Men Made in America Mega-Bundle

by Gayle Wilson, Marie Ferrarella, Jennifer Greene, Annette Broadrick, Judith Arnold, Rita Herron, Anne Stuart, Diana Palmer, Elizabeth Bevarly, Patricia Rosemoor, Emilie Richards

“Well, it could still be worse,” he commented. “It could be hailing.”

  “Oh, don’t say it, Rory,” Miriam cautioned him, “because if you do—”

  Sure enough, before she could even complete the admonition, she heard a rattling nick-nick-nick from somewhere beyond the sheets of rain. After a moment the nick-nick-nick was followed by a louder and more threatening thump-thump-thump that beat relentlessly against the hood and roof of the car with much maliciousness. The rain abated for a moment, just long enough for Miriam to see marble-size bits of ice pinging—nay, bulleting—off the hood of the car, then the downpour seemed to triple in severity, blocking her view with a watery curtain again.

  She sighed in defeat. “Usually,” she said softly, “the arrival of hail heralds a dip in the temperature.” And even as she uttered the comment, little goose bumps erupted on her arms. Without consulting Rory, she reached for the car’s air conditioner and switched it off, then crossed her arms over her midsection in a completely useless effort to ward off the chill.

  “Here,” he said as he noted her actions, struggling to remove his jacket.

  He turned off the car’s ignition completely, then flicked on the emergency flashers—not that Miriam thought for a moment that anyone would be able to see the blinking lights through this downpour. Not that she thought there would be anyone out there to see them in this downpour. After all, who in his or her right mind would be out driving on a night like this, unless they were returning home after a truly lovely interlude with someone about whom they cared very deeply?

  “It looks as if we’re going to be stuck here for a while,” Rory added. “And I’m afraid to run the engine any longer, even the heater, in case we need the battery for something later. You just never know. But this should keep you warm,” he told her, generously extending his jacket toward her, holding it the same way a gentleman would hold a lady’s wrap for her.

  “How gallant,” she couldn’t keep herself from saying as she smiled and took the garment from him.

  And when she did, Rory blushed. Even though Miriam couldn’t see his face very clearly, now that the car’s interior lights had been extinguished, she still somehow sensed intuitively that he was indeed blushing. And realizing that only endeared him to her that much more.

  Honestly, she thought. One would think she was in love with the man. Which of course wasn’t true at all. What Miriam felt for Rory, she was sure, was simply an intense attraction and a powerful longing and a soul-deep need. That was all. Certainly she wasn’t denying the possibility that love might occur later in their relationship. But first, she told herself, they must have a relationship. She wasn’t in love with him. Not yet. Heavens, no.

  “This deplorable weather shouldn’t last long,” he said as she awkwardly thrust her arms through his suit jacket and wrapped it snugly around herself. “These summer storms seldom do. We can wait it out.”

  Although she knew what he said about summer storms was normally true, Miriam was also certain that Rory had just jinxed it completely the moment he’d spoken the observation aloud. Now it was doubtless going to rain for another forty days and forty nights.

  Drat, she thought. They were going to be stranded out here, on this dark, deserted strip of highway, with nothing to keep them warm, all night long, all alone. Immediately upon forming the realization, though, Miriam suddenly brightened. Because now they were going to be stranded out here, on this dark, deserted strip of highway, with nothing to keep them warm, all night long, all alone.

  Well, well, well. Maybe this date wasn’t going to end up being so disastrous after all. If nothing else, the two of them would now have an opportunity to talk, and perhaps an opportunity to get to know each other better. And maybe, if she was very lucky, they’d even have an opportunity to get to know each other intimately.

  Oh, dear, Miriam thought as that last idea unrolled in her head. Her Inner Temptress must be awakening again. And right on time, too, she couldn’t help remarking. Sleep all day, and then wake up to carouse all night. That was her Inner Temptress, all right. The little minx.

