Passion Flower

by Diana Palmer

  When he finally released her, he was shaking too. His eyes burned with frustrated desire, his hands framed her face, hot and hard.

  “We have to stop. Now.”

  She took a slow, steadying breath. “Yes.”

  He took his hands away and moved toward the house, lighting a cigarette eventually after two fumbles.

  She followed him, drunk on sensual pleasure, awed by what she’d felt with him, by what she’d let him do. She felt shy when they got into the house, into the light, and she couldn’t quite meet his eyes.

  “I’ll get supper on the table,” she said.

  He didn’t even reply. He followed her into the kitchen, and with brooding dark eyes watched her move around.

  She poured coffee and he sat down, still watching her.

  Her hands trembled as she put the cream pitcher beside his cup. He caught her fingers, looking up at her with a dark, unsmiling stare.

  “Don’t start getting self-conscious with me,” he said quietly. “I know you’ve never let another man touch you like that. I’m proud that you let me.”

  She stared at him, eyes widening. Of all the things she’d expected he might say, that wasn’t one of them.

  His nostrils flared and his hand contracted. “After supper,” he said slowly, holding her eyes, “I’m going to carry you into the living room and lay you down on the sofa. And I’m going to make love to you, in every way I know. And when I get through, you’ll shudder at the thought of another man’s hands on you.”

  His eyes were blazing, and her own kindled. Her lips parted. “Rett, I can’t...you know.”

  He nodded. “We won’t go that far.” His fingers caressed her wrist and his face hardened. “How hungry are you?” he asked under his breath.

  Her heart was beating wildly. She looked at him and it was suicide. She felt shaky to her toes.

  “Make love to me,” she whispered blindly as she reached for him.

  He twisted her down across his lap and found her mouth in a single motion. He groaned as he kissed her, his breath sighing out raggedly.

  “Oh, God, I need you,” he ground out, standing with her in his arms. “I need you so much!”

  He turned, still kissing her, and carried her through into the living room, putting her gently down on the worn couch. After giving her a hot stare, he turned and methodically drew all the curtains and closed and locked the door. Then he came back, sitting down so that he was facing her.

  “Now,” he whispered, bending with trembling hands to the bodice of her dress. “Now, let’s see how much damage we can do to each other’s self-control, Jenny Wren. I want to look at you until I ache to my toes!”

  He unbuttoned it and she sank back against the pillows, watching unprotestingly. He half lifted her and slipped the dress down her arms. Her bra followed it. And then he leaned over her, just looking at the soft mounds he’d uncovered.

  His fingers stroked one perfect breast, lingering on the tip until she cried out.

  “Does that hurt?” he whispered, looking into her eyes.

  She was trembling, and it was hard to talk. “No,” she breathed.

  He smiled slowly, in a tender, purely masculine way, and repeated the brushing caress. She arched up, and his eyes blazed like dark fires.

  “Jenny!” he growled. His fingers held her breasts up to his hard mouth. He took her by surprise, and she moaned wildly as she felt the warm moistness envelop her. Her hands dug into his hair and she dragged his head closer, whimpering as if she were being tortured.

  “Not so hard, baby,” he whispered raggedly, lifting his head. “You’re too delicate for that, Jenny.”

  “Rett,” she moaned, her eyes wild.

  “Like this, then,” he whispered, bending to grind his mouth into hers. His hand swallowed her, stroking, molding, and she trembled all over as if with a fever, clinging to him, needing something more than this, something closer, something far, far more intimate....

  Her hands moved against his chest, trembling as they explored the hard muscles.

  “Be still now,” he whispered, easing her back into the cushions. “Don’t move under me. Just lie still, Jenny Wren, and let me show you...how bodies kiss.”

  She held her breath as his body moved completely onto hers. She felt the blatant maleness of it, the warmth, the tickle of hair against her soft breasts, the exquisite weight, and her hungry eyes looked straight into his as they joined.

