Passionate Protectors?

by Anne Mather

  ‘Ever made love in the rain?’ he asked hoarsely, his gaze a hot flickering flame, hungrily roaming her features.

  Before Megan could reply, Kyle traced the shape of her lips with the pad of his thumb, dragging it intimately across her delicate skin in a deliberately erotic little foreplay that made her gasp out loud in surprise and pleasure.

  ‘Do you want me, Megan?’ he taunted softly. ‘Because I want you. Will you give yourself to me?’

  ‘Always.’

  Their lips met in an urgent clash of teeth and tongues, but Kyle quickly took command—ravishing the moist warm inner landscape of her mouth with wild passionate kisses that tasted of wind and rain, salt and sea, heat and desire, all wrapped up in one drugging sensuous package that she had absolutely no defence against. Even as she surrendered to those hot soul-destroying kisses his hand was pushing her denim jacket aside, roughly cupping her breast inside her T-shirt, his thumb restlessly and hungrily stroking across the deep rigid ache of her aroused nipple.

  ‘Kyle!’ His name was a naked plea on her lips as Megan allowed herself the briefest glance across his shoulder to ascertain that they were alone, then willingly let him urge her towards the harbour wall.

  She was thankful that full dusk was now a shield. Grateful too that the now driving rain was keeping most people safely ensconced inside their houses or hotel rooms. Because it was a cold hard fact that she was powerless to resist what Kyle was demanding. It shocked her to realise what she was consenting to—she’d never made love out in the open in her life. But it thrilled her too—excited her beyond reason to discover that she could be so swept away, body and soul, made almost mindless by the heat of great passion…

  There was no need for words as Kyle hustled her against the rough stone wall, dragged her skirt up to her panty line while his body acted as a shield, then ripped open the sides of her underwear with two powerful tugs. He caught the skimpy fabric in his hand and shoved it into his pocket, his expression driven—possessed, almost.

  The rain was pouring ceaselessly down, running in rivulets down their faces, but they could hardly have heeded it less. A deep primeval heat was pulsing unstoppably through their veins, making them oblivious to anything else but each other. Desire was a throbbing, drowning deluge, conquering everything in its wake, demanding nothing less than their complete acquiescence. All they had to do was let go to be swept away on its relentless tide.

  Megan held her breath at the shock of Kyle’s finger insinuating itself deeply inside her core. As a second finger joined the first shimmering sensation exploded inside her. When he withdrew, a helpless little groan—almost a whimper—escaped her, and she held onto the steely muscle in his arms as he raised her hips, his expression a startling combination of deep driving need and yet an almost profound reverence for the woman he held in his arms.

  Megan shut her eyes, cradling his pelvis with her thighs as he penetrated her fully with one deep thrust of his silken shaft. She ignored the nagging throbbing of her injured leg as heat and sensation flooded her, clenching her muscles possessively round him as he withdrew almost completely, then thrust again. His possession was deeper this time, so deep that she was profoundly intimate with every powerful inch of him, their bodies fused as one, both dazed with pleasure and greedy for more. He kissed her hard as his movements became more intense, more focused, and she thought that if she were to die right now there was no question she’d die happy. At least her senses were flooded with feeling, instead of the habitual numbness that had been her natural state for longer than she cared to remember. But there was no pretence at tenderness as profound, shattering need simply consumed them both.

  Her mouth would be swollen and throbbing from Kyle’s devastating kisses when he released her, but Megan didn’t care. How could she when being with him was all that mattered? Her whole life had come down to these few precious moments of deep mind-blowing connection, and she wouldn’t have traded it for the world. She had never really thrown caution to the wind, but she was doing it now—almost daring the elements or the powers that be to deny her this savage hungry pleasure. Right now, passion was everything.

  Her fingers dug into the hard, honed flesh beneath the damp leather sleeves of his jacket as she suddenly came apart in his arms, trembling and crying his name as incandescent heat poured into her, feeling him thrust even deeper, then suddenly grow still. His breath was rasping clouds of steam into the cold night air as he shook with emotion, his gaze hooded, slightly dazed, as Megan clung to him, her body quivering in the aftermath of what had occurred. Then creeping into her consciousness came the unwanted realisation that they were exposed, out in the open and wet through to their very skins, and she briefly shut her eyes tight, as if to ward off the inevitable moment when they would have to part.

