Amanda Rose

by Karen Robards

  “Yes, please,” she said, hoping that he would think it was his state of undress that had caused her confusion. Her embarrassment would increase a hundredfold if he should realize that it was the sheer masculine beauty of his face.

  He shook his head, standing up with a single fluid movement and reaching for his shirt, which lay across the rocky shelf that also held the mirror.

  “You’re going to have to learn to control yourself, Amanda.” He was teasing her; she could tell from his tone. “You can’t go on blushing like a brushfire every time something makes you feel a little shy.” He was holding his shirt in his hand, smiling wickedly at her as he spoke.

  Amanda bristled. “I don’t . . .” she began, only to break off as he half turned to shrug into his shirt. It was the first time she had seen his bare back. She froze, staring, her hand flying to her mouth. The smooth, rippling flesh of his shoulders merged with a mass of half-healed scars.

  “Matt—your back,” she gasped. Matt swiveled to look at her, his brows meeting in a thick black line above his eyes. His shirt hung loosely from his shoulders, still baring a considerable expanse of chest. “What on earth happened to your back?”

  “I forgot about that,” he said after a moment, his voice gruff. “I’m sorry, Amanda. I would never have let you see it if I’d remembered.”

  “What difference does my seeing it make?” she demanded impatiently, moving toward him as she spoke. “It looks so painful. What happened to you?”

  He smiled, a crooked, rueful twist of his lips. Her hands went out to him automatically, and just as automatically he caught them in his, drawing her toward him so that only a foot of space separated them. “It’s customary to beat a prisoner—especially a condemned one,” he explained, looking down into her upturned face. “Unfortunately they did not make an exception of me.”

  “Oh, Matt.” Amanda’s throat closed with the sheer horror of it. He had been beaten, beaten in a way that would have sickened and infuriated her if it had been done to an animal. How it must have hurt! Tears welled in her eyes. “Matt.”

  “Good God, you’re not going to cry about it, are you? It’s not that bad, I promise—and it’s certainly not the first time I’ve been beaten. My mother’s gentlemen friends used to lay into me regularly when I was growing up. Said it was good for my character—and no doubt it was.” He smiled, obviously hoping to relieve Amanda’s distress with humor. She dutifully tried to smile back, but the effort was wobbly at best. And then it was spoiled entirely by a large tear, faintly golden in the candlelight, which spilled from the corner of one thick-lashed violet eye to traverse a shining path over the creamy pale curve of her cheek.

  “Oh, for God’s sake, Amanda, you’re too damned softhearted for your own good.” Matt’s voice was almost a growl as he reached out to flick the tear away with a gentle forefinger. It was immediately followed by another. Seeing it, Matt groaned and pulled her against him, one arm going around her waist while the other hand cradled the back of her head. Amanda burrowed her face into the soft, faintly moist fur of his chest, her arms going instinctively around his waist so that she could get closer. He felt so warm against her, warm and strong and solid. In his arms she felt safe . . . She thought again of the horror of abuse that his back was mute testament to, and despite everything she could do to stop them, tears fell thick and fast from her eyes.

  “Don’t cry, Amanda.” His voice was faintly rough. ‘I’m not worth one of your tears. Please don’t cry.”

  Perversely this only made her cry harder. Matt swore under his breath, cradling her closer, bending his head so that his face rested on her soft crown of braids. Amanda sobbed against his chest, eyes closed, arms locked tightly around his waist. Almost unconsciously she registered the salty taste of his flesh wet with her tears, the warm, faintly musky smell of him . . .

  “Hush, now, Amanda,” he was murmuring into her hair. “I can’t stand to see a woman cry—it makes me want to cry myself. You wouldn’t want that to happen, would you?”

  The image his words conjured up—that totally masculine face awash with tears—was so ridiculous that Amanda giggled despite herself. The sound emerged half strangled, but Matt apparently had no trouble interpreting it correctly.

  “That’s my girl.” The words were partially muffled as he spoke into her hair. “Come on, Amanda, dry your eyes. If you don’t, you’re liable to cause a flood that could wash us right out of here.”

