Jeopardy

by Fayrene Preston

  They were tangled together, arms, legs, clothes. His patience was in threads. His hand found the softness of her thighs and higher. He touched her and heard her give a quick gasp of pleasure. He nearly lost control then, but he forced himself to hold on. Probing further, he found the tiny, sensitive cleft. Her hips began to lift and circle. In his loins, pressure wound tighter, heat became molten. He slipped long fingers into her.

  "Amarillo!” Her hands clenched his shoulders, her nails dug into his flesh.

  She was velvety soft, temptingly hot, deliciously damp. His teeth bared in agony. “Lord, Angelica, I don’t think I can wait.”

  “Don’t. Don’t.”

  Her plea of urgency was his final undoing. “I can't.’’

  He thrust into her, and she cried out as her senses exploded with new, more powerful feelings of ecstasy. He surged in and out of her, and she matched him movement for movement. It was hot and savage, and pleasure swept through her like a rampaging river. She couldn’t think, couldn’t catch her breath. Something was building within her, something unbearable, something uncivilized. She clutched frantically at him and called his name.

  With a deep, guttural groan he lifted her hips and thrust deeper into her. Once. Twice. He felt her tense beneath him, then her body began to shudder and contract around him. Control fled, and a fine madness overcame him. He cried out hoarsely and drove into her one final time.

  When next she woke, she was being carried up the stairs. “Amarillo?”

  He kissed the top of her head. “Shhh, go back to sleep. I’m taking you to bed.”

  She pressed her face into his chest and inhaled the musky scent of his body. “I should go home,” she murmured.

  “Morning’s soon enough.”

  With a barely audible sigh she gave herself up to the warmth of his arms. There was no one at home waiting for her, no one who would be worried. Perhaps he was right. She would sleep here. With him.

  When he lowered her to the bed, she gazed up at him. Through a huge arched window behind the ebony headboard, moonlight streamed, gilding his hair and half-bare body.

  He rested one knee on the bed. “We never did manage to get undressed.”

  “No, we didn’t.” Her gaze traveled to his jeans that hung low on his hips, unfastened, unzipped. Heat surged through her. Feeling suddenly vulnerable, she sat up and scooted backward until she was against the pillows.

  He took the place beside her, leaning back against the headboard. She looked unbelievably sensuous and erotic, with her hair tousled, her clothes disheveled, her lips swollen and pouty. “I was right,” he murmured huskily.

  “About what?”

  “I did go up in flames.”

  She wet her bottom lip with the tip of her tongue and whispered. “I did too.”

  With a groan he reached for her and brought her across his lap. She adjusted her legs so that she was astride him.

  He felt her pressing down on him, warm and moist. Instantaneously his body caught fire and his mind began to haze over. “Dammit, this time I’m at least going to get your clothes off you.” He skimmed her dress up her body, over her head, and tossed it aside. Her bra and slip followed.

  And then he was inside her, so simply, so easily, so mind-bendingly wonderfully that he wondered why he had let his obsession with getting her undressed delay him.

  When his hands fastened on her breasts, he remembered and understood why he had wanted to delay. He had a deeply primitive need to feel every inch of her skin, both inside and out. He clasped her hips and began moving her in a circular motion, and at the same time began to thrust up into her.

  She felt filled with him. No part of her remained unaffected. Powerful sensations swept through her time after time, threatening to carry her away in the maelstrom of ecstasy. She reached behind him and grasped the ebony headboard to brace herself as she undulated against him, uncaringly plunging herself deeper into the dark, sweet mire of passion that Amarillo offered.

  The moonlight streamed in the window behind him, highlighting Angelica. She looked like pure passion to him, with her head back, her hair streaming down her back, her lips swollen from his kisses, her face intent yet softened with desire.

  He bent his head and captured a nipple and pulled on it. Sweat beaded his brow, his muscles hurt from the restraint he had imposed on himself. She was driving him mad. He had never known lovemaking to grip him like this, to take possession of him so completely that he couldn’t consider the consequences, couldn’t consider anything but the deep, gut-wrenching, soul-satisfying completion that was fast approaching for both of them. The sounds she made and the tension he felt in her body told him she was with him all the way.

  “Let’s do it now,” he muttered hoarsely.

  She gasped out her agreement. “Now.”

  He tightened his grip on her buttocks, and his movements turned more urgent, more fierce and savage. He didn’t know how much more he would be able to stand of the incredible fiery pleasure. There was the risk that he might combust, and take her with him.

  And then the risk became a reality. And the reality became a fantasy that went on and on.

  Four

  The deep, steady breathing of the man lying beside her startled Angelica into wakefulness just before dawn. She listened, at first somewhat bemused. The sound was foreign to her; she wasn’t used to having a man in her bed.

  Then she remembered.

  She wasn’t in her bed.

  She closed her eyes as the preceding night’s events came rushing back to her. She had come to the warehouse so that she and Amarillo could discuss their first kiss—the kiss that had been so out of character for them both, the kiss that had gotten completely out of control, the kiss that had turned into another and another, her hope had been they would be able to place what had happened between the two of them into some sort of perspective, and then put the incident behind them.

