by Diana Palmer
He thrust her into her room, snapped on the light and hobbled painfully back to get his cane.
With an uncaring sigh, she stripped off her clothes, smiling and singing softly to herself, and dragged on an old cotton gown. She felt wonderful.
"I'm not engaged anymore," she sang, collapsing on the bed on her back. "Poor Andy, how will he live without me? He'll have to take total strangers to watch those gory movies with him. Someone who likes blood ... do you like blood, McCabe?" she asked as he returned, his face like thunder.
He slammed a cup of black coffee onto her bedside table.
"Sit up and drink this," he said in a voice that didn't encourage argument.
"I don't want to drink coffee." She pouted, moving restlessly on the bed.
"Come on, McCabe, lie down and talk to me," she added with a coaxing, teasing smile.
"If I lie down with you, I won't talk." He caught her hand and jerked her up, leaning her against the pillows. He sat down beside her, grimacing with the movement, and handed her the coffee. "Drink it."
She moved it around in her hands, finding something oddly comforting in the hot ceramic in her hands. She lifted her eyes to McCabe's bare chest and felt her self going warm all over.
"I never liked Andy without a shirt," she said absently, sipping coffee while she stared. His chest rippled, as if he'd made an impatient movement.
"You're . . ." She blinked, trying to find a word to describe it.
"Sexy," she said triumphantly, lifting her eyes.
Whatever she expected to see in his face, it wasn't pain. But he was almost white with it, and the sight was more sobering than the coffee.
"Your leg," she said softly. "Oh, McCabe, your poor leg. And I didn't even think, and you were walking without your cane!"
"My leg is all right," he said coldly.
"Oh, sure it is, that's why you look so happy," she shot back. Her head felt dizzy. She set the coffee cup down gently on the bedside table. "Go back to bed, why don't you? I'm all right. I'm quite through throwing myself at you for tonight."
She said the words with bitter humor, suddenly realizing what the alcohol had done to her. And she'd taken off her blouse and her bra! She went a bright red and stiffened against the pillows.
"I certainly hope so," he said quietly. "I don't think I could take any more."
There was a curious silence around them, and it forced her eyes up to his. They were glittering under his thick lashes, and something about the stillness of his body, the expressionless mask of his face, frightened her.
Almost as if he couldn't help it, his hand went toward her gown where ten pearl buttons fastened it from collarbone to waist. He looked down at his own big callused hands and watched as his fingers unlooped the first, then the second, the third ...
Wynn was too shocked to say anything. At first she even thought it might be a hallucination brought on by the alcohol. But when he peeled the gown away from her breasts and sat staring at them, she realized it was no dream.
Unconsciously her body lifted, an involuntary kind of pleading as the hunger in his darkening eyes touched it.
She looked down, too, shocked by what was happening. He didn't touch her. He didn't even try. But his eyes ate every creamy inch of her, right up to the hard, taut peaks that betrayed the longing she couldn't hide.
It was incredible, to lie here like this and let him see her as no other man ever had, and not to protest. Where was her mind?
His eyes wandered back up to hers and searched them. It was an exchange that left her trembling. She'd never seen a pair of eyes look like that, burn like that. She couldn't bear to hold his gaze but she couldn't look away. She felt as if she had a live wire in her hand and couldn't turn it loose. And her heart was throbbing, and she wanted him to touch her more than she wanted to take another breath.
His chest rose and fell heavily. She could see the pulse in his strong, tanned throat like a trip-hammer. It was a moment out of time when words would have been an intrusion.
Very gently he took her shoulders and drew her up against his broad bare chest, closing his arms around her very slowly, so that her taut breasts were cushioned in the thick hair over his warm muscles. She held her breath while it was happening, too shocked and awed to breathe. Her cheek slid softly against his as he drew her even closer until her bareness was warming his. His big arms enfolded her as if she were breakable treasure, and there was the faintest tremor in them. His face moved down to her throat and his lips pressed against her neck through the curtain of her hair, and he didn't say a word. He just held her, rocking her slowly, sweetly, against the warmth of him, while around them thc night blazed up like a bonfire.
She let out her breath unsteadily at hip ear and her hands held his head against hey shoulder. It was unreal. Perhaps it really was the liquor. But it was beautiful, all the same. So beautiful and tender.
A long moment later, he drew back and searched her eyes, his body easing away from hers. Their skin clung slightk, because of the dampness of their bodies, and she realized when the cool air washed over her that the gown had slipped to her waist without her even knowing it. He looked down at the soft bareness of her body one last time before he helped her back into the gown and slowly, deftly rebuttoned it.
