Books By Diana Palmer

by Palmer, Diana

  "He flattered me," she said with pure self-disgust. "He was sweet to me and he seemed sort of boyish. I thought...! thought he'd be a perfect gentleman, the sort of man I'd never have to fight off. But he was different when we were alone. And then he started drinking." "You're grass green," he muttered. "You can't size up men even now, can you?"

  "I haven't dated much."

  "I noticed."

  She glanced up at his set features and then down into the brandy. "Why haven't you?" he persisted.

  She tried not to notice how sexy he looked in that black T-shirt that clung to every muscle he had. He was big, lean, all powerful muscle and bristling vitality. It made her weak to look at him, and she averted her eyes.

  "My mother came to see us one day, when I was sixteen," she said uneasily. "She wanted to see how much I'd grown up, she said."

  She shifted. "She brought her latest lover. He was a playboy with lots of money and apparently he saw that it irritated her when he paid me some attention, so he put on the charm and kept it up all day. After supper, she was miffed enough to take my dad off into another room. Dad was crazy about her, even then." She swallowed. "It made her lover furious and vengeful. He closed the door and before I knew what was happening, he locked it and threw me down onto the sofa. He tore my clothes and touched me...." She closed her eyes at the horrible memory. "It was like tonight, only worse. He was a big man and strong. I couldn't get away, no matter how hard I fought, and in the end I just screamed. My father broke in the door to get to him. I'll never forget what he said to that man, and my mother, before he threw them off the place. I never saw her again. Or wanted to."

  Cag let out the breath he'd been holding. So many things made sense now. He searched her wan little face with feelings of posses­sion. She'd had so much pain and fear from men. She probably had no idea that tenderness even existed.

  "You're tied up in bad memories, aren't you, little one?" he asked quietly. "Maybe they need to be replaced with better ones."

  "Do they?" Her voice was sad, resigned. She finished the brandy and Cag put the snifter on the table.

  She started to get up, only to find him blocking her way. He eased her back down onto the wide divan and slid down alongside her.

  She gasped, wondering if she'd gotten out of the frying pan only to fall into the fire. She frantically put her hands against his broad chest and opened her mouth to protest, but his fingers touched it lightly as he laid beside her and arched over her prone body resting his formidable weight on his forearm.

  "There's nothing to be afraid of, Tess," he said quietly. "What­ever disagreements we've had, you know that I'd never hurt you physically. Especially after the ordeal you've just been through."

  She knew, but she was still nervous of him. He was even more powerfully built than Sandy, and in this way, in an intimate way, he was also an unknown quantity.

  While she was thinking, worrying, he bent and she felt the warm threat of his big body as his mouth drew softly over her eyes, closing the lids. It moved to her temples, her eyebrows. He kissed her closed eyes, his tongue lightly skimming the lashes. She jerked, and his lean hand eased under her nape, soothing her, calming her.

  She had little experience, but she wasn't so naive that she couldn't recognize his. Every touch, every caress, was expert. He eased down so slowly that she only realized how close he really was when she moved and felt his warm, hard chest move with her. By then, she was a prisoner of her own sensual curiosity, sedated by the exquisite pleasure his mouth was giving her as it explored her face.

  By the time he reached her lips, the feel and smell of him were already familiar. When his hard mouth eased her lips apart and moved into them, she felt the increased pressure of his chest against her breasts, and she stiffened with real fear.

  He lifted away immediately, but only a breath. His black eyes searched her blue ones slowly.

  "You still don't know me like this," he murmured, as if he were talking to himself as he studied her flushed face, understanding the fear he read in it. "You're afraid, aren't you?"

  She swallowed. Her mouth felt dry as she looked at him. “I think I am," she whispered.

  He smiled lazily and traced her lips with a lean forefinger. "Will you relax if I promise to go so far and stop?" he whispered.

  "So...far?" she asked in a hushed tone, searching his black eyes curiously.

  He nodded. He teased her lips apart and touched the inside of her lower lip with the tip of his finger. "We'll make a little love," he whispered as he bent. "And then you'll go to bed. Your own, not mine," he added with dry mischief.

