Darling Enemy

by Diana Palmer

  She heard his intake of breath and knew in that instant that she was lost, that he could take anything he wanted and there was no way on earth she could stop him....

  Her shocked eyes met his, her lips parted under a rush of breath. His hand began to move and he watched the wildness burn in her eyes as their gazes locked. She was spellbound, her heart throbbing as she tensed, waiting helplessly for the agonizingly slow descent of his hard, teasing fingers....

  Chapter Five

  “Oh, gee, Mom, what a great spot for a picnic!” came the sudden, devastating cry from the car neither Teddi nor King had heard pull off the road and stop.

  King jerked as if he’d been hit in the back, both hands lifting to pull Teddi’s forehead to his damp chest, his broad back protecting her from prying eyes as she fought down tears of absolute frustration.

  She was trembling, and his hands soothed her, although they seemed none too steady. His breathing was as erratic as hers.

  “It’s all right, darling,” he whispered over her head. “It’s all right. Hold on to me.”

  She clung to his shirt, hating her own weakness and his knowledge of it.

  His hand smoothed the hair from her hot cheek. “I wanted it just as much as you did, little one,” he whispered. “Don’t be embarrassed.”

  “Afternoon!” a friendly voice called from nearby. “Marvelous view, isn’t it?”

  “Marvelous,” King replied politely. “Having a picnic?”

  “Sure are! Uh, on your honeymoon?” the voice mused.

  King chuckled. “Not quite,” he murmured, leaving the other man to draw his own conclusions.

  “Lovely day for sightseeing, isn’t it?” a female voice broke in, followed by several younger voices that seemed to split the air and then faded gradually away.

  “You can come up for air now,” King murmured. “They’re out of sight.”

  She swallowed nervously and lifted her head, avoiding his amused eyes as she moved away from him. “Could we get a cup of coffee somewhere, do you suppose?” she asked in an abnormally high-pitched tone.

  “I could use a whiskey myself,” he murmured, “but I suppose coffee will do. How about some fondue? There’s a restaurant in Banff that specializes in it.”

  “I’d enjoy that,” she said, following him back to the car. “But what about that man you were supposed to see on business?” she asked, remembering his appointment.

  He looked puzzled for an instant. “Man? Business? Oh, him,” he muttered. “Well, I’ll see him another day. It’s too bloody late now.”

  Which made her feel even worse, as if she’d carried him out of his way and wasted his time. He was taut as a drawn cord all the way into Banff and the sound of the radio was like a wall between them. Just for an instant she wondered if frustration could be causing his strange silence. But, then, he’d only been teasing, hadn’t he? As usual.

  He didn’t say a word until they were seated in the fondue house drinking coffee and enjoying a special Swiss cheese fondue while music played softly around them.

  She dunked her bread into the fondue, almost losing it, and noticed King watching her with a peculiar smile.

  “You’d better be careful,” he cautioned. “Or don’t you know the tradition about fondue?”

  She shook her head, her eyes dark and wide in the soft light.

  “If a woman drops something in the pot,” he said softly, watching her, “she has to surrender a kiss to the men at the table.”

  Her cheeks began to color delicately. “And if a man does the same?”

  “He’s obliged to buy a round,” he replied. His eyes studied her face, her soft, red mouth. “We seem fated to be interrupted at all the wrong times.”

  Shaken, she tried to dunk another bread cube, but her hand trembled so much as she lifted the fork that she dropped the cube squarely into the pot, which embarrassed her even more.

  “If I were conceited,” he murmured, fishing it out for her with his own fork, and offering it to her, “I might think you did that on purpose.”

  She took the cube between her lips, and saw him watching the movement with an intensity that was shattering. She averted her eyes.

  “I’m afraid I don’t have any illusions about the way you think of me,” she said, subdued, as she sipped her hot coffee.

  He finished his own bread cubes and sat back. His thick blond hair caught the light and turned silvery in it, matching the glitter of his eyes. “How do I think of you, honey?” he asked.

