by Diana Palmer
“You were lucky,” he said after a minute. “Damned lucky. Or hasn’t it occurred to you that I wasn’t going to stop?”
Her lower jaw dropped slightly. “You…we couldn’t have!” she whispered.
He laughed humorlessly. “Like hell we couldn’t.” He moved closer, looking down at her from a disturbing proximity. “Didn’t you know, my innocent, that people can do it standing up?”
She hated that mocking smile. She hated him, too, for making her vulnerable, for laughing at her. Her face flamed, and she felt her fingers itching.
He seemed to sense that, because he reached down and caught her fingers in his. “He scarred you, didn’t he?” he asked suddenly. “You’re as afraid of your own emotions as…” He didn’t finish the sentence, but she could have done it for him:…as I am of mine. It was in his eyes, his face.
“I don’t trust men anymore,” she breathed.
“And I don’t trust women.” He looked down at her mouth and his breathing quickened. “Not one bit.” His fingers tightened on hers.
“Cameron,” she protested in a faint whisper.
That seemed to make it worse. With a rough sound, he lifted her by the waist until she was on a level with his hard, glittering eyes.
“I don’t want you,” he said coldly, desperately, as though he was trying to convince himself. “I don’t want your madcap humor or your quicksilver tongue or this body that makes me ache when I look at it.”
“Then let me go,” she whispered. “And don’t complicate things.”
He drew her slowly against him, brushing her body over his. “Tell me you want to be put down,” he challenged. “Tell me you don’t want my mouth as violently as I want yours.”
“You’re a…levelheaded businessman.…” She faltered.
His head bent. His open mouth bit softly at hers, his breath came fast and ragged. “Open your mouth,” he whispered gruffly.
“No…” It was more a moan than a protest. She tasted him, and felt the excitement all over again. His hands slid around her, bruising hands that lifted and stroked and made her burn with a thousand fires. With a wild little cry, her arms went up and around him and clung. They stood there, clinging, breathing, tasting each other in a fever of need while the grandfather clock in the hall struck and echoed in the silence.
When he finally lifted his dark head, her hands were tangled in his thick hair, her lips were red and swollen from the ardent pressure of his mouth.
“If I let go of you, will you fall?” he asked, sounding shaken himself.
She made a small negative motion of her head and tugged halfheartedly at his hands on her shoulders.
He let her move away. His eyes glittered, his face was hard and strained. He laughed suddenly, bitterly, and his eyes were frankly hostile. “My God, I’m shaking like a boy of sixteen with his first woman,” he said on a harsh sigh.
She fought to keep the tremor out of her own hands. “I think…I should leave,” she ventured.
He shook his head. “Not yet,” he said softly. “Not yet. Don’t run from me.”
“You’ve got Delle!” she burst out.
“Why are you afraid?” he asked. His voice was casual, but his eyes weren’t. “Is it because you think I’m looking for a last fling before I settle down?”
She forced her voice to remain steady. “I’m not wealthy,” she said with a trembling smile. “I have nothing, except my income from jobs like this one. And you’re after a brokerage firm, I believe? A financially beneficial marriage?”
“How did we get on the subject of marriage?” he asked after a minute. “I don’t remember proposing to you.”
Her eyes flashed with indignation. “God forbid,” she said curtly. “I don’t want to get married. Ever.”
He studied her curiously. “Don’t you want children eventually?”
The conversation was getting entirely out of hand. “Lila and Amanda should be down any minute,” she said.
“Talk to me!” he said shortly.
“About what?” She moved away from him with her arms folded tight over her chest. “Your life is mapped out, isn’t it?”
He frowned as he watched her. “It was.”
Her eyes sought his, and a wild kind of current linked them for an instant.
She whirled and rushed out the door into the hall just as Amanda and Lila came downstairs. She smiled like a grateful refugee and herded them into the dining room before Cameron could get out of the study.