  Her fingers clenched and unclenched on the soft fabric of his un­dershirt, like a kitten kneading a new place to lay. She could hear her own breath sighing out against his mouth as it came closer.

  "You don't like me," she breathed.

  His thumb rubbed quite roughly over her mouth. “Are you sure? You must know that I want you!" he said, and it came out almost as a growl. "Taunting you was the only way I knew to keep you at arm's length, to protect you. I was a fool! I'm too old for you, but at least I'm not like that damned idiot who took you out tonight!"

  Nothing got into her sluggish brain except those first three feverish words. "You want me?" she whispered as if it was some dark secret. She looked up at him with wonder and saw the muted ferocity in his eyes.

  His hand was on her waist now and it contracted until it all but bruised. "Yes, Tess. Is it shocking to hear me say it?" His gaze fell to her mouth and lower, to the two little peaks that formed suddenly against the torn bodice of her dress and were revealed even under the thick fabric of his concealing shirt. "You want me, too," he whispered, bending. "I can see it..."

  She wanted to ask how he knew, but the taste of his breath against her lips weakened her. She wanted him to kiss her. She wanted noth­ing more in the world. Her nails curled into his powerful chest and she felt him shiver again just as his mouth slowly, tenderly, eased down on her parted lips.

  He drew back almost at once, only to ease down again as his lips toyed with hers, brushing lightly from the upper lip to the lower one, teasing and lifting away in a silence that smoldered. She felt the warm pressure increase from second to second, and the leisure of his move­ments reassured her. She began to relax. Her body lost its rigor and

  softened against him. After a few seconds of the lazy, tender pressure, her lips opened eagerly for him. She heard a soft intake of breath as he accepted the unspoken invitation with increasingly intimate move­ments of his hard mouth.

  The spicy fragrance of his cologne surrounded her. She knew that as long as she lived, every time she smelled it, it would invoke these images of Cag lying against her on the leather divan in the muted light of the study. She would hear the soft creak of the leather as his body moved closer to her own; she would hear the faint ticking of the old-fashioned grandfather clock near the desk. Most of all, she would feel the hard warmth of Cag's mouth and the slow caress of his lean hands up and down her rib cage, making her body ache with new pleasures.

  His head lifted and he looked at her again, this time reading with pinpoint accuracy the sultry look of her eyes, the faint pulse in her throat, the hard tips of her breasts rising against the slip that her half-open bodice revealed. Somewhere along the way, he'd unbuttoned his shirt that she was wearing and it was lying back away from her torn dress.

  He traced the ragged edge of the fabric with returning anger. “Did it have to be this dress?" he groaned.

  She winced. "You never seemed to look at me," she defended herself. "He wanted to take me out, and it was the nicest thing I had in my closet."

  He sighed heavily. "Yes, I know." He smiled wryly. "I didn't think I could risk taking you out. But look what happened because I didn't."

  "He was so drunk," she whispered hoarsely. "He would have forced me..."

  "Not while there was a breath in my body," he returned intently.

  "How did you know?" she asked suddenly.

  H
e pushed a stray curl away from her cheek. "I don't know," he said, frowning as if it disturbed him. "Something I'd heard about Gaines bothered me. One of the men said that he was fine as long as there wasn't a bottle anywhere nearby, and another one mentioned a threatened lawsuit over a disastrous date. I remembered that you'd gone to the dance at the bar." He shrugged. "Maybe it was a pre­monition. Thank God I paid attention to it."

  "Yes." A thick strand of jet black hair had fallen onto his broad forehead. Hesitantly she reached up and pushed it back, her fingers lingering on its coolness.

  He smiled because it was the first time that she'd voluntarily touched him.

  She sought his eyes, sought permission. As if he understood the new feelings that were flaring up inside her, he drew her hand down to his chest and opened her fingers, pressing them there, firmly.

  Her hand moved experimentally, pressing down and then curling into the thick hair she could feel under the soft fabric of his shirt.

  Impatiently he lifted himself and peeled off the T-shirt, tossing it to the floor. He lay back down again beside her, curling his leg into hers as he guided her hand back to his chest.