  Instead, their talk had turned into a firestorm of lovemaklng that had continued all night. And still she knew no more about Amarillo now than she had when she’d stood by her car and watched him walk away from her. He remained, as ever, an enigma.

  At the same time, she had no idea what was going on with her. Each time he touched her, she went up in flames. What kind of sense did that make? She had known him for years. She could find no explanation. A prudent retreat, she decided, was the only answer.

  It was the feeling of emptiness that awakened Amarillo as the first golden rays of the day’s sun began to filter through the window behind him.

  His hand shot out to the place beside him. The sheets were cool. Unoccupied. Abandoned.

  He clenched his hand into a fist and slammed it into the bed. Damn!

  Angelica walked into her bedroom that evening, kicked off her shoes, and shrugged out of her suit jacket. She was exhausted, but she headed straight for her closet and her luggage. Sometime during the day she had decided that she would leave for SwanSea the next day. She had labored feverishly to finish as much of her work as possible. As for the work she had been unable to complete, she had decided that what could not be handled from SwanSea could wait until her return. She needed to get out of town.

  Amarillo had not tried to see her or talk with her that day, but she had decided not to worry about what he was thinking or feeling. More than likely he was very embarrassed about the previous night. He might even blame the whole situation on her in some way. He had obviously decided to stay away from*her. In any event, he was impenetrable as granite. It would take dynamite to blow him apart and see what was inside him, and she simply didn’t feel up to using explosives.

  It had been a night of wonder to her. Together they had traveled to heights she had never dreamed possible. She knew she would never be the same, either emotionally or physically.

  But she had to go on with her life.

  It wasn’t in her to dismiss lightly what had happened between them, nor could she forget it. But what she could do was to view the whole thing as a freak
occurrence, and, in addition, physically leave the situation.

  She set about packing with a vengeance, and sometime later, when she heard the doorbell ring, her task was nearly completed.

  On her way to answer the bell, she cast a satisfied glance at the red-violet ballgown that had been delivered earlier in the evening. It was in a plastic bag and ready to be laid on the backseat of her car for the following day’s trip.

  Downstairs she stood on her stockinged feet to peer through the door’s security peephole. What she saw made her pulse pound into overdrive.

  Amarillo was on her porch, a scowl of anger on his face.

  She straightened and pressed suddenly shaking fingers to her forehead, undecided what she should do. She felt extremely stupid, because for some reason that totally escaped her at the moment he was the last person she had expected to see on her doorstep.

  The bell rang the second time. Her mind cleared. There was really only one course of action open to her. She let him in.

  “About time,” he said, stepping into the entry hall. “What took you so long?”

  She closed the door and folded her hands across her breasts. “Hello, Amarillo. Why are you here?”

  “It’s not obvious?”

  The sharpness of his voice stabbed at her, attempting to cut into her. His anger must have been simmering all day, she thought, and definitely had something to do with the previous night. She just wished she knew what so that she could prepare herself. She turned and started down the hall. “Come into the living room.”

  “Why do you look so tired?” he asked as they entered a spacious, elegantly furnished room.

  “Maybe because I am. Look, why don’t you go ahead and get whatever it is that’s bothering you off your chest so that I can get to bed early tonight."

  His hands flipped back his jacket before they settled on his hips. “Whatever it is that’s bothering me? Lady, you are one cool customer. We just spent a night joined together in the hottest, sweatiest, most intimate ways imaginable, and you ask what’s bothering me?”

  She swallowed and discovered a hard lump had settled in her throat. “So then, can I gather from that outburst that you're upset because we had sex last night?”

  His eyes narrowed slightly, as if, she thought uneasily, he were trying to gain a better focus and see into her mind.

  “You’re not?”

  His deep growling tone made her want to seek shelter. She rolled her shoulders in a casual shrug and felt a twinge of pain, her first indication that she’d been holding herself rigidly. “I decided not to let myself get upset. We got into trouble when we tried to pursue what happened with the kiss. There’s no telling what would happen if we tried to pursue the rationale behind last night.”

  “Last night.” He shook his head, and for a moment she thought she saw amazement on his face. “Last night,” he said, continuing. “I want you to know, Angelica, that I didn’t intend for anything to happen.”

  Somehow that didn’t make her feel better. “No, I don’t suppose you did.”

  “But on the other hand, I’m not sorry it happened.”

  Now she felt better. “Thank you for saying so.”

  “I mean it.”

  She nodded, appreciating his kindness. It made her all the more determined to get on with her life—something she was sure she would not be able to do if they made love again. Lord, where had such a thought come from, she wondered.

  There was no chance of that happening, though. His purpose there was obviously to try to let her down easy. But to her chagrin, she was discovering she could not take his polite, gentle dismissal easily.

  She felt as If he had flung her off a cliff last night when he had taken her Into his arms, and now she was about to crash on the rocks below. To come out of this in one piece, she had to go on the offensive, soften the landing.

  "Why did you leave without telling me?” he asked, his voice lowering into its purr.

  Once again he had managed to throw her off balance, she thought, dismayed. “I woke up and decided it was time to leave.”

  “But why didn’t you tell me?”