  He was putting a little distance between them as he spoke. One hand still rested loosely on her waist while his other hand came up to dry her cheeks gently with the corner of his shirttail. Amanda’s own arms had released their death grip on his middle; her hands now lay almost unconsciously on his bare chest. When her face had been dried to his satisfaction, he let his shirttail fall back into place and gripped her chin instead. Tilting her face so that he could see it properly, he regarded her with a quizzical, faintly worried expression.

  “Better now?” he asked. Amanda nodded, then sniffed, the small sound prosaic. Matt’s eyes warmed on her face, and one corner of his mouth crooked upward. Amanda’s eyes were still misty with tears as they met his, but she smiled at him. An achingly sweet smile that touched Matt to the heart.

  “I’m sorry,” she whispered.

  “Don’t be.” His voice was husky, and his eyes were disarmingly gentle as they moved over her face. “I don’t think anyone’s ever cried over me before. I like it. I like it very much.”

  Amanda stared wordlessly at him as his finger tilted her chin even more, and he bent his black head to brush a soft, sweet kiss across her mouth.

  The touch of his mouth had a strange effect on her. She felt almost dizzy, and her hands slid automatically from his chest to his shoulders to steady herself. The feel of his lips, firm and warm against hers, the rasp of his chest hair beneath her fingers and then the satin-over-steel strength of his shoulders under her palms sent a quiver of sensation through her. She drew a breath, more of a little gasp; Matt had already begun to draw back when he felt the faint flutter of her lips under his. Amanda felt him begin to pull away, felt the moment when he stopped, standing like a statue for an instant, his eyes darkening as they locked with hers. Then his breath drew in sharply, much as hers had done but louder, fiercer; his eyes closed, and he bent over her again, his mouth on hers, but harder this time, and hotter.

  She had never thought a man would kiss like this. That was Amanda’s last thought as his arms tightened around her, drawing her up against him until they were pressed so tightly together that it seemed as though the heat of his body must fuse them into one. His mouth was moving against hers, his tongue moist and urgent as it slid between her still-parted lips. It stopped at the barrier of her small white teeth, tasting the inner flesh of her lower lip before drawing it into his mouth and nibbling on it in a way that was part pleasure, part pain. Amanda opened her mouth to say something, anything, but before she could force words out, his tongue slid past her teeth to explore the warm, moist sweetness within. Amanda felt her knees weaken as the world seemed to revolve around her, and her hands instinctively crept around his neck for support as she closed her eyes.

  He was bending her backward, one arm locking her to him while his other hand stroked restlessly over the curve of her back, kissing her as greedily as he had devoured his food earlier. Amanda clung tightly to his neck, her body bent over his arm, knowing that if he released his grip, she would fall in an ignominious heap to the floor because her knees had turned to butter, as incapable of supporting her as she was of stopping his kiss.

  His tongue touched hers, stroked it, coaxed it. Without knowing exactly what he wanted of her, Amanda returned the caress. Against her breasts she could feel the sudden thud of his heart. He drew her tongue into his mouth, letting her taste him. His mouth was hot and moist and musky sweet . . . Shyly at first, then with increasing boldness, Amanda explored his mouth, brushing her tongue against his, letting it slide around the inside of his teeth. She felt his h
eart speed up until it was pounding as though he had run for miles. He was shaking against her, and to her surprise Amanda discovered that she was shaking, too, trembling from head to foot as he had when in the grip of the fever. She was barely conscious of his arms tightening around her, so caught up was she in the unbelievable sensations his mouth was awakening in her. But when his hand slid all the way around her to close over her breast, she felt it like a shaft of fire clear down to her toes. She stiffened, and her eyes flew open. He continued to kiss her, shaking, his face so close that she could see every pore in his skin. His eyes were tightly closed; his lashes lay like black fans against cheeks that were darkly flushed . . . His hand tightened on her breast, his thumb brushing against a peak that was sensitive in a way Amanda had never guessed it could be. She felt an unfamiliar tightness deep in her belly, a quick heating of her blood that made her feel as if she were burning up. Then his thumb repeated the caressing motion. Amanda’s hands tightened around his neck, her nails digging deep into the flesh of his nape. Her lashes, strangely heavy, fluttered shut.

  chapter eight

  Matt ended it. No sooner had Amanda relaxed fully against him, surrendering herself without words to anything he might demand of her, than he jerked his mouth from hers with a muttered oath. His hand tightened momentarily on her breast, and then it too was removed, leaving Amanda feeling oddly bereft as she opened her eyes to find him looking down at her, a restless glitter deep in the silvery eyes.