  She hesitated again. This was another step, an even bigger one.

  "Even teenagers do this," he mused, smiling gently at her inhi­bitions. "It's perfectly permissible."

  "Is it?" Her fingers touched him as if she expected them to be burned. But then they pressed into the thick pelt of hair and explored, fascinated by the size and breadth of his chest, the warmth and strength of it.

  He arched with pure pleasure and laughed delightedly at the sen­sations she aroused. It had been a long time since a woman had touched him like that.

  She smiled shyly, fascinated by his reaction. He seemed so stoic, so reserved, that this lack of inhibition was surprising.

  "Men are like cats," he murmured. "We love to be stroked."

  "Oh." She studied him as if he were an exhibit in a museum, curious about every single cell of his body.

  "Feeling more secure now?" he asked softly. "More adventur­ous?"

  "I'm not sure." She looked up at him, quizzically.

  "Nothing heavy," he promised. His black eyes were softer than she'd ever seen them. "It's no news to me that you're a rank begin­ner."

  "What are you...going to do?" she stammered, wide-eyed.

  "Kiss you," he breathed, letting his gaze fall to her bare breasts.

  "Th...there?" she gasped.

  He touched her lightly, smiling at the expression on her taut face. "There," he whispered. He bent and drew his cheek softly over the bruised flesh, careful not to hurt her with the light pressure.

  While she was trying to cope with so many new and shocking sensations, his mouth smoothed back over the soft, silky flesh and she felt it open. He tasted her flushed skin in a heated fever of need. Her hands curled up into his thick hair and she held him to her, whimpering softly with pleasure as she found herself drawing his face hungrily to where the flesh was very taut and sensitive.

  "Here?" he whispered, hesitating.

  "Oh...yes!" she choked.

  His mouth opened obediently and he drew the hard nipple into it with a faint, soft suction that brought a sharp cry from her dry lips.

  She thought she felt him tremble, and then he was moving onto his back, breathing roughly as he carried her with him. He held her at his side, their legs intimately entangled, while he fought to get his breath back.

  His skin was cool against her hot breasts where they were pressed together above the waist. Her cheek was against the hard muscle of his upper arm and she caught again that elusive spicy scent that clung to him.

  Her hand eased onto the thick hair at his chest, but he caught it

  and held it a little roughly at her side.

  "No," he whispered.

  She didn't understand what she'd done wrong. A minute later, he got to his feet and bent to retrieve his undershirt. While he shrugged into it, she tugged up her bodice and tried to fasten it.

  But when she would have gotten to her feet, he pressed her back

  down.

  "Stay put," he said quietly. He turned and left the room.

  She'd barely gotten her breathing calm when he was back, sitting down beside her with a cold can of beer in his hand.

  He popped it open and took a sip before he pulled her up beside him and held it to her lips.

  "I don't like beer," she murmured dazedly.

  "I'm going to taste of it," he replied matter-of-factly. "If you swallow some, you won't find the taste so unpleasant when I kiss you."

  Her heart jumped wildly.

  He met her surprised expression with a smile. “Did you think we were finished?" he asked softly.

  She blushed.

  "I was getting too aroused," he murmured dryly. "And so were you. I'm not going to let it go that far."

  She searched his hard face with open curiosity. "What does it feel like to you, when you kiss me like that?" she asked quickly, before she lost her nerve.

  "How does it feel when I do it?"

  "I don't know. Shivery. Hot. I never felt anything like that be­fore."

  He took a sip of the beer and looked down at her hungrily. “Nei­ther did I," he said tersely. His eyes seemed to possess her as they ran like caressing hands all over her. "Your breasts are freckled," he said with an intimate smile and chuckled when she blushed. He held her face up to his and kissed her nose. "I'm not going to rush out to the nearest bar and gossip about it," he whispered when he saw the faint apprehension in her wide eyes. "It's a lover's secret; a thing we don't share with other people. Like the scar on my belly."

  She frowned slightly. He tugged down the waistband of his jeans and drew her hand against him where a long, thick scar was just visible above his belt.

