughed softly. His eyes fell to the T-shirt. He eased it over her head and tossed it aside, staring down at her lacy bra, and his fingers slid up. “Now this,” he said, teasing around the clasp, “is a man’s delight. A catch he can see and doesn’t have to feel for. It beats groping behind.”
He lifted his eyes again to watch the reaction in her own as he gently dispensed with the clasp and then slowly, teasingly, peeled the bra away from her high, firm breasts. He looked down at them with an expression she couldn’t define, watching the tips harden under his intimate gaze.
His fingers went to touch them, the backs of his hands rubbing the nipples, and her body tensed and shuddered as unexpected ripples of pleasure began to stir.
His fingers bunched around the hard tip and tested its texture. “I’m not quite sober, Amy,” he murmured. “I should stop….”
“No!” she choked. Her body was aching. She felt her legs move restlessly, and wondered at her inability to control them. “Please!”
His eyes darkened, and she could see desire glazing in them. His hand moved again, to her waist. He held it there while he bent, and his mouth hovered just over her breast. “Are you going to be a noisy lover, Amy?” he whispered, laughing softly. “Let’s see.”
And his mouth opened, enveloping her, moist and warm. She stiffened and cried out hoarsely at the wild thrust of sensation he aroused with that tender suction. She felt his teeth and then his tongue, and finally his whole mouth as his hands stabbed in at her waist and propelled her upward to ease his path.
His mouth slid down her, nipping at her waist, her stomach. He tore the jeans and briefs out of his way, and his mouth nudged against her inner thighs while she moaned deep in her throat and began to move on the coverlet with involuntary sensual writhings.
He did things to her body that she’d only read about before. He touched her in places and ways that brought tears to her eyes. Her hands clawed into the pillow at her head and she wondered if she was going to survive it. The pleasure was building, growing, buffeting her.
Her eyes opened when he lifted his head to look at her, and she knew they were misty and dazed and tear-filled. Her full mouth felt swollen. It was parted, her neck arched, her body trembling and damp, her long hair in a glorious tangle around her head.
His eyes went over her, lingering on the restless, helpless movement of her legs.
Sitting up, he moved his hands to his opened shirt. He stripped it off, baring his broad, hair-covered chest. Slowly, sinuously, holding her fascinated gaze, he removed every stitch of his clothing and let her watch him. Her eyes went over him like hands, rapt with curiosity and appreciation of the rippling muscle and blatant, perfect masculinity of his deeply tanned chest, flat stomach, narrow hips and powerful thighs. He was exactly as she’d imagined he would be undressed, the image of a statue she’d seen and blushed at in a mu
seum. But he wasn’t a statue. He was real. And even as she watched, he eased down beside her on the coverlet and she felt the warmth of his skin.
He kissed her swollen mouth softly, tenderly, while his hands found her breasts and traced them in a silence that blazed with rough breathing and wild heartbeats. His fingers moved down to her flat stomach and explored it, eased to her thighs, savoring the silky skin. And all the while, his mouth invaded hers, doing such intimate things to it that she felt the heat all the way to her toes.
He took a long time, lightly teasing her body, touching and arousing it to such a fever pitch that she began to cry from the spiraling tension.
His mouth went down to her breasts again, to her belly, her thighs, and she began to move restlessly, helpless movements that signaled the loss of control.
And then she felt his weight, beside her, above her, felt the powerful warm muscles and abrasive hair of his chest, his flat stomach, his thighs, and she looked up into dark, stormy eyes.
“Please,” she whispered, her voice breaking into a thousand pieces, her eyes wet, her hands reaching up, trembling as they caught his shoulders. “Please.”
His hands slid under her head, his eyes filling hers, so close that she could see the tiny lines around them.
“Please,” she whimpered, arching, blatantly aroused, aching all over with a need she’d never felt before.
“Gently, sweet,” he murmured. His hand touched her thighs, positioning, stilling. He eased down very slowly, watching her face so that he’d know instantly if he was hurting her.
But it was easy. A little hesitation, a little tightening. But he had her so aroused that she never felt pain. She wanted anything, everything, pain would only augment the wildness, the savagery, of the desire she felt for him. Her eyes blazed with it, her nails bit into his shoulders, her teeth clenched.
“I want…you,” she whispered hoarsely, her eyes telling him, her body begging for his. “Worth. Worth…!”
He moved down, smiling through his own desire as his body registered the ease of its passage, her hunger for him startling in its intensity. She was shuddering all over, her eyes as wild as her body, and she excited him beyond bearing. A virgin, but so passionate that he lost control as her movements intensified and overwhelmed him.
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