It was an animated meal. Merlyn was livelier than usual, reminiscing about her college days and drawing out Lila about hers, while Amanda giggled. Cameron sat and watched and listened, unusually quiet. There was something in his eyes that frightened Merlyn. He watched her with an intensity that was frankly disturbing. It didn’t help one bit when he announced that he was extending his visit that weekend, and wouldn’t be leaving that night.
Chapter Seven
That evening, while Merlyn and Lila worked in the living room, Cameron and his daughter played chess nearby. But, all the while, his black eyes wandered restlessly to Merlyn. She met that searching gaze once, and it took her breath away. He smiled, secretively, and went back to his game.
***
The next morning he showed up in casual slacks and a black and tan shirt and proceeded, with Amanda’s help, to talk Merlyn into going for a walk with them. Lila was delighted to take a break, and told her so, adding her coaxing voice to theirs.
Merlyn was herded out the door with Amanda in tow.
“You like to walk, don’t you?” Cameron asked, as they started down a wooded path that led around the lakeshore.
“Well, yes, but there’s still a lot of research to do before the end of the week,” she protested.
“Mother can use the break,” he said.
Amanda was ecstatic. Apparently this was something her father didn’t do often. The little girl walked beside him with a shy smile, and he smiled down at her.
“Having fun?” he murmured.
She grinned. “Oh, yes, Daddy,” she said. “It’s been ages since we did anything together.”
He ruffled her hair. “It’s been ages since I took any time off.”
“We used to go fishing when I was little,” Amanda said. “Merlyn, did your mother and father take you fishing when you were a kid?”
Merlyn sighed. “No, dear. My parents weren’t the type. Dad was very much wrapped up in his work, and Mother…” She smiled at the memory. “Mother was a butterfly. She wouldn’t have known which end of the pole to put in the water.”
Cameron studied her curiously. “What did she do?”
“She was a housewife,” she said, avoiding that hard look. “What did your father do?” she countered.
He grinned. “He raised hell, mostly.”
“Was he a banker, too?” she asked.
“Yes.”
“Grandaddy used to take me fishing,” Amanda volunteered. “He got the hook caught in his trousers once, and another time he got his line tangled in a tree.”
“And Amanda learned some new words,” Cameron murmured dryly.
“Do you look like him?” she said.
He shook his head. “My father was slight. Brown hair, brown eyes. I take after my grandfather. He was French-Canadian.”
The youngster’s eyes darted up. “Merlyn, what did your ancestors do?”
She smiled slowly. “One of them was a soldier,” she murmured, remembering Richard and the Crusades. “He did a lot of traveling.”
“You speak of your mother in the past tense,” Cameron observed. “Is she dead now?”
“Yes.”
“And your father?”
“He lives in Atlanta. We’re great friends.”
“But you weren’t always?” he said with a sharp glance, and she knew he was remembering what she’d said before about her father’s negligence.
“No,” she agreed. “We weren’t always. We grew closer after my mother died. He grieved for a long ti
me.”
“Was she like you?” he asked suddenly.
She smiled. “She was beautiful,” she said. “Blue-eyed, with black hair and skin like peaches and cream. I used to lose boyfriends to her, despite the fact that she was twenty-five years my senior. She was always laughing.”
“I think you’re beautiful, Merlyn,” Amanda said. “Don’t you, Daddy?”
“Shame on you,” Merlyn chided her, “for putting your daddy on the spot.”
“As it happens,” he said, catching her eye, “I agree.”
The look made her tingle all the way to her toes.
“How were you named Merlyn?” he asked.
“My mother had a passion for English legends. She was English, you see. Merlin, the magician of King Arthur’s court, was one of her favorite characters. She thought the name delightful for a girl, with the change of a letter.”
“Who was King Arthur?” Amanda asked.
Merlyn couldn’t resist recounting the old legend, while the little girl listened, fascinated.
“Haven’t you ever seen any of the plays or movies about King Arthur?” Merlyn asked.