  Miriam snuggled more comfortably into the jacket she had wrapped around herself, inhaling deeply the familiar scents of Rory Monahan and enjoying the warmth of his body that still clung to the inside of the garment. She smiled. Wearing Rory’s jacket was almost as nice as being touched by Rory himself, she thought. Then he reached across her for something, and, in the darkness, his arm brushed lightly over her breasts.

  And she realized as a thrill of electric heat shot through her that wearing Rory’s jacket was absolutely nothing like being touched by Rory himself.

  “I’m sorry,” he immediately apologized as he jerked his arm back again. “I was reaching for the glove compartment. I think there’s a flashlight in there.”

  “That’s all right,” Miriam said genuinely, if a little breathlessly. “No harm done.”

  All right, so that last part of her statement hadn’t been quite as genuinely offered as the first part. Although it certainly had been all right for Rory to touch her, he’d actually just done plenty of harm—to her thoughts, to her well-being, to her sense of propriety and to her libido.

  “Perhaps you could look for the flashlight,” he suggested. “You’re in a better position to find it than I am, anyway.”

  Obediently she felt around the dashboard until she located the knob to open the glove compartment. And when she reached inside, she wasn’t surprised to discover how tidy and well organized were the contents. It took her no time at all to find the flashlight. But when she withdrew it and switched it on, no light flashed forth. She shook it gently, hoping to rouse some scant illumination, but to no avail.

  “I think the batteries must be dead,” she said.

  She heard Rory’s frustrated sigh part the darkness between them. “They are,” he told her. “I recall now that they ran out while I was changing my last flat tire. I meant to put new ones in, but—” he shrugged apologetically “—I forgot.”

  “Oh, Rory,” Miriam said as she replaced the flashlight and closed the glove compartment. In spite of their difficult situation, she couldn’t quite halt the smile that curled her lips. “You need someone to look after you.”

  She felt him stiffen in the seat beside her. “I beg to differ,” he said curtly. “I’ve been looking after myself for my entire adult life.”

  “Have you?” she asked, still smiling.

  “Of course I have.”

  “Well, I do apologize then,” Miriam told him. “And I do stand corrected.”

  Now that her eyes were adjusting better to the darkness, she could distinguish his features fairly well, and she saw him relax some. But there was no way she would ever believe that Rory Monahan looked after himself. Not with any degree of success, anyway.

  “Well, then,” she continued after a moment, “as you said, we may be stuck here for a good while. What on earth shall we do to pass the time? What could there possibly be available to two people—two consenting adults, I might add—who are stranded alone together on a dark and stormy night, with absolutely no hope of discovery for hours and hours and hours on end?” She leaned toward him a little and cooed softly, “Hmmm, Rory? What would you suggest we do?”

  Seven

  At no time had Miriam intended for her questions to be in any way suggestive. Somehow, though, even as she was uttering them, she realized they sounded exactly that. Not just suggestive, but…sexually suggestive. How on earth had that happened?

  Probably, she thought, it was because the voice in which she had uttered the questions hadn’t been her own voice at all. No, the voice that had spoken just then had most definitely belonged to her Inner Temptress, no two ways about it. Because the voice had been very low and very throaty and very, well, tempting.

  Rory must have noticed that, too, because he turned to face Miriam fully and said, with much surprise lacing his own voice, “I—I—I—What did you say?”

  She opened her mouth to make amends, not to men
tion an explanation, for having created such an awkward situation—presumably by making a light jest, somehow, of what she had just said. But she realized fairly quickly that, what with her Inner Temptress being awake and all—drat the little firebrand—she wasn’t about to be corralled anytime soon. No, in fact, Miriam’s Inner Temptress—little vixen that she was—made matters even worse.

  Because what came out of Miriam’s mouth, instead of being a hasty, jesting explanation for her previous, dubious, suggestion, actually wound up being a throatily—and temptingly—offered, “Oh, come on, Rory. Surely, an educated man like you can think of something for two consenting adults to do that would pass the time in an…interesting…fashion.”