  With devastating tenderness Kyle eased her back down onto her feet, letting the creased folds of her wraparound skirt drop safely down to her ankles before pulling the soft damp sides of her denim jacket together over her soaked maroon T-shirt. His palm icy, he stroked the heavy wet strands of her hair gently back from her face, devouring her with his eyes. Without a word, he deftly attended to his own clothing, shoved back a stray lock of rain-drenched hair and grabbed her hand.

  ‘What you need is a good hot shower to chase the cold away.’

  His scorching glance sent tremors quaking through every inch of her body as Megan stared, transfixed, suddenly struck dumb by the sheer all-encompassing need she saw writ large in his eyes. For the first time she realised that he had made himself vulnerable to her, too. Her heart accelerated wildly at the mere idea.

  ‘Forget that,’ he growled, expression wry. ‘What we both need is a good hot shower…together.’

  ‘Can I come in?’

  ‘No!’ Kyle’s reply was curt as Christa rapped on the door. A frustrated sigh escaped him as he watched a stricken Megan grab the large white towel that she’d not so long ago been holding strategically round her lower half, then bolt like a deer into the bathroom. With tight-lipped resignation he threw his sketchpad onto the immaculate white linen covering the bed, then stood up to get the door.

  ‘I didn’t mean to interrupt.’ Christa stole a less than furtive look into the room across Kyle’s broad hard-muscled shoulder, but Megan was nowhere to be seen. The long gold brocade curtains were tellingly drawn against the night, just the single light of one small bedside lamp burning softly, its gentle light casting a mellow glow in the room that was an homage to all things Laura Ashley. ‘You were obviously working.’

  She was grinning broadly, her teeth startlingly white against the vivid slash of scarlet lipstick that adorned her mouth.

  ‘Obviously.’ Kyle bit down his initial rush of annoyance—he hated being disturbed when he was working—then smiled to ease the brusqueness of his reply.

  ‘I wanted to check that everything was okay. I hope you both enjoyed dinner? Alistair is a first-rate chef. I poached him from a really swanky hotel in Weymouth.’

  ‘The food was great, Christa. First class.’

  ‘And you’re both…settling in okay?’ The blonde sneaked another peek across Kyle’s broad shoulder, her gaze briefly alighting on the sketchpad that lay closed on top of the counterpane.

  ‘We’re both settling in just fine.’ A dark eyebrow shot up towards his hairline at Christa’s less than subtle efforts to glean more information. But he could forgive her curious nature—why shouldn’t he? It seemed to come with the territory as far as women were concerned.

  Of course Megan was right when she’d accused him of keeping her in the dark about himself. A frown settled between his brows as he realised how little he’d personally revealed. She had every right to be angry with him. He knew he was apt to put up barriers where relationships were concerned, but he also knew that maybe it was time to let down a few with Megan. There was no place for mistrust where she was concerned. She hadn’t come after him because of his wealth and fame, like so many women had done before. She didn’t even k
now who he was…

  ‘I was hoping you both might join me for a drink in the bar before turning in? I’ve got some of that delicious German brandy you used to be so fond of.’

  Because he was such an attractive man, and because Christa was such a natural flirt—married or no—she leant a little towards Kyle as she spoke, ensuring he got a generous eyeful of her ample cleavage in the low-necked white chiffon blouse she wore.

  He grinned his appreciation even as he shook his head. ‘Not tonight, Christa. I think what Megan needs more than anything is rest.’

  ‘I’m sure that’s not what would be on my mind if I were in her position.’ The blonde dimpled suggestively. ‘But even if Megan doesn’t feel like a drink, why don’t you and I take the opportunity to talk about old times?’

  Kyle didn’t so much as flinch. ‘When did you say Justin was due home?’ he asked smoothly.