Her lips parted, but his fingers pressed over them, and he shook his head and smiled softly, tenderly. He drew her hands to his chest and moved them over the hard muscles with a lazy indulgence, watching the expressions that crossed her face. He moved one hand onto the hard male nipple and let her feel its rigidity, and then smiled when he saw the surprise in her eyes. He guided her fingers to the rippling muscles above his belt buckle, and upward through the wedge of thick hair. Her lips parted and he leaned forward and kissed them, letting his lips open as they touched, letting her feel the texture of them without any pressure at all.
She could hardly breathe for the maelstrom of sensation he was creating. She gasped and he drew back.
His nose nuzzled hers, his lips brushed softly over hers, biting at them until her mouth opened hotly and begged for his.
He gave it to her completely, hungrily, the strength and weight of him crushing her down into the mattress so that she could feel her breasts flatten achingly under it. Her nails moved restlessly against his chest and he moaned sharply. She hesitated, liking that reaction, and she did it again, harder this time, dragging them down to his belt and back up again. He lifted himself up to let her hands have total access to his torso, and she stroked him hungrily, feeling the muscles tauten and ripple under heihands, feeling the husky sigh of his breath.
But all at once he sat up, holding her down with one big hand flat on her belly when she would have followed him.
"No," he said. It was the first time he'd spoken since it all began, and his voice was oddly thick.
She swallowed, her lips hungry for his, her body aching in ways it was just discovering it could.
He looked big and dangerous, he looked like like a lover must, she thought, studying the set of his head, the ripple oI muscle as he got his breath.
His fingers touched her cheek, the one Andy had slapped, and his eyes were frankly murderous. "I'll break his jaw for that," he said quietly.
"He was hurt," she whispered.
"Not as much as he's going to be," he said flatly. "Nobody touches you that way."
He sounded possessive and protective, and she didn't understand why.
"You've had a shock tonight," he said, watching her, "and too damned much liquor to know what you're doing. So I'm not going to take advantage of it. But if you ever take off your blouse in front of me again, you won't get away so easily. I could take you, despite this damned leg, and I could get hot enough not to mind the pain. Do you understand?"
She averted her eyes. "I'm sorry. It was the alcohol."
He turned her head back to his. "No, darling, it wasn't the alcohol, not while you were letting me undress you. Your eyes were blazing with it."
"So were yours
," she shot back with angry pride.
He only smiled. "I don't doubt it. Just looking at you nearly drove me over the edge. That's never happened before."
"You weren't drunk," she stated.
He shook his head. "No, I wasn't." He brushed her face with his fingers, studying very inch of it. "Why did you think I was in pain?"
"Your face was white," she said. "And you looked ... so agonized."
"Haven't you ever seen a man eaten up with desire before?" he asked matter-offactly.
That hadn't occurred to her. She turned beet red and dropped her eyes to his chest. That was worse, because it brought back vivid memories of how it had felt to touch him there.
"No," she admitted after a minute.
"I feel like a man getting tangled in a net," he murmured, but when she looked up, he was only smiling.
"I don't want anything from you," she said shortly, remembering what he'd already said about ties.
"I want something from you, though," he said, letting his eyes wander down her body. "And if you pull that trick twice, I'll have it, too. All I have to do is touch you, and your body belongs to me."
"It does -" she began to deny it.
"And mine belongs to you," he added without a pause, catching her eyes. "You could see it tonight, couldn't you, the way I reacted when you touched me, here." He brushed his hands over his chest and hiti eyes darkened. "Did you feel what happened?"
She licked dry lips. "Yes," she said, remembering the tautening muscles, the sound that had been dragged out of him.
"I wanted you tonight, Wynn," he said. "I wanted you obsessively, and because of that I'm going to get on a plane tomorrow and fly up to New York for the weekend. I'm going to put some space between us until we cool off."
"I won't seduce you,"she said bitterly.
"You could," he said, watching her. "Did you know that? You could seduce me just by walking into the room and touching me."
That shocked her, and he nodded when he saw the betraying wideness of her eyes.
"So, that being the case, I feel like a brief vacation." He got up and moved slowly away from the bed toward the door.
"McCabe, I'm sorry about what I told Andy," she said quietly. "And about . about what I did to you."
He turned, lifting an amused eyebrow. "Don't apologize for it. I can't think of a time in my life when I've been so aroused so fast, I'd almost forgotten that I was a man."
She swallowed hard, because it embarrassed her to have him admit such a thing. "I didn't mean to."
He stared across the room at her. "I've had any number of careless encounters over the years," he mused, studying her. "But I can't remember anything as erotic as what we just did together, do you know that?"
Her eyes widened, softened. "Me either," she admitted.
"Ah, but you're a virgin," he reminded her. "I'm not."
She hated the very thought of those other women, and it showed.
"Jealous?" he chided.
"Not me, mister," she assured him. " I wouldn't tie a single string to you."
"And that's a lie." He grinned. "You wanted me. I felt it."
