Tears of the Renegade

by Linda Howard

  “A different bed?” he asked, watching her narrowly.

  Susan shivered. “Yes,” she whispered. “Everything. New mattress, new sheets…everything.”

  “Good.” The single word was a low growl of satisfaction, and his gaze was so heated that she rubbed her hands up her bare arms, feeling a little singed. He looked around and indicated a door, releasing her from his visual force field. “Is that the bathroom?”

  “Yes, but why—”

  “Because,” he answered maddeningly, catching her hand and pulling her with him again, into the bathroom. He began unbuttoning his shirt, opening it down to his waist, then pulling the fabric free of his pants and finishing the job. He shrugged out of the shirt and handed it to her; she took it automatically, folding it over her arm.

  “You aren’t going to do that,” she said in disbelief, having realized what he intended.

  “Why not? Do you have a fresh blade for your razor? And I’ll need a pair of scissors to start off.”

  “There’s a small pair in the drawer there,” she said, pointing. “Cord, wait. I wasn’t hinting for you to shave off your beard.”

  “It’ll grow back, if you don’t like my naked face,” he drawled, opening the drawer and taking out the scissors. “Why don’t you just sit down and enjoy the show?”

  Because there was nothing else to do, she closed the lid on the toilet and sat down, her eyes wide with fascination as she watched him snip the beard as short as he could get it with the scissors. He asked again for her razor, and she indicated the left-hand side of the built-in medicine cabinet. He extracted the razor, new blades, and shaving gel from the cabinet, then deftly changed blades.

  He wet his face with warm water and worked the gel into a lather, covering his face with enough foamy white soap to make him look like a wicked Santa Claus. Susan almost winced when the razor sliced into his beard and left a smooth streak of skin in its path. Half of her was trembling with anticipation at seeing his face, but the other half of her hated to see the beard go; it had been so soft and silky, and made her skin tingle wherever it touched.

  He went through the contortions that men put themselves through when shaving, arching his neck, tilting his head, and Susan sat spellbound. It was the first time she’d seen him without his shirt, and her eyes drifted down over his muscled torso. She’d known he was strong, but now she saw the layered muscles that covered him, and her mouth went dry. His broad shoulders gleamed under the light, the skin as taut and supple as a young boy’s. With every movement he made the muscles in his back bunched and rippled, then relaxed, flexing in an endless ballet that riveted her attention. His spine ran in a deep hollow down the center of his back, inviting inquisitive fingers to stroke and probe.

  Susan noticed that the rhythm of her breathing had been broken, and she wrenched her gaze away from his back. Determinedly she again looked in the mirror at the reflection of his face, and the complete concentration she saw there started an ache deep inside her. That frown was so completely male, and it had been so long since she’d seen it. Vance had frowned just like that. For five years her life had lacked something because she hadn’t been able to sit in the bathroom and watch her man shave; a simple pleasure, but one of the lasting ones. Cord was giving her that pleasure again, as he had given her his presence at breakfast, and somehow the simple act of watching him shave was seducing her more completely than his heated kisses could have done.

  Slowly her gaze dipped, and she inspected his mirrored image. His chest was covered by a tangle of black curls that looked as incredibly soft as his beard had been; she clenched her hands to prevent them from reaching out to touch him and verify the texture. His nipples were flat circles, small and dark, with tiny points in the center of them, and she wanted to put her mouth to them. The curve of his rib cage was laced by bands of muscle, and the solid wall of his abdomen rippled with power. The tiny ringlets of hair on his chest became a straight and silky line that ran down the middle of his stomach and disappeared into the waistband of his pants. He raised his arms and his torso stretched, giving her a glimpse of his taut, shallow navel, and the thin scar that began on the right side of it, angling down out of sight.

  Susan almost strangled, and this time she couldn’t stop her hands; they flew out, touching the scar, tracing it lightly. Now her fevered gaze roamed over him again, anxiously, and she found other marks of other battles. A small, silvered, puckered scar on his right shoulder had to be from a gunshot wound, and her spine prickled with fear for him. Another line ran from under his left breast, around under his arm, and ended below his left shoulder blade. Obviously he hadn’t always ducked in time.