  “Oh,” she whispered jerkily.

  “Sweet, sweet Jenny,” he breathed, cupping her face in his hands. “It’s like moving on velvet. Do you feel me...all of me?”

  “Yes.” Her own hands went to his back, found their way under his shirt. “Rett, you’re very heavy,” she said with a shaky smile.

  “Too heavy?” he whispered.

  “Oh, no,” she said softly. “I...like the way it feels.”

  “So do I.” He bent and kissed her, tenderly, in a new and delicious way. “Not afraid?”

  “No.”

  “You will be,” he whispered softly. His hands moved down, sliding under her hips. He lifted his head and looked down at her just as his fingers contracted and ground her hips up into his in an intimacy that made her gasp and cry out.

  He shuddered, and she buried her face in his hot throat, dizzy and drowning in deep water, burning with exquisite sensation and blinding pleasure.

  “Jenny,” he groaned. His hands hurt. “Jenny, Jenny, if you weren’t a virgin, I’d take you. I’d take you, here, now, in every way there is...!”

  She barely heard him, she was shaking so badly. All at once, he eased himself down beside her and folded her into his arms in a strangely protective way. His hands smoothed her back, his lips brushed over her face in tiny, warm kisses. All the passion was suddenly gone, and he was comforting her.

  “I never believed...what my mother used to say about...passion,” Jenny whispered at his ear, still trembling. “Rett, it’s exquisite...isn’t it? So explosive and sweet and dangerous!”

  “You’ve never wanted a man before?” he breathed.

  “No.”

  “I’ll tell you something, Jenny. I’ve never wanted a woman like this. Not ever.” He kissed her ear softly. “I want you to know something. If it ever happened, even accidentally, you’d never want to forget it. I’d take you so tenderly, so slowly, that you’d never know anything about pain.”

  “Yes, I know that,” she murmured, smiling. Her arms tightened. “You could have had me, then, lofty principles and all,” she added ruefully. “I didn’t realize how easy it was to throw reason to the wind.”

  “You’re a very passionate woman.” He lifted his head and searched her eyes. “I didn’t expect that.”

  “You didn’t seem much like a passionate man either,” she confessed, letting her eyes wander slowly over his hard, dark face. “Oh, Rett, I did want you in the most frightening way!”

  His chest expanded roughly. “Jenny, I think we’d better get up from here. My good intentions only seem to last until I get half your clothes off.”

  She watched him draw away, watched how his eyes clung to her bare breasts, and she smiled and arched gently.

  “Oh, God, don’t do that!” he whispered, shaken, as he turned away.

  She laughed delightedly and sat up, getting back into her clothes as she stared at his broad back. He was smoking a cigarette, running a restless hand through his hair. And he was the handsomest man she’d ever seen in her life. And the most...loved.

  I love you, she thought dreamily. I love every line and curve and impatient gesture you make. I’d rather live here, in poverty, with you than to have the world in the bank.

  “I’m decent now,” she murmured, smiling when he turned hesitantly around. “My gosh, you make me feel good. I was always self-consc
ious about being so small.”

  His eyes narrowed. “You’re not small, baby,” he said in a gruff tone. “You’re just delicate.”

  Her face glowed with pride. “Thank you, Rett.”

  “Let’s see if the coffee’s still warm,” he said softly, holding out his hand.

  She took it, and he pulled her up, pausing to bend and kiss her slowly, lingering over the soft, swollen contours of her warm mouth.

  “I’ve bruised your lips,” he whispered. “Are they sore?”

  “They’re delightfully sensitive,” she whispered back, going on tiptoe. “You know a lot about kissing for a cattleman.”

  “You know a lot for a virgin,” he murmured, chuckling.

  “Pat yourself on the back, I’m a fast study.” She slid her hand pertly inside his shirt and stroked him. “See?”

  He took her hand away and buttoned his shirt to the throat. “I’m going to have to watch you, lady,” he murmured, “or you’ll wrestle me down on the couch and seduce me one dark night.”