  "It runs down to my groin," he said solemnly. "Fortunately, it missed the more...vital areas. But it was touch and go for a few days and the scar is never going to go away."

  Her fingers lingered there. "I'm sorry you were hurt."

  He held her hand to him and smiled. "This is something I haven't shown to anyone else," he told her. "Except my brothers."

  It made sense then. She looked up into his eyes. "A...lover's secret," she whispered, amazed that she could think of him like that, so easily.

  He nodded. He wasn't smiling. "Like the freckles on your breasts, just around the nipples."

  She felt her breath gathering speed, like an old-time steam engine. Her breasts felt tight, and not because of Sandy's rough handling. She frowned a little because it was uncomfortable and she still didn't quite understand it.

  "We swell, both of us, when we're aroused," he said quietly, glancing at the small hand that had come up to rest a little gingerly against one taut nipple. "It's uncomfortable, isn't it?"

  "Just...just a little." She felt like a child in a candy store, breath­less with delight as she looked at him. "I liked...what you did," she whispered.

  "So did I. Have a few sips of this and I'll do it again."

  Her breath caught. She sipped and wrinkled her nose. He took two more huge swallows before he put the can on the table and came back to her.

  He stretched out beside her and this time when he slid his leg in between both of hers, it wasn't shocking or frightening. It felt natural, right. His hands slid under her as he bent again to her mouth. Now the kisses weren't tentative and seeking. They were slow and insistent and arousing. They were passionate kisses, meant to drag a response from the most unwilling partner.

  Tess found herself clinging to him as if she might drown, her nails biting into his nape, and every kiss was more intimate than the last, more demanding, more arousing, more complete.

  When his powerful body eased completely down over hers, she didn't protest at all. Her arms slid around his waist, her legs parted immediately, and she melted into the leather under them, welcoming the hard crush of him, the sudden heat and swelling that betrayed his hunger.

  "You can feel it, can't yo
u?" he whispered intimately at her ear and moved a little, just to make sure she could.

  "Cag...!"

  "I want you so badly, Tess!" he whispered, and his mouth slid over her cheek and onto her lips. He bit at them with a new and staggering intimacy that set her body on fire. When his tongue eased into her mouth, she opened her lips to accept it. When he pressed her legs further apart so that he could settle intimately between them, she arched into him. When he groaned and his hands found her breasts, she gave everything that she was into his keeping. He never thought he could draw back in time. He shook convulsively with the effort. He dragged his hips away and turned, lying on his back with Tess settled close against his side while he fought his own need, and hers.

  "Don't...move!" he stated when she turned closer to him.

  She stilled at once, half-heard bits of advice from a parade of motherly women coming back to her and making sudden sense.

  She could feel Cag's powerful body vibrating with the hunger the kisses had built in it. He was like corded wood, breathing harshly. It fascinated her that he'd wanted her that much, when she was a rank beginner. He certainly wasn't!

  When she felt him begin to relax, she let out a sigh of relief. She hadn't known what to do or say. Men in that condition were a mys­tery to her.

  She felt his hand in her curly hair, holding her cheek to his chest. Under it, she heard the heavy, hard beat of his heart, like a fast drum.

  "I haven't touched a woman since my fiancee threw me over," he said in a harsh tone.

  Years ago. He didn't say it, but Tess knew that was what he was implying. She lifted her head and raised up, resting her hand on his shoulder to steady her as she searched his face. There was a hard flush along his high cheekbones, but his eyes were quiet, soft, full of mystery as they met hers.

  "You want to know why I drew back."

  She nodded.

  He let go of her hair and touched her soft, swollen mouth with his. "You're a virgin."

  He sounded so certain of it that she didn't bother to argue. It would have been pretty pointless at the moment, anyway.

  "Oh. I see." She didn't, but it sounded mature.

  He chuckled gently. "You don't know beans," he corrected. He moved suddenly, turning her over so that his body half covered hers and his eyes were inches from her own. His big hand caught her hip and curved it up into his intimately. The reaction of his body was fierce and immediate; and very stark. She flushed.