  Heavens, had she actually said that? Miriam marveled. Well, of course, she could argue that no, she hadn’t actually said that, that her Inner Temptress—the little tigress—had been the one behind it. But Miriam had been forced to conclude some time ago—shortly after awakening her Inner Temptress, as a matter of fact—that she alone was responsible for the little rabble-rouser. Ergo, the little rabble-rouser was a part of her makeup, and no amount of denying that would change anything. So when her Inner Temptress spoke, Miriam had no choice but to listen. And to take responsibility.

  And she would have to take the initiative, too, she thought further, if she didn’t want to completely humiliate herself now by backing down and apologizing profusely for her Inner Temptress’s questionable behavior and shrinking back into her seat like a docile little lamb. Then again, taking the initiative with Rory Monahan wasn’t such a bad prospect, she decided. Because maybe if she took the initiative, then he might take something else. Like liberties, for example. That might be fun.

  After all, he had kissed her not long ago, she reminded herself as a warm, wanton little curl of anticipation unwound inside her. Granted, it had been a nice, simple, harmless kiss, but it didn’t take much effort to turn a nice, simple, harmless kiss into a seething, passionate, relentless embrace. Not according to Metropolitan magazine, anyway. All Miriam had to do was give her Inner Temptress free rein.

  So, without allowing herself time to think about what she was doing, Miriam surrendered herself to her Inner Temptress. And immediately after doing so, she found herself lifting a hand toward Rory’s face and threading her fingers through his hair.

  Oh, my, what a vamp that Inner Temptress was.

  Then, very softly and very seductively, Miriam heard herself telling him, “Do you realize how incredibly handsome you look this evening? Honestly, Rory, Winona would never forgive me for saying this, but all through dinner, all I could do was think about how our meal couldn’t possibly be any more delicious than you must be.”

  He gaped hugely at her, but Miriam couldn’t quite blame him. She felt like gaping hugely at herself. Goodness. She must have taken those articles in Metropolitan magazine closer to heart than she realized.

  Finally, and not a little nervously, Rory said, “Miss…I mean…Miriam…I—I—I think maybe, perhaps, possibly you may have had a little, small amount, tiny bit too much to drink tonight.”

  “I only had two glasses of wine,” she reminded him, weaving her fingers through his hair again. And as she did, she couldn’t help noticing that, for all his verbal objecting, Rory had done nothing to remove her hand.

  “Yes, but those two glasses were more than three-fourths full,” he pointed out. “Which actually goes against the proper pouring procedure for any fine dining establishment.”

  “Winona is a generous hostess,” Miriam said, twining one dark lock of his hair around her index finger. She pushed her body to the edge of her seat, as close to Rory as she could, and still he did nothing to physically dissuade her physical advances.

  “Yes, well, if she gets any more generous,” he said, “she may just compromise her profits and drive herself right out of business. Not to mention compromise the virtue of her patrons.”

  “Is that what I’m doing?” Miriam asked innocently as she leaned further over, to push herself closer to him still. She lifted her other hand to join the first, threading those fingers, too, through his hair, and she marveled at the satiny softness of the dark tresses as she sifted them through her fingers. “Am I compromising myself?” she asked further, hopefully.

  Rory’s discomfort seemed to compound, but he still made no move to halt her brazen actions. “Oh, I never meant to suggest that you’re compromising yourself,” he told her. “It’s the wine that’s compromising you. I’m sure of it.”

  She waited one telling moment, then said huskily, “I’d rather it be you compromising me.”

  To punctuate the statement, she reached for his glasses and gently removed them, then set them on the dashboard, her eyes never leaving his. Then she pushed herself to the very edge of her seat and dipped her head to his, nuzzling his nose softly with her own.

  Her heart rate quickened as she performed the gesture, her body temperature rocketing into triple digits, she was certain. He smelled spicy and well-scrubbed and manly, an intoxicating combination that dizzied her, dazzled her, dazed her. The storm blustering outside the car was nothing in comparison to the one that was suddenly raging inside her. Miriam had no idea where it had come from, and she was astonished by its utter potency, but there it was all the same. She felt Rory’s heat surrounding her, wrapping her, enclosing her completely. And she wanted him. Badly. More than she had ever wanted anything before in her life.