  “You were sleeping deeply. I thought it would be rude to wake you.”

  He rarely slept deeply, he thought, but then, he couldn’t remember ever staying up all night and making love. And he almost always awoke alone. But this morning, when he had awakened and found her gone, he had been deeply disturbed.

  He averted his gaze from her. Just being near her had his blood heating. He couldn’t seem to look at her too long without wanting to kiss her until she was senseless and then undress them both and repeat last night down to the finest detail. How in hell had he managed to keep his hands off her for so many years? He wished he knew. All this time he must have been walking a tightrope without realizing the enormity of his feat.

  “It was a mistake,” she was saying. “It shouldn’t have happened.”

  His gaze flew back to her. “That’s damned ironic. A day ago I said the same thing about the kiss, and you got angry. Now you’re saying last night was a mistake, and I’m angry as hell. Our opinions have reversed. How did that happen?” She threw up her hands. “This is pointless. I’m not the one with the answers. However, I am the one who’s tired. Please, leave.”

  He suddenly grabbed her arms and pulled her to him. “Dammit, we ignite whenever we’re near each other, Angelica! I want to know why! After all these years, why?"

  She couldn’t think. Being in contact with his hard, muscled body put her in a type of peril with which she could not cope. At this moment the contact seemed an even greater peril than the rocks she was hurtling toward. With an immense burst of energy she broke free of his grip. Taking shuddering breaths, she forcibly pushed air into her lungs. “I told you I don’t know the answers, and we don’t seem to be able to have a sensible discussion about it, or anything else, for that matter. So stay away from me, and I’ll stay away from you.”

  He didn’t like her response at all. “And you think that’s going to solve everything?”

  “Yes, yes, I do.”

  He stared at her, clenching and unclenching his hands. Dammit, he couldn’t get a handle on what was happening, and it was driving him crazy. She had been on the edge of his life for years, and now she was square in the middle of it. He wasn’t sure he had the strength to shove her back to the edge, and staying away from her seemed an intolerable solution to the problem. “You weren’t a virgin,” he said softly.

  Her breath caught in her throat; she pointed a shaking finger at him. “You’re going to have to stop doing that.”

  “What?”

  “Making unexpected statements straight out of left field."

  “I’m sorry," he said, looking anything but contrite. “It’s just that I didn’t know you had slept with anyone.”

  “Why in heaven’s name should you know?” she asked, incensed. “That’s a very personal, private matter.”

  “And last night we were together in a very personal, private way.” His eyes glittered like beautiful hard stones. "Wouldn’t you say, Angelica?”

  “What I would say is that last night is over with.”

  He took a few steps away, then turned and returned to the spot where he had been standing. “We see each other often enough so I pretty much know whom you’ve dated through the years. But there’s never been anyone I’ve seen you with that I thought you might sleep with. Not even the jerk you almost became engaged to.”

  “Roger wasn't a jerk.”

  “He was a jerk.”

  She sighed inwardly. Amarillo was tenacious as a bulldog, and she wasn’t up to a struggle. She held up a hand in surrender. “Gary McKee. I had a short affair with Gary McKee. Okay?”

  A muscle in his jaw jerked. He could barely manage to get the name out, and his words positively stung with sarcasm. “I never met a Gary McKee.”

  “That’s because you were in Texas.”

  “When? Which time?”

  She wrapped her arm
s around her waist. “When you took Rebecca Randolph with you to show her where you grew up and to meet your relatives. I thought you must be pretty serious about her because you had never taken any other woman, but you came back alone.”

  His expression turned strange and unreadable. “Rebecca and I were only casual friends. She was going to Texas because her family was living in Austin at the time. I offered her a ride in my plane, since I was going there anyway. I touched down at the Austin airport, let her off, and within fifteen minutes I was airborne again, on my way to Lubbock, alone.”

  She stared at him as a horrible thought occurred to her. Could it be remotely possible that she had thrown herself into an affair with someone, who in the end had meant nothing to her, because she had believed Amarillo had finally found a woman who made him want to marry again? She remembered now that her affair had ended about the same time he had returned from Texas without Rebecca. By turns, she went hot and cold. It was extremely unnerving to think it possible she had not been conscious of the true reason why she had done something.

  He raised his hand toward her. “Angelica—” The phone rang.

  She started at the shrill noise. It rang again. After a moment she walked to the phone and answered. “Hello.”

  “You shouldn’t go out with blond-haired men. You shouldn’t go out at all. You had better start minding me or I'll have to punish you. ”

  The high-pitched, muffled voice went through her like a knife. The phone slipped through her nerveless fingers and slid to the floor. Amarillo was instantly by her side.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked even as he picked up the receiver and held it to his ear. “The line's dead. Who was it?” He replaced the receiver in its cradle.

  She gave a hollow laugh. “He thinks your hair is blond. How silly.”

  His brows knitted with concern and confusion., “Who does?”

  “The man who keeps calling. Your hair is sandy, not blond, but he said it was blond.”

  He put his arm around her, led her to the nearest sofa, and pulled her down beside him. "Okay, now tell me what’s going on. Who is the man who keeps calling? And what does he say?”