  Suddenly she noticed that he was very still under her hands, and she let them fall to her side, swiftly looking away from him. She was aware of his slow movements as he splashed the remnants of lather from his face and patted it dry, but she couldn’t look directly at him.

  “There’s nothing wrong with touching me,” he growled harshly, dropping his words into the sudden canyon of silence. “Why did you stop?”

  She swallowed. “I was afraid you’d think I was prying. My God!” she burst out rawly. “What happened to you? All those scars…”

  He gave a short, mirthless laugh. “Just a lot of hard living,” he answered obliquely. “I was tossed off the lap of luxury a long time ago.”

  She glanced up at the harshness of his tone, and for the first time since he’d finished shaving, she saw his face. Her mouth went dry again.

  She’d never before seen anyone who looked as hard and cool as he did. He’d left his moustache, thank God; she couldn’t imagine his face without it. His jaw was lean and clearly cut, his chin square and impossibly stubborn. His lower lip had taken on a fullness that she hadn’t noticed before, a new sensuality. He lacked the classic perfection of handsomeness, but he had the face of a warrior, a man who was willing to fight for what he wanted, a man who laughed at danger. The hard recklessness of him was more apparent now, as if he’d torn aside a veil that had hidden him from view. She’d thought that his beard had made him look like more of a desperado than he really was; now she realized that the reverse had been true. The beard had disguised the ruthlessness of his face.

  He was looking down at her with mockery in his eyes, as if he had known that the beard had been a camouflage. The years and the mileage were etched on that hard, slightly battered countenance, but she wasn’t repelled by it; she was drawn, like an animal from the depths of a cold night to crouch by the warmth of a fire. In a fleeting moment of despair, knowing herself lost, she realized that the more attractive the lure, the higher the risk, and she would be risking her entire way of life if she allied herself with him. She was by nature cautious and reserved, yet as she stood looking at him in silence, she accepted that risk; for her heart, she would disregard the past and the future, and count the reward well worth the danger. With an inarticulate murmur, she lifted her arms to him.

  An odd look of strain tightened his feature; then with a harsh, wordless sound, he picked her up and carried her into the bedroom, lying down on the bed with her still in his arms, twisting until he was half on top of her. His left hand buried itself in her hair, holding her head still, and his mouth came down to imprint his possession on hers. She parted her lips willingly to the demanding thrust of his tongue, giving a tiny sigh of bliss as she curled herself against him, twining her arms around his neck and shoulders, pressing her breasts into the hard, warm plane of his chest. She kissed him with fire and delicacy, offering herself to him with gentle simplicity. He lifted his mouth a fraction of an inch from hers, his breath coming in fast, irregular gulps. “I think…I think I’m going to lose my head over you,” he muttered. “Why couldn’t you be what I’d expected?”

  Before Susan could ask what he meant, before it even occurred to her to wonder at it, his mouth was on hers again, and his arms were tightening about her with a force that would have bruised her if she hadn’t been boneless with need. Everything combined to
overwhelm her senses. She was aware, with every pore of her body, of the warm fragrance of the new day, the slight breeze drifting in the open window, the sweet trilling of the birds as they darted about among the huge trees; then there was nothing, nothing but the touch of his hands and mouth.

  He unzipped her dress, pulling it down to bare her breasts to him, and he took them hungrily, first with his knowing hands, then with the furnace of his mouth. She cried out as the strong suckling sent shock waves of primitive pleasure crashing along her nerves, and she arched into his hard frame.

  The phone beside the bed began ringing, and he lifted his head, muttering a violent curse under his breath, then settled himself more fully on her, his muscular legs parting hers and making a cradle for him. Her nipples were buried in the curly hair of his chest, her hands clutching urgently at him; she wanted all the layers of clothing between them gone, but she hated to release him long enough to remove them. She twisted against him, wanting more, more…

  “Susan! Telephone!”