Her chest rose and fell roughly. "Well, you weren't Mr. Cool yourself!"
"That's a fact." He let his eyes linger on her full breasts. "It drives me wild, thinking you've never been looked at or touched intimately before. I keep wondering how it would be with you, the first time." His eyes shot up to hold hers, and she felt her heart bursting in her chest at the intensity of his look. "In that bed you're lying in right now, Wynn," he said huskily. "Your body and mine with nothing between us, and the cool night air washing over us while we made love...
"Go away!" she whispered.
"I am," he reminded her. "And now you know why."
He closed the door softly behind him, and the next morning the local taxi service carried him off to the airport, leaving a subdued Wynn behind to spend the most miserable weekend of her life alone.
Chapter Seven
Andy didn't call. Not that Wynn expected him to. But it was the first weekend she'd spent totally alone since they'd gotten engaged.
Worst of all was that she missed McCabe. She always had, ever since he'd left Redvale all those years ago, even though she hadn't admitted it before. She'd missed him, worried about him, brooded over him so that she hardly realized how fast the years were passing. When he didn't come back, and she'd secretlN, hoped that he would, she had had to face the fact that she could be alone for the rest of her life mooning over a man who had never so much as kissed her.
But now he had. And the desperatin that had sent her eagerly into Andy's arms when he'd first proposed was back full force.
She wandered around, lingering helplessly in the room where McCabe slept because it was the only place in the house that was full of him. Not that she was snooping - she wasn't that kind of person. She didn't open drawers or look through his few things. But her eyes wandered over the bed he slept in, and glared at the battered suitcase he'd left behind with its multicolor stickers from all the countries he'd visited. And every time she remembered how it had felt to hold him and be kissed by him, she wanted to wail. It was going to make it so much worse when he left. No matter what she did with her life from now on, it was going to be pure hell, because she'd have the memories to eat her alive. It was better, in one way, when she hadn't experienced McCabe physically.
He didn't come back until late Sunday night. Wynn heard the sound of a car, the slam of a door, and went to open the front door.
McCabe walked in, muttering something, with his duffel bag over one broad shoulder while he leaned heavily on the cane. He looked worn and tired, as if he'd been carousing all weekend. Wynn immediately thought of other women and what McCabe had said about being capable with women if he got involved enough, and she wanted to slap him.
But letting him know that wouldn't do. She had to be cool, so she smiled politely and asked about his trip.
"The mark of utter insanity, if you want to know," he told her flatly. "I'd forgotten how damned big that Atlanta airport is. You walk miles between concourse and ticketing - a man with a fleet of golf cart could open a concession and make a fortune there!"
"I'll bet New York was worse," she murmured.
"I flew into La Guardia," he told her. "It's a crackerbox compared with Hartsfield International. It's smaller than JFK and easier to get around, but I still feel as if I've had part of my thigh sawed off."
He sat down heavily in the chair, rubbing his leg, with his disheveled head leaning back. "Wynn, could you make me a cup of coffee?" he asked wearily. "And do you have an aspirin in the house?"
"I'll get them right now," she sari without an argument.
Minutes later, when the aspirin was working and he'd finished his second cup of coffee and was smoking a cigarette, he studied her closely. She was wearing shorts and a green tank top, and his eyes went appreciatively up and down her slender legs.
"Been out?" he asked politely.
"Yes," she said, neglecting to mention just where she'd been.
He took a draw from the cigarette. "Has Andy forgiven you and come home?"
"Nope."
His thick, dark blond eyebrows rose. "But you've been out?"
"To carry the garbage," she said.
"Oh."
Her eyes involuntarily clung to him while she sipped her coffee. He was such an enormous man, she couldn't imagine how he'd ever managed to dodge bullets. Even now, the knit shirt he was wearing was straining against the powerful muscles in his chest and arms, and her stubborn mind insisted on wandering back to the night she'd touched them. That had been a revelation, because she'd never realized what a pleasure it was to experience a man's muscles in that particular way.
"I did a lot of thinking while I was gone," he said quietly.
"About what?"
He laughed shortly. "You know perfectly well about what." He shifted, grimacing as he shifted his legs. "About reorganizing your life for you, making things d
ifficult." He stared at the tip of his cigarette. "I came down here with noble motives, Wynn. But I lost sight of them somewhere along the way."
She glanced at him warily. "Does that mean you're going to stop interfering?"
"Oh, not at all, darling," he drawled, smiling at her confusion. "As a matter of fact, I've decided that I was right in the first place. You need Andy like a hole in the head. A man who'll knock a woman around is lower than a snake's belly."
She tended to agree with him; she'd never expected Andy to be that violent. But he hadn't done it without provocation. "It was my fault, you know," she said. "1 provoked him by telling him I was sleeping with you."