  “As a flighty, money-mad tramp,” she replied.

  He fingered his coffee cup thoughtfully. “You haven’t done much to satisfy my curiosity about you.”

  “Why bother?” she asked. “You wouldn’t believe anything I said, you never have. You hated me on sight five years ago.”

  One corner of his disciplined mouth lifted wryly. “Not quite.”

  “At any rate,” she continued, “you didn’t want me on the place, and I knew it. I seem to have spent most of my vacations and holidays since I met Jenna dodging either her invitations or you.”

  “Was that the only reason—because you thought I had it in for you?”

  She looked into her coffee cup. “Of course.”

  “You little liar,” he accused softly.

  She took a large swallow of coffee. “Shouldn’t we get back to the ranch now?” she asked quickly.

  He caught her eyes and searched them intently. The silence between them was broken only by the soft murmur of other diners’ conversations.

  “I thought you were going to pass out when I started to touch you earlier,” he said in a deep, hushed tone. “Why are you afraid of me?”

  “I’m not,” she replied firmly, avoiding his eyes. “You...you caught me by surprise, that’s all.”

  “I rather think I did,” he murmured. He didn’t pursue it, but his eyes were calculating.

  All the way down the road, she felt his gaze on her while a tape played soft, soothing music that helped to calm her shattered nerves. She didn’t even attempt conversation. She was too shaken by her own physical reactions to him to try.

  They were just a few miles down the road from Gray Stag when a thunderstorm split the skies open, and King was forced to pull over onto the shoulder because the rain obscured the road completely.

  Fortunately for Teddi, there wasn’t much lightning. And the sound of the rain on the roof and hood of the sports car was soothing, oddly comforting. It made the interior of the car cozy and warm and isolated.

  King leaned one arm over the back of her seat, staring openly at her, letting his eyes trace every soft line of her body in a silence that was intensified by the fury of the rain.

  “Not frightened?” he asked softly, lighting a cigarette with steady fingers.

  “There’s no lightning,” she murmured evasively.

  “I remember a night when there was a lot of it,” he said thoughtfully, opening a window slightly to let the smoke escape. “You were sixteen or seventeen, and I heard you crying because of the storm.”

  She searched his narrowed, intent eyes. “When you opened the door, it was a toss-up as to whether I was more afraid of the lightning or you.”

  He smiled faintly. “I realized that. It was a good thing for you that I did,” he added, the smile fading. His eyes dropped to the filmy bodice of her blouse, narrowing. “There was precious little to the gown you were wearing that night. When the light hit you at a certain angle, it was transparent.” His eyes lifted to catch her shocked ones. “You didn’t realize that, did you? The hardest thing I’ve done in years was open that door and walk out. I felt as if a wall had fallen on me.”

  She averted her gaze to the rain splattering on the spotless hood, silently counting the drops. Her face had gone red and she couldn’t look at him. She hadn’t known the gown was transparent, she’d been too afraid of the storm.

  “You haven’t changed,” he said absently, watching her. “Your body is as perfect now as it was then. Pink and cre
amy—”

  She caught her breath, remembering his eyes on her. “Don’t,” she pleaded.

  “Will you stop this prudish act?” he growled suddenly, flinging the cigarette out the window before he turned to catch her shoulders and drag her across the console into his hard, warm arms.

  At his sudden proximity, her senses exploded, and all she could do was lie stiffly against his warm chest and stare helplessly into his blazing eyes.

  “One thing’s for certain,” he breathed roughly as his arms tightened. “No one’s going to interrupt us right now. I ache like a boy for you!”

  His mouth came down on hers roughly, forcing her lips apart. She gasped, frightened at his passion. Her arms strained against him, but he was far too strong to be moved, and far too hungry. She couldn’t tear her mouth away, she couldn’t free herself.