  Emily’s voice wafted up the stairs, startling them as much as if a bucket of cold water had been dashed over them. Susan drew a sobbing breath, unable to answer. No, no! Why now?

  “Susan?” Emily called, raising her voice in question.

  She bit her lip, then managed to call out, “Yes, I’ll get it. Thanks, Emily.” Her voice didn’t even sound like her own, but Emily must have been satisfied.

  Cord rolled off of her with a sigh. “Go ahead, answer it,” he said gruffly. “She’ll be up here checking on you if you don’t.” He lifted the receiver and handed it to her, stretching the cord across his chest, then relaxing against the pillows.

  Susan wet her lips, and took a deep breath to steady herself. “Hello.”

  “Hello, dear,” came Imogene’s brisk voice. “I wanted to congratulate you on your quick thinking last night. I knew you wouldn’t let us down.”

  Susan frowned in puzzlement, her thoughts still too fogged by desire for her to understand what Imogene was saying. How could she think when she was lying half on Cord’s chest, his heady scent rising to her nostrils like an aphrodisiac. “I’m sorry, I don’t understand. What do you mean?”

  “Why, playing up to Cord,” Imogene replied impatiently. “Remember, you have just as much to lose in this as we do. String him along and find out all you can. Last night was a brilliant move—”

  Susan darted a quick, agonized look at Cord, and her blood congealed in her veins when she saw the iciness of his eyes and realized that he’d heard every word; how could he not, when she was practically on top of him? A cold, cruel smile curved his mouth as he gently took the telephone receiver from her nerveless fingers and cradled it on his shoulder. “You jumped the gun on the congratulations, Aunt Imogene,” he purred with silken menace. “That was a tactical error; you should’ve let Susan call you when the coast was clear.”

  With a deliberate movement he dropped the receiver back onto the hook, then turned back to her. The smile on his face was deadly, and she could do nothing but wait, her breath halted, her heart stopped.

  “My God, you’re lovely,” he murmured, still smiling, his eyes dropping to her bare, creamy breasts. “And so willing to give me anything I want, aren’t you? No wonder you let me talk so much last night; did you think I’d spill my guts to you, tell you everything I’d planned?”

  A fine trembling invaded her limbs. “No,” she whispered. “You needed to talk; I was available.”

  She was so close to him that she could see his pupils dilate, the inner blackness expanding until only a thin circle of blue remained. “Are you available?” he drawled, deliberately covering her breast with his hand. “Are you as available for me as you are for Preston?”

  She felt as if he’d kicked her, and she tried to jerk away, but he locked his other arm around her and held her to him. His fingers kneaded her soft flesh with a slow precision that frightened her, and tears stung her eyes. “I’m not available for Preston! Except as a…a friend. I’m not a sexual release valve for anyone!” She could feel her cheeks burning with mortification, and she tried to pull away again, an attempt that was useless against his effortless strength.

  “Sure you’re not,” he crooned. “That’s why you’re on this bed with me. You offered yourself to me, darling, for a little fun and games. But dear Aunt Imogene, bless her nosy soul, couldn’t stay off the phone, and she blew it for you. Now what are you going to do?”

  “It’s not like that!” she cried desperately, pleading with him to understand. “Imogene wanted me to sleep with you so I could try to find out what you’re planning to do, but I refused—”

  He laughed, a low, harsh sound of disbelief. “It really looks like you refused,” he taunted, stroking her breast. He adjusted her squirming body to his in a way that branded her with his male heat. “For once, she had an idea that I like. We shouldn’t let a little phone call interrupt us—”

  “No!” She wedged her arms between them and braced her hands on his chest, pushing against him in a useless effort to create more of a space between them. It took a tremendous effort to prevent herself from bursting into tears, but she refused to give in to that weakness and blinked her eyes fiercely.

  “Why not? You’d enjoy being—”

  “Used?” she broke in bitterly.

  “Now, darling, I wasn’t going to be crude. I was going to say that you’d enjoy being with a man again, because I don’t count Preston as a man. What do you say? I promise that when I…use…you, I won’t leave you unsatisfied.”