  “Matt?” she breathed, unconsciously clinging. His eyes blazed as they moved from her eyes to her mouth, and then he was pushing her away from him, his hands hard on her waist as he held her at arm’s length.

  “For God’s sake, Amanda, don’t,” he said harshly. A little muscle jumped convulsively in his jaw. Amanda stared up at him, her eyes dazed with a passion she could barely put a name to. She felt totally unlike the girl she had been scant minutes ago. Impossible that he didn’t feel the same. But he was looking down at her with eyes that were now as hard as agates, and his voice was hard, too, as he said her name again.

  Amanda flushed. Suddenly she realized that she was clinging to him like a limpet, her eyes dreamy on his face, her mouth soft and trembling with his kisses. Her nails were embedded in the skin of his nape; as she became aware of that her flush deepened until she was the color of a wild rose, and her arms dropped to her sides. Her eyes dropped, too, and she would have pulled away from him but his fingers dug hurtfully into her waist as he refused to let her go.

  “You’re supposed to slap my face, not burst into flames in my arms.” The humorous overtone to the voice that was still slightly husky with passion was the last straw. Laugh at her, would he? The temper that matched the bright heat of her hair burst into flaming life. Eyes flashing, she drew back her hand and slapped him across the cheek with all her might. His head rocked back with the force of the blow. He clapped one hand to his abused cheek, releasing his hold on her waist, and regained his equilibrium to regard her with astonishment.

  “Satisfied?” She practically snarled the word, her mouth taut and her eyes blazing with temper. To add to her fury, as he took in the full extent of her outrage he began to look amused.

  “Don’t you dare to laugh at me.” Boiling over with anger fueled by rising humiliation, she drew back her hand for another assault.

  “Whoa, there.” He grabbed for her, ducking to miss the blow she aimed at him, catching her around the waist and pinning her to his side with one hard arm. Her arms were clamped to her sides so that she could only wriggle furiously, glaring at him.

  “For such a little girl you have a remarkable wallop.” He grinned as he rubbed his cheek with a rueful hand. “Stop squirming, Amanda. I was only teasing you.”

  “Let me go.” The words were spoken with such deadly menace that Matt’s grin widened. “Let me go, you . . .” Amanda couldn’t bring to mind words bad enough.

  “Temper, temper.” Matt was openly laughing now. Amanda twisted so furiously in his hold that he used his other arm to lift her clear off her feet. Infuriated by the physical superiority that allowed him so easily to subdue her, Amanda was spluttering with rage as he sat down on a rock, setting her on her feet again. Her back was to him as he pulled her between his spread legs, his arms locking hers to her sides.

  “Let me go,” she spat again, rigid with fury. The way he was holding her, there was no hope of escape.

  “Not until you calm down and listen to me,” he said into her ear. She flinched from the feel of his warm breath against her skin. “Are you listening? ”

  As she said nothing his arms tightened fractionally around her waist. The feel of his big body pressed so intimately against her back was evoking sensations that even her anger couldn’t blind her to.

  “Amanda?”

  Defeated, she nodded jerkily. The first hot blaze of her temper was beginning to drain away, letting the shame that had been the cause of its start to surface.

  “I wasn’t laughing at you, Amanda.” The soft drawl was more pronounced than she had ever heard it. “I was laughing at myself. I never meant to kiss you—I’ve been fighting the inclination ever since I woke up and found you leaning over me on the beach. But you looked so sad just now, and so sweet, you confounded all my good intentions.”