  “Miss Thornbury,” he began to protest. Though she couldn’t help thinking his objection sounded more than a little halfhearted. “I—I—I—”

  “Miriam,” she immediately corrected him. “Call me Miriam.”

  “Miriam,” he repeated obediently. “I—I—I—”

  “I like the way you say my name,” she interrupted him. For good measure, she added, “Rory. In fact,” she continued, still in that low, husky voice that she couldn’t help thinking sounded much more convincing now than it had before, “I like you, period. I like you very much.”

  As Miriam urged her body closer to his, Rory couldn’t, for the life of him, figure out what had come over her. Or him, for that matter, because he certainly wasn’t doing what he should to put a stop to her advances. Odder still was the fact that he didn’t want to put a stop to her advances. In fact, he felt like making a few advances of his own. He was just too startled at the moment to know where to begin.

  In spite of his suggestion that Miriam had had too much to drink, he didn’t think wine was what had generated her current actions. Not only had they each only had two glasses, as she’d said, but they’d topped them off with coffee over dessert. Then they’d fairly well walked off what scant inebriation may have remained while exploring the neighborhood around the restaurant.

  All right, so when he had kissed her, there may have been some kind of intoxication involved, he conceded, but even that, he was sure, hadn’t come from a bottle of wine. Where it had come from, Rory couldn’t quite say at the moment, but he and Miriam both had been as sober as the proverbial judges by the time they’d returned to his car. Until a few moments ago, she’d seemed fine.

  And then, suddenly, a few moments ago…

  Well, Rory still couldn’t figure out exactly where or when things had begun to go awry. One minute they’d been settling in to await the end of the storm, and the next minute…the next minute…

  Well, the next minute another sort of storm entirely had begun to brew.

  Because suddenly Miriam had been sitting close enough for Rory to fill his lungs with the faint scent of lavender that clung to her, close enough for him to feel her nearness, her heat, her desire. And she’d begun to run her fingers through his hair, and nuzzle his nose with hers, and all of it had just been so overwhelming, all of it had simply felt much too good to ask her to stop any of it, not that he wanted her to stop any of it, even if he knew it would definitely be a good idea to ask her to stop it, but asking her to stop it might make her stop it, and he didn’t want her to stop it because�
�because…because…

  Where was he?

  Oh, yes. Miriam’s nearness. And her scent. And her heat. And her touch.

  It was all coming back to him now.

  And it was no less confusing now than it had been a few moments ago, when it all began. Even more confusing, though, was his own reaction. Because instead of pushing Miriam away, which Rory assured himself any self-respecting gentleman would do when faced with an amorous—and surely inebriated, right?—escort, he found himself wanting to lean right back into her and thread his fingers through her hair, and wind one or two tresses around his hand to bring her closer still, close enough for him to cover her lips with his and kiss her more deeply.

  And suddenly Rory realized that that was exactly what he was doing. His hands, half-filled with her silky hair, were cupping her jaw, and he was tilting her head slightly to one side so that he could press his mouth more intimately against hers. And never in his life had he tasted anything as sweet as she.

  Forget about the wine, he thought vaguely. Miriam Thornbury was infinitely more intoxicating.

  His eager return of her kiss was, evidently, all the encouragement she needed. Because the moment Rory conceded even that scant surrender to her, she looped her arm around his neck and crowded her body even closer to his. He felt the soft crush of her breasts against his chest, felt her palm open wide over his shoulder before gripping it with much possession. And in that moment all Rory knew was that he wanted—needed—to be closer to her. Even though the two of them were already as close as two individuals could be in the narrow confines of an automobile.

  So, ignoring those close confines, he hauled her from her seat into his lap as he deepened the kiss, reaching awkwardly to the side of his seat to release the lever that would glide it back as far as it would go. Then he skimmed the tip of his tongue along the plump curve of her lower lip and moved one hand from her jaw to her neck, strumming his fingertips lightly over the slender column before dipping them into the elegant hollow at its base.