“Oh, I’ve never been to a play,” Amanda confided. “And Grandmama and I don’t get to the movies very often. And Daddy doesn’t like for me to watch TV.”
Merlyn’s eyes flashed as they met Cameron’s. “How terrible.”
“Maybe I’ve been too strict,” Cameron mused. “It’s just that I’m so busy. Too busy. That can change.”
Merlyn looked back out at the lake, where birds were circling the water. A few speedboats were chancing the choppy waves that had been churned up by the wind. “It’s none of my affair,” she said softly.
“You should see the lake when it’s covered with sailboats, Merlyn,” Amanda sighed. “They’re so pretty, like white swans.”
“Do you sail?” she asked Cameron.
“I’ve never had the time to learn,” he said. He stuck a hand in his pocket. The wind blew his dark, thick hair as they strolled down the wooded trail, and she watched him without wanting to.
“Making money must be very important to you,” she ventured.
“In recent years, it’s been more a matter of keeping it than making it,” he said.
“Daddy, can I spend the night with Dale?” Amanda interrupted as they came to a graveled driveway that went down to a brown cottage at the shore of the lake. “You said you’d think about it. Can I?”
He frowned. “What did your grandmother say?”
“She said I could if it was okay with you. Please? Dale’s a nice girl, and her mother’s a nurse, and they have to go home day after tomorrow.”
“All right,” he said, defeated.
“Hooray!” Amanda laughed. “Can I go and tell her? It will only take a minute.”
“We’ll wait for you by the fallen tree,” he told her. “Don’t be long.”
“Yes, Daddy. Thanks!” And she was off like a gangly little pony, all legs and flying hair.
“Where does Dale live?” Merlyn asked, curious.
“In that house.” He gestured toward the graveled driveway. “Come on, we’ll cut through here.”
“Don’t you want to speak with her mother?”
He looked like a thundercloud. “I do not.”
She followed along behind him through the woods, almost tripping over undergrowth, dodging branches, until they came to a clearing.
“Why not?” she asked breathlessly, when he stopped at a fallen pine tree.
“Because she’s divorced, thinks she’s God’s gift to man, and the last time I came to get Amanda, she answered the door in a see-through negligee. Does that answer your question?” he growled.
She laughed softly. “Did it embarrass you?” she teased.
“Yes, it did,” he said, surprising her. “I don’t like being hunted.”
There was no smile to soften the statement. She studied his hard face and felt sorry for him.
“Is a woman’s body so alarming to you, Cameron?” she asked.
He studied her for a long moment before he spoke. “My wife,” he said quietly, “used what I felt for her like a weapon. She knew I wanted her. She liked to show me what I was missing, and then go cold and laugh at me. Some things that other women do remind me of that. I’m not a stuffed shirt, Merlyn. But I’m proud. Too proud, perhaps.”
She felt sick at the thought of any woman treating him like that. It explained so much.
“How long were you married?” she asked, her voice soft.
“Six years,” he replied. “But we stopped being lovers after the first year. When she got pregnant with Amanda, she raged at me for days. After the baby was born, I was given the choice of either having some minor surgery to prevent any future accidents, or giving up the marriage bed.” He bent his head momentarily, then met her eyes. “I told her what she could do with her body. And I left her to her lovers.”
She stared down at the ground. “I knew that there were women like that,” she said after a minute. “I had a girlfriend once who used to brag about how she kept her boyfriend in check by using sex as a weapon. I thought it was cheap and vulgar.”
Her opinion seemed to surprise him. He sat down on the tree and stared at her. “Wouldn’t you do the same thing to get your way?” he asked.
She shook her head. “Afraid not.” She glanced at him with a wry smile. “If what I felt with you in that closet is anything like the real McCoy, Mr. Thorpe, I don’t think I’d be capable of holding out.”
He burst out laughing, in spite of himself. “Hell!”
“Well, you asked,” she reminded him. “I may be a virgin, but I’m not a prude.”
“Are you curious about it?” he asked.