  “I’m sorry if I embarrassed you,” Amanda said stiffly, feeling her face flame. She was supremely conscious of the feel of his big body all around her as he held her enfolded against him. His arms were like iron bands constricting her own arms and waist, and she could feel the moist heat of his bare chest burning through her dress to the skin of her back. His thighs were hard as they held her legs still, and her head was tucked neatly under his chin. She couldn’t have moved if she tried.

  He gave her a slight shake. “Honey, you’re not listening. You didn’t embarrass me. You excited me—quite madly. I wanted you, Amanda, in the way a man wants a woman and you’re probably too young to understand. I had to force myself to let you go. If I hadn’t . . . I’m many things, Amanda, and most of them not particularly nice, but I try to draw the line at seducing sweet young virgins I’ve grown rather fond of.”

  Amanda stood very still.

  “Are you saying . . . you’re fond of me, Matt?” she asked at last in a small voice. His arms tightened around her waist in a quick hug.

  “Very fond,” he said huskily against her ear. “You’re the sweetest thing I’ve ever seen—and I want to keep you that way. If I’d gone on kissing you, Amanda, pretty soon kissing wouldn’t have been enough. I’m a man, not a boy, and while kissing may thrill you right down to your little pink toes, it merely whets my appetite for the main dish. And you don’t want to be a meal for me, Amanda. I’d gobble you up just as I’ve gobbled up dozens of females before you, and then I’d go on about my business. But you’d be shattered. I don’t think you could give your body without giving your heart, Amanda, and you don’t want to give your heart to me. I’d break it, honey, and that’s the truth.”

  Amanda felt her cheeks burning as his words sank in. No matter how he phrased it, he was warning her against falling in love with him. The conceit of him. With that face, no doubt he’d had females swooning over him in his pram. And he thought she was in danger of joining the queue. When pigs fly, she told herself stiffening.

  “Please let me go. I have to get back before Sister Patrick sends someone to look for me. I’ve been gone far too long already.” Her voice was carefully even. She knew her cheeks had to be hectic with color, but she hoped he couldn’t see them from where he sat behind her. Not that she was embarrassed any longer, mind. She was angry.

  “Damn it, Amanda, I’m telling you this for your own good. Don’t you think I want to kiss you, make love to you? You’re a beautiful girl, and I have all the normal instincts. But I like you too much to take advantage of your innocence. Believe me, I could make you want me so much you wouldn’t care what was happening until it was all over. Then you’d be sorry, but it would be too late. You’re onl
y a virgin once, honey. Don’t be in such a hurry to lose it.”

  “You think an awful lot of yourself, don’t you?” Her voice was rigid with fury. Impatient with being held captive in his arms, she twisted violently. To her surprise he let her go. And she was under no illusion that “let” was not the operative word. He could have kept her captive until doomsday if he’d wanted. The knowledge didn’t mitigate her anger one scrap; if anything, it increased it. She whirled to glare at him, skirts flying, hands on hips. He remained where he was, watching her, his long legs in the loose black trousers casually apart, his hands braced against the surface of the rock on which he sat. His unbuttoned shirt hung loosely from his shoulders, baring a considerable expanse of black-furred chest. A dawning exasperation mingled with the amusement that still twisted his mouth and gleamed in his eyes. The candlelight gilded the hard planes of his face, adding a touch of gold to the silver-gray eyes. Just looking at him fueled Amanda’s outrage. He was, in a word, beautiful. The knowledge that his warning might be just the tiniest bit justified maddened her.

  “Are you so conceited that you mistake simple kindness for . . . for something else entirely?” Her eyes shot violet fire at him. He looked mildly intrigued as he observed the effect. His refusal to be angered maddened her as much as his dazzling good looks. Her voice quivered with temper as she continued to hurl words at him. “You kissed me, you oaf, not the other way around, remember. And contrary to what you may think, it wasn’t so marvelous that I’m in danger of losing my heart as well as my . . . well, anything else to you. In fact, I’m surprised that you had the nerve to touch me. I know in America things may be a little more democratic, but here in England a lady is usually safe from that type of vulgar advance.”

  He lifted his eyebrows at that, then slid off the rock and onto one knee, lifting his clasped hands toward her in a gesture of entreaty. Laughter danced like twin demons in his eyes.