  “It’s all right,” she whispered. “I won’t get you pregnant. You can trust me, honey,” she added with a wicked smile.

  He burst out laughing and led her into the kitchen. “Feed me,” he said, “before we get in over our heads.”

  “Spoilsport. Just when things were getting interesting.”

  “Another minute, and they’d have gone past interesting to educational,” he murmured dryly, with a pointed glance. “Men get hot pretty fast that way, Jenny. Don’t rely on my protective instincts too far. I damned near lost my head.”

  “Did you, really?” she asked, all eyes. “But I don’t know anything.”

  “That’s why,” he sighed. “I...haven’t touched a virgin since I was one myself. Funny, isn’t it, that these days it’s become a stigma. Back when I was a kid, decent boys wouldn’t be seen with a girl who had a reputation for being easy. Now it’s the virgins who take all the taunting.” He stopped, turning her, and his face was solemn. “I’m glad you’re still innocent. I’m glad that I can look at you and make you blush, and watch all those first reactions that you’ve never shown anybody else. To hell with modern morality, Jenny. I love the fact that you’re as old-fashioned as I am.”

  “So do I. Now,” she added, studying him warmly. “Rett...” Her fingers went up and touched his hard mouth. “Rett, I think I...” She was about to say “love you” when a piece of paper on the floor caught his eye.

  “Hey, what’s this?” he asked, bending to pick it up.

  Her heart stopped. It was the check she’d gotten in the mail. She’d stuck it in her pocket, but it must have fallen out. She watched him open it and read the logo at the top with a feeling of impending disaster. She hadn’t meant to tell him where it came from just yet...

  His lean hand closed around the check, crumpling it. “Where did you get this kind of money, and what for?” he demanded.

  “I...I worked part-time for a design house in Houston, decorating a lady’s living room,” she blurted out. “It’s for you. To pay off your bull,” she said, her face bright, her eyes shining. “I went to Houston and got a part-time job decorating a living room. That’s my commission. Surprise! Now you won’t have to sell that mangy old Hereford bull!”

  He looked odd. As if he’d tried to swallow a watermelon and couldn’t get it down. He stood up, still staring at the crumpled check, and turned away. He walked to the sink, staring out the darkened window.

  “How did you get a job decorating anything?”

  “I studied for several years at an excellent school of interior design in New York,” she said. “I got a job with one of the leading agencies and spent two years developing my craft. That’s why I got so angry when you made the remark about interior decorators being con artists,” she added. “You see, I am one.”

  “New York?”

  “Yes. It’s the best place to learn, and to work.”

  “And you got pneumonia...”

  “And had to give it up temporarily,” she agreed. She frowned. He sounded strange. “Thanks to you, I’m back on my feet now and in fine form. The lady I did the design for was really pleased with my work, too. But the reason I did it was to get you enough money to pay off your note...”

  “I can’t take this,” he said in a strained tone. He put it gently on the table and started out the door.

  “But, Everett, your supper...!” she called.

  “I’m not hungry.” He kept walking. A moment later, the front door slammed behind him.

  She sat there at the table, alone, staring at the check for a long time, until the numbers started to blur. Her eyes burned with unshed tears. She loved him. She loved Everett Culhane. And in the space of one night, her good intentions had lost her the pleasure of being near him. She knew almost certainly that he was going to fire her now. Too late, she remembered his opinion of city women. She hadn’t had time to explain that it was her parents’ idea for her to study and to work in New York, not her own. Nor that the pressure had been too much. He thought it was only pneumonia. Could she convince him in time that she wasn’t what he was sure she was? That she wanted to stay here forever, not just as a temporary thing. She glanced toward the door with a quiet sigh. Well, she’d just sit here and wait until the shock wore off and he came back.