  Suddenly, it was like that other night, the night when she was fourteen, and one of her aunt’s lovers had tried to seduce her. She could still feel the thick, wet lips on hers, the roughness of his hands touching her where none of her boyfriends had dared to touch, hurting her. She’d been helpless then, too, terrified and disgusted and sick. And if her aunt hadn’t suddenly come home, if he hadn’t heard her key in the lock, it might have been worse than it was. But he had heard, and had let Teddi go, daring her to tell her aunt. She’d groped her way to her room, her clothes torn, her body bruised and hurt, and cried herself to sleep. Hating him. Hating all men, for the animals they became when they were woman-hungry.

  And now it was that night all over again, and he was hurting her, trying to force her....

  The wild little scream and the violent crying got through to King. He released her, drawing back quickly to look down into her pale, frightened face.

  “Teddi?” he murmured huskily.

  She was trembling from head to toe, huge tears rolling silently down her cheeks, her mouth trembling from the sobs that shook the rest of her.

  King’s dark face contorted. One big hand brushed gently at the tears, then at her tousled hair, soothing, comforting.

  “It’s all right,” he said softly, in a voice far too tender to be King’s. “It’s all right, honey, it’s all right. I’m not going to hurt you. I should have known, but you wouldn’t tell me...here, now, stop crying.”

  She was as stiff as a rod while he wiped the tears away, and there was a new wariness in her big brown eyes as they met his. “I’m...I’m not that kind...of woman,” she whispered brokenly. “You...treated me like a tramp....”

  He caught his breath, his face hardening even as she watched. “I know.”

  She pushed at his chest. “Please...let me go.”

  He hesitated for a moment, his eyes wavering. But then he loosened his tight grip and she moved back against the door, like a small animal at bay, feeling all over again the insolence of his mouth, his tongue, the rough contempt of his hands on her body, burning even through the fabric.

  He pulled a cigarette from his pocket and lit it.

  She licked her suddenly dry lips. “May...may I have one, please?” she asked.

  He looked surprised. “You don’t smoke.”

  “You don’t carry a bottle of liquor around with you,” she said simply, trying to smile, but not succeeding.

  Frowning, he pulled out a second cigarette and lit it for her. She took it without making contact with his hard fingers and dragged on it, almost choking herself before she got the hang of it.

  He watched her intently, his eyes running from her untidy hair, over her pale cheeks to her mouth and lower, to her rumpled blouse.

  “Why didn’t you tell me in the beginning that you were a virgin?” he asked quietly, studying her.

  “Because I had no idea you were going to make a pass at me,” she said weakly. “And you wouldn’t have believed me if I’d told you.”

  He sighed. “After the way you looked on the lakeshore, I just might have.” He studied her flushed cheeks. “Did I hurt you?”

  The flush got worse. She shook her head jerkily. “Please, can we go back to Gray Stag now?”

  “Teddi...” He moved closer, and she backed against the door, her eyes impossibly wide, her body rigid in helpless reaction.

  He stopped short and something like a shadow passed over his face before he turned back to the steering wheel and started the car. He glanced at her as he pulled back into the road, saw her slight figure relax visibly, and frowned thoughtfully. Then they were underway again, with only the radio to break the silence that lasted until they reached Gray Stag.

  * * *

  “Did he start on you again?” Jenna asked as they went upstairs that night.

  Teddi only nodded, going into her room, aware that Jenna had followed.

  Jenna closed the door and sat down on Teddi’s blue coverlet, her hands folded, watching her friend pause by the darkened window and stare blankly out of it.

  “And what else?” Jenna pursued. “You come back home looking like a ghost, King goes out and doesn’t come back...even Mother, bless her, noticed something was wrong.”

  “I can’t talk about it,” Teddi whispered. She sighed. “Jenna, I think I’d better go back to New York in the morning.”

  “No!” Jenna jumped to her feet and caught Teddi’s hands. There was sadness in her whole look. “You’ve got to tell me what happened. Did he make a pass at you?”

  Teddi tried not to answer, but her own hesitation, the fright in her eyes gave her away.

  “You never told him what happened to you, did you?” Jenna asked knowingly, nodding when she read the answer in Teddi’s wide, haunted brown eyes.