“Yes, of course,” she replied honestly. “But to me it means commitment, you see. And I’ve never wanted anyone enough to go the whole way.” Her face clouded. “After Adam, especially.”
“What did your father have that Adam wanted so much?” he asked.
“Some stock,” she said.
His eyes narrowed. “He’s not a poor man, then.”
“He’s comfortable,” she said, crossing her fingers behind her. He was that, all right. Very comfortable! “Any more questions, Mr. Thorpe?”
“I’m curious about you, Merlyn,” he said quietly. “I don’t like puzzles.”
“So conventional,” she sighed. “You just don’t like me, because I’m a free spirit. I’d go swimming in the nude or play my guitar in public if I felt like it. I’ve even gone on the stage once or twice in community playhouses. But you wouldn’t do any of those things, would you?”
He shook his head. “Afraid not. I’m inhibited.”
“Except in closets,” she murmured dryly, and then flushed. She jumped to her feet.
He was next to her immediately, pulling her against him. She wouldn’t look up, but she could feel his breath on her forehead, smell the spicy cologne he wore, sense the warmth of his powerful body.
“Only with you,” he whispered. His breath came jerkily. “I’ve never wanted any woman this much.”
She put her hands against his shirtfront, liking the feel of the hard muscles. “I won’t sleep with you,” she said matter-of-factly, although her heart was beating wildly. “That’s right up front, and I mean it. No teasing, no games. If I ever give myself, it will be in love, and for life.”
“What am I supposed to do?” he asked curtly. “Marry you to get you?”
“I don’t want to marry you,” she said. “You’re too restrained for me, too wrapped up in making money. I want someone to play with.”
“You’re not a child,” he scoffed.
“Yes, I am,” she said simply. Her eyes traced the hard lines of his face. Impulsively, one slender hand reached up to touch his straight nose, his firm mouth. “I don’t want to grow up if it means being staid and doing the correct thing all the time. I like my life as it is.”
“I feel the same about mine. So does Delle,” he added curtly.
She smiled sadly. “Then marry her.”
His jaw tautened. His arms crushed her into his body, and he watched her face as his head began to bend.
“Don’t,” she pleaded gently. Her hands went to his hips to try to move them away.
The reaction she got was shocking and a little intimidating. They were so close that she could feel what was happening to him, and a tiny gasp left her lips.
He laughed despite his evident hunger, but he wouldn’t let her go. “Calm down,” he murmured. “Just because I’m capable, doesn’t mean I’m going to throw you on the ground.”
She swallowed, feeling threatened. “Let me go, please,” she begged.
“Merlyn,” he chided gently. He searched her eyes. “Are you really so embarrassed?”
“Yes!” she burst out.
He drew in a slow breath and let her move away, but only enough to satisfy her outraged modesty. “How old did you say you were?” he said in amazement.
Her darkened green eyes lowered in embarrassment. He tilted her face up, and his smile faded. He seemed to find something in her face that fascinated him, awed him. His dark eyes held hers for a long moment. Then, with a strange, deep sound, he began to slowly unfasten the black and tan patterned shirt over his massive chest.
She watched his fingers, deeply tanned, slender fingers with flat nails, as they slipped the buttons out of their buttonholes.
“What…are you doing?” she asked, trying to inject reason into the situation.
“I’m going to teach you something new,” he said in a deep, rumbling tone. “Come here.”
He caught her face between his hands and brought it gently against the thick, curling hair and warm muscle of his chest. Slowly, achingly slowly, he brushed her nose, her cheeks, against his body, until the sensuality of it got through to her and she moaned. Her nails dug into him as she sensed what he wanted her to do, and she opened her mouth on his warm, damp skin.
His hands contracted in her hair and his body stiffened. Under her mouth, his broad chest was rising and falling with a sharp, irregular rhythm.
She drew back and looked up, wanting to see his face and what he felt. But there was no reaction in it. His eyes were dark and steady on hers.