  Rolling her pale blue eyes heavenward, Christa sighed out loud. ‘All right, I get the message. I can see you’re serious about this one, but you can’t blame me for trying. She’s a lucky girl—I hope she knows that.’

  ‘You’re wrong.’ Kyle said quietly as he went to close the door. ‘I’m the lucky one.’

  Megan was beginning not to know herself at all. Or maybe she’d just hidden the real Megan so well, out of sheer expediency, that only now was she beginning to get clues about her true potential.

  She grinned at herself in the generous bathroom mirror as she tightened the belt of her robe more securely round her. True potential? That was a good one. If she meant true potential for acting like a complete wanton then that was about right, if her behaviour with Kyle at the harbour was anything to go by. Her cheeks burned crimson as she touched her fingers to her still swollen mouth, but the heat that pulsed through her at what she had succumbed to completely submerged the rush of shame that threatened.

  She wouldn’t be ashamed of passion. She certainly didn’t have an ounce of regret about herself and Kyle. Only minutes ago she’d displayed yet another contradictory side to her nature when she’d agreed to pose practically nude, for him to sketch her. Okay, she’d had the benefit of a towel, but still her back had been bare all the way down to the base of her spine, and she knew it was only a matter of time before Kyle persuaded her to discard it completely. But it was stupid to be prudish about the human body when all across the country models like Christa were posing naked for students in life drawing classes as a matter of course.

  Christa. She was a beautiful woman—a sensual woman. The way she looked at Kyle, her greedy eyes glimmering with appreciation, Megan was sure she was his ex-lover. She swallowed hard, expelling an uneasy breath. Never mind. She could weather it. Everybody had a past, didn’t they? She of all people knew that. It didn’t mean because they might have been intimate in the past they’d want to revive that intimacy now, did it? Besides, Christa was married…Stop it, Megan. Don’t even go there.

  She spun round at the sound of the outer door closing and hastily tweaked a couple of glossy tendrils of black silk more becomingly round her face. Kyle had asked her to put her hair up so that he could sketch her body, and now the sheer weight of it was gradually loosening stray strands that slipped away from the initially tidy knot. Opening the door, she peeped out. Kyle was flicking through his sketchpad, expression thoughtful, his pencil momentarily captured between his teeth.

  Megan pushed the door wider, causing it to creak. Glancing up, Kyle withdrew his pencil from between his teeth and smiled. Once again the sheer masculine beauty of that devastating smile made her lose her centre of gravity. Every woman in the world deserved to be smiled at like that at least once in her life, she decided. A toe-curling, purely sexy smile that seemed to say You’re the one I want; you and only you. He couldn’t possibly look at Megan like that and still want Christa, could he?

  ‘Why did you run away?’ he asked.

  ‘I didn’t want…I don’t feel comfortable with the idea of someone else seeing me undressed.’ There, she’d said it. Christa MacKenzie might be perfectly at ease with her body, but Megan wasn’t. She was definitely coming out of her shell, but only by degrees. Fiddling with the belt of her robe, she dragged a tendril of hair straight down over her ear and let it go again—anything rather than look up and discover amusement in his eyes.

  ‘Why?’

  Megan shifted from one hip to the other, feeling her face grow hotter by the second. ‘I don’t feel good about—about my body, I suppose…especially since my leg—’

  ‘Do you think your injury diminishes you in some way? Because if you do you’re crazy! You’ve got one of the most arresting female bodies I’ve ever seen. A man could get eyestrain just looking at your gorgeous curves.’

  ‘You’re biased.’ Megan dared a glance to see if he was merely teasing, but instead found him regarding her with deadly seriousness.

  ‘Not true. Don’t forget I’m looking at you with an artist’s eye, and I speak as I find.’

  ‘Was Christa the girl in the picture? In your bathroom, I mean?’

  ‘Yes. That was Christa.’ Not a flicker of emotion showed in his face. ‘She was a good model. You could be, too, if I didn’t get completely chewed up at the mere idea of you posing for anyone else but me.’

  ‘Did you sleep with her?’ The question was out before she could check it.

  ‘No. Is this line of questioning leading somewhere?’