  She did wait. But when three o’clock in the morning came, with no sign of Everett, she went reluctantly upstairs and lay down. It didn’t help that she still smelled leather and faint cologne, and that her mind replayed the fierce ardor she’d learned from him until, exhausted, she slept.

  When her eyes slowly opened the next morning, she felt as if she hadn’t slept at all. And the first thing she remembered was Everett’s shocked face when she’d told him what she used to do for a living. She couldn’t understand why he’d reacted that way. After the way it had been between them, she hadn’t expected him to walk off without at least discussing it. She wondered if it was going to be that way until he fired her. Because she was sure he was going to. And she knew for a certainty that she didn’t want to go. She loved him with all her heart.

  Chapter Seven

  IF SHE’D hoped for a new start that morning, she was disappointed. She fixed breakfast, but Everett went out the front door without even sticking his head in the kitchen. Apparently, he’d rather have starved than eat what she’d cooked for him.

  That morning set the pattern for the next two days. Jennifer cooked and wound up eating her efforts by herself. Everett came home in the early hours of the morning, arranging his schedule so that she never saw him at all.

  He’d sold the bull. She found it out from Eddie, who was in a nasty temper of his own.

  “I practically begged him to wait and see what happened,” Eddie spat as he delivered the eggs to Jennifer the second morning. “When that neighbor didn’t want the bull, Everett just loaded it up and took it to the sale without a word. He looks bad. He won’t talk. Do you know what’s eating him?”

  She avoided that sharp look. “He’s worried about money, I think,” she said. “I offered him what I had. He got mad and stomped off and he hasn’t spoken to me since.”

  “That don’t sound like Everett.”

  “Yes, I know.” She sighed, smiling at him. “I think he wants me to go away, Eddie. He’s done everything but leave the ranch forever to get his point across.”

  “Money troubles are doing it, not you.” Eddie grinned. “Don’t back off now. He needs us all more than ever.”

  “Maybe he does,” Jennifer said. “I just wish he’d taken the money I offered to lend him.”

  “That would be something, all right, to watch Everett take money from a lady. No offense, Miss Jenny, but he’s too much man. If you know what I mean.”

  She did, unfortunately. She’d experienced the male in him, in ways that would
haunt her forever. And worst of all was the fact that she was still hungry for him. If anything, that wild little interlude on the sofa had whetted her appetite, not satisfied it.

  For lunch, she put a platter of cold cuts in the refrigerator and left a loaf of bread on the table along with a plate and cup; there was coffee warming on the stove. She pulled on a sweater and went down to visit Libby. It was like baiting a trap, she thought. Perhaps he’d enjoy eating if he didn’t have to look at a city woman.

  Libby didn’t ask any obvious questions. She simply enjoyed the visit, since the children were in school and she could talk about clothes and television programs with the younger woman.

  At one o’clock, Jennifer left the house and walked slowly back to see if Everett had eaten. It was something of a shock to find him wandering wildly around the kitchen, smoking like a furnace.

  “So there you are!” he burst out, glaring at her with menacing brown eyes. “Where in hell have you been? No note, no nothing! I didn’t know if you’d left or been kidnapped, or stepped into a hole...”

  “What would you care if I had?” she demanded. “You’ve made it obvious that you don’t care for my company!”

  “What did you expect?” he burst out, his eyes dangerous. “You lied to me.”

  “I didn’t,” she said in defense.

  “I thought you were a poor little secretary in danger of starving if I didn’t take you in,” he said through his teeth. He let his eyes wander with slow insolence over the white blouse and green skirt she was wearing. “And what do I find out? That you lived and worked in New York at a job that would pay you more in one week than I can make here in two months!”

  So that was it. His pride was crushed. He was poor and she wasn’t, and that cut him up.

  But knowing it wasn’t much help. He was as unapproachable as a coiled rattler. In his dusty jeans and boots and denim shirt, he looked as wild as an outlaw.

  “I had pneumonia,” she began. “I had to come south...”

  “Bobby didn’t know?” he asked.