  “Tell King? Give him a stick to hit me over the head with?” Teddi moaned. “He would have accused me of tempting the man, and you know it! He thinks I’m a tramp, and that’s how he treated me today.”

  “Oh, Teddi,” Jenna said sympathetically. “I think you underestimate King all the way around. Frankly I can’t see him making a pass at a woman he hates, it isn’t in character. He’s not a playboy, and he’s much too intense for love games.”

  Teddi turned away. “No, he’s not,” she mumbled darkly. “He hates me, all right, he’s shown me that. And now I’ve got to go away, don’t you see?”

  “At least wait until morning before you make any decisions,” Jenna pleaded, her face worried. “I know you’re upset, but sleep on it, please?”

  “It won’t change anything,” Teddi told her.

  “You don’t know that.” She caught Teddi by the arms and shook her gently, smiling. “Maybe King will decide to spend the rest of his life in Australia, have you considered that? Maybe he’s packing right now.”

  Teddi couldn’t help smiling, too. “I’m sure he is,” she muttered. “I can just see your brother running from a woman.”

  “Hasn’t he been running from you for years?” Jenna asked softly. “Sleep well. Things will work themselves out, truly they will. Good night.”

  Teddi paced the room after Jenna had left. Sleeping on it wouldn’t help; she couldn’t stay if King was going to treat her so shabbily. She’d wondered how she’d react to him if he ever made a pass, and now she knew. She’d panicked. But...but she hadn’t down by the lake, when he’d touched her so gently, caressed her so tenderly. She hadn’t been afraid, she’d wanted more. She folded her arms across her chest and sighed. If only he hadn’t come on so strong, perhaps she could have given him the response he wanted. She would have held nothing from him if he’d just been gentle.

  Now she was faced with going back to that empty apartment sooner than she planned. What if Dilly was there? Dilly was nobody’s idea of a mother. Saddled with the responsibility of caring for her brother’s child, Dilly had never liked Teddi. And when she’d broken with her boyfriend, he’d told her all sorts of lies about Teddi leading him on. That had placed a wall between them that had never come down. It never would, if Teddi knew her aunt. She’d be so glad when her education was completed and she could strike out on her own.

  She put
on her nightgown and got into bed. She wouldn’t think about it, not about Dilly or King or the future, she told herself. But she did. And the night was the longest she’d spent in many long years.

  She was up long before the rest of them the next morning, finding the kitchen deserted when she went into it to make coffee.

  Normally Miss Peake would have been busy making breakfast, but everyone had managed with toast and coffee in her absence. Up until now, Teddi thought, deciding that making breakfast might, in some magical way, help her make up her mind what to do.

  She dug out bacon, eggs, and butter and two frying pans and got busy. While the bacon was frying, she made the huge cat’s head biscuits that King liked, and had them ready to go in the oven when the bacon was done. While the biscuits cooked, she made a huge platter of scrambled eggs, and by then the coffee was ready as well.

  She was setting the table when King walked in and stopped short in the doorway.

  He was devastatingly masculine in his jeans and denim shirt. She glanced at him quickly and turned her attention back to the table, her heart beating madly.

  “If you wouldn’t mind calling the others,” she said quietly, “I’m just putting breakfast on the table.”

  “You’re not a servant in this house,” he said curtly.

  She glared back at him, and suddenly her mind was made up. “I know that, but I’d like a good breakfast before I catch my flight and as I’m sure you’ve noticed, Miss Peake isn’t here to cook it.”

  “What flight?” He stood stock-still, watching her.

  “My flight to New York.” She turned to go back into the kitchen.

  He followed, his boots making harsh thuds as he walked. “Cancel it,” he said.

  She glanced at him from the coffeepot, where she was filling cups. “I will not.” How could she, anyway, when she hadn’t made a reservation yet?

  “Then I will.”

  She set the pot down, hard. “I won’t be held prisoner!”

  “I want you to stay,” he said quietly.