  “Stop it!” she almost shouted, horrified at what had happened, at how swiftly something that had been so right had deteriorated into something so ugly. “I’ve never had sex with Preston. Let go of me!”

  He laughed and recaptured her as she almost wriggled free, his hand going to her buttocks and cupping them, pressing her into him. “Settle down,” he advised, still laughing, though how he could laugh when she felt as if someone had torn her heart out was more than she could understand. “I’m not going to attack you. Though, my God, woman, if you don’t stop squirming against me like that, I may change my mind!”

  She stilled. After a long moment she said rawly, “Please, let me get up.”

  With a mocking lift of his eyebrows, he opened his arms and released her. She sat up away from him, fumbling with her dress, trying to straighten the fabric over her breasts. He got up from the bed and sauntered into the bathroom, returning with his shirt. He pulled it on and buttoned it, then unzipped his pants to tuck the shirttail in, standing nonchalantly before her. Susan sat in frozen horror, too miserable to do anything but stare numbly at him.

  “Don’t look so unhappy, darling,” he advised in a mockery of tenderness. “I probably wouldn’t have told you anything, anyway.” He strolled over to where she sat on the bed and leaned down over her, his weight braced on his arms. Briefly, firmly, he kissed her, a little rough in his anger. When he straightened, a tiny fire was burning in his eyes. “Pity she couldn’t have waited another half hour before she called,” he said, touching her cheek with his finger. “See you around.” With that nonchalant goodbye he was gone, and she sat in paralyzed agony, listening to his sure steps going down the stairs. Then there was the sound of the door, and a moment later the throaty roar of a powerful, well-tuned engine.

  After a long time she managed to slide stiffly off the bed, but that was all she could force her body to do. She leaned against the wall, her eyes closed, while she tried to come to terms with what had happened. She almost hated Imogene for coming between her and Cord, even though it had been unintentional. No, if Imogene had known that Cord had been there, she wouldn’t have done anything to rock the boat! She simply couldn’t believe that Susan would balk at prostituting herself for the good of the Blackstones, namely Imogene herself and Preston. To her mind, if Susan had anything to do with Cord, it was based on ulterior motives.

  It was particularly painful because, for a little while, he had seemed to be lowering h
is formidable barriers just a bit. Their kisses had been building a frail bridge of understanding between them, until Imogene’s heavy touch had shattered it. For a few hours Susan had been on the verge of an ecstasy so deep and powerful, so wide in scope, that she had difficulty in believing the richness that had hovered just beyond her fingertips.

  Black despair engulfed her, a depression so deep that only Vance’s death compared to it. After Vance’s burial, when she had been forced to admit to herself that there was no miracle that would restore him to her, for a time it had seemed that there was nothing worthwhile left in her life. If it had been possible, she would have died quietly in her sleep during that time, so bitter and helpless had she felt at the irrevocable chasm of death. Time had healed her, time and the gentle steel of her own nature, but she hadn’t regained the utter delight in being alive, capable of experiencing pleasure again, until Cord had walked into her life and touched her with his hard fingers, bringing fires that had been banked for five years back into full blaze.

  It was an hour before spirit began to return to her numbed brain. She had learned at Vance’s death that even the most precious life could be extinguished, and she had also learned that death was final. But she was very much alive, and so was Cord. She couldn’t let him just walk away from her like that! If you truly loved someone, then you had to be willing to fight for them, and she was willing to fight the entire world if need be. Thankfully, it wasn’t necessary that she take on the world, but the one stubborn, dangerous man she had to face was bad enough. If it hadn’t been so necessary to her life that she make him listen, she would never have been able to summon the courage. She could face down almost anyone, but Cord could intimidate the devil himself.

  Without giving herself time to think, because if she paused, she’d stop altogether, she told Emily that she’d be gone for the rest of the day, then grabbed her purse and ran to the car. She broke the speed limit getting to the cabin, not daring to rehearse what she would say to him, but knowing that she had to make him listen.