  A compressed look crept around his mouth, and Megan flinched from the flash of irritation in his eyes. Determinedly she tried to concentrate on her breathing.

  ‘She’s a beautiful woman.’

  ‘But we didn’t have sex. Next question.’

  ‘You must make—I mean, I imagine you must make a reasonable living from your work?’ She advanced as far as the bed, then, holding onto the brass rail beneath the ivory finials, eased down carefully onto the counterpane. Megan prayed her question wouldn’t make him angry, but it was driving her crazy to know so little about his life. About him. And surely his work was one of the most integral parts?

  He threw pencil and sketchpad back on the bed, then folded his arms across his fitted black T-shirt with something very close to resignation. Megan weathered the suddenly tense expression, seeing the obvious tussle behind those sensual tawny eyes, registering the brief but distinct contraction of muscle in the perfectly angled plane of his cheek.

  ‘I make a good living—some might say an exceptional one. My work’s been displayed in galleries around the world, and in artistic circles my name’s not exactly unheard of. Is that what you wanted to know, Megan?’

  Her fingers flexed a little around the smooth brass bed rail. ‘You mean you’re well known?’ Her expression pained, she cast her face down, staring at the plush gold carpet, the colour swirling in front of her as her brain desperately tried to assimilate the fact that Kyle was a famous artist. Ergo—so far out of her league it wasn’t funny. Familiar feelings of inadequacy pressed in on her in a heated rush, threatening to swamp her. So much for her delusional theory that she was finally dealing with her emotional baggage from the past.

  ‘So what if I am?’ Placing his hands either side of those lean tight hips in the close-fitting black leather trousers, Kyle angled his jaw disdainfully towards her. ‘Do you think I care whether you know who I am or not? Can you imagine how sick I get of people wanting to know me just because I’ve achieved some sort of notoriety?’

  ‘But you could have told me!’ Megan stared at him with wounded eyes. ‘There’s so much about you that I don’t know. Can’t you understand how that makes me feel? I’ve given you access to the most intimate parts of my life and yet yours is a closed book to me.’

  ‘You’ve got to learn to trust me, Megan. You came to me for help, remember? I didn’t tell you who I was because I was scared you wouldn’t be able to handle it. Looking at your face now, I can see I was right to be concerned.’

  Her heart hammering, Megan silently conceded he was right. How could she possibly contempl
ate a relationship with someone who lived part of their life in the public eye? Some women might be totally comfortable with such a situation, but, having gone through what she had, to Megan the whole idea was anathema. She wouldn’t want to be scrutinised and discussed like a bug under a microscope because of her association with him.

  ‘I do trust you, Kyle.’

  ‘But?’ He knew instinctively there was a ‘but’. A big one. His chest was so tight he felt as if his heart was clamped in a vice.

  ‘But you were wrong not to tell me who you really are. You deceived me by keeping something so important about yourself so secret. What if I’d found it out by accident? What if I’d seen your picture or your name in a newspaper? What then, Kyle? Would you have concocted some story to divert me, supposedly to make me feel better, because you concluded that I couldn’t handle the truth?’

  Her heart was pounding. She was saying words she didn’t want to say, making accusations she didn’t want to make, but still she couldn’t deny the colossal hurt at the idea that maybe he’d thought her too immature, too unstable to be trusted with the reality of his life.

  ‘I thought I was acting in your best interests. Obviously it was a serious misjudgement on my part.’

  ‘You were treating me like a child! I may have been hurt badly in the past, but I’m mature enough and strong enough to handle the truth.’

  ‘Really?’ His disparaging gaze poleaxed her. ‘Is that why you stayed in a marriage that had long ago passed its sell-by date? Because you could handle the truth? You knew your husband was an unfaithful bully, with a predilection for cruelty, yet still you stayed with him until he practically maimed you for life!’

  Megan flinched at his words, privately conceding his point and damning herself for her past weakness, but deeply upset that he should speak to her in such a way. Not even speak—he was shouting at her, fury etched deep in his brow, in his eyes, in the mocking tightening of smooth lean muscle in that beautiful angled jaw…