Giant of Mesabi

by Janet Dailey

Wildly Alanna reached for the rosettes of soap in the dish beside the bathtub. She pelted him with two of them, but the third didn't have a chance to leave her hand as her wrist was caught by the biting grip of his fingers.

  "Drop it," he ordered, and twisted her hand back until the pink rosette slipped from her pain-charged fingers.

  Her fingers clawed at the hand that held her wrist. A twin grip closed around the other hand and Rolt dragged her out of the tub. Water and bubbles splashed everywhere as she tried to resist when he hauled her against his chest. The slippery tile floor Offered little footing, hampering her efforts to kick at him.

  Rolt twisted her arms behind her back, crushing her against his granite length, and applied pressure to his brutal hold. Alanna had to stop struggling to keep from adding more pain to her arms. She tipped her head back, violet eyes sparkling purple with rage. An answering fire smoldered in his.

  "Let me go!" she muttered thickly, breathing heavily.

  "With pleasure," Rolt snarled, and abruptly released her without any steadying hand to help her gain footing on the wet floor. He ripped a large, beach-size towel from the rack. "Here." He wrapped it around her, unconcerned by the rough way he handled her, his hands nearly bruising her tender flesh as he tucked the ends of the towel above her breasts. The towel's wide width tickled the back of her legs. "Your virtue and modesty are still intact."

  Ridiculous patches of bubble bath dotted his shirt. His clothes were wet where her dripping body had been pressed against him. Beads of water glistened on his muscular arms, clinging to the dark hairs. With a last, insolently raking glance, he turned on his heel to leave.

  Alanna, embarrassed and humiliated and enraged by what he had done, couldn't let him leave with the last word. It wasn't enough that he was leaving. She wanted to have the last word, too.

  "And don't you ever come near me again!" Her foot stamped the wet floor in a childish display of temper.

  Rolt stopped in the doorway, motionless for an instant. Then, like the gradual release of a thickly coiled spring, he turned, seeming more like the giant she had often likened him to as he loomed before her. Alanna backed toward the door to her bedroom. The small space of the bathroom became too confining, and Rolt followed.

  "If I do or don't come near you again, it will be my decision." His jaw was clenched, biting down on the anger that vibrated through his voice. "Not because of any order from you."

  "Don't be too sure about that," Alanna said with bravado as she kept retreating in the face of his sure advance.

  "Really?" he mocked scornfully. "Did you feel protected last night behind your barricade?"

  His indigo gaze flickered contemptuously to the dresser in front of the hall door. Alanna had been so intent on not taking her eyes from him that she hadn't noticed when her retreating footsteps had brought her on to the carpeted floor of the bedroom. Had he known it was there last night? Or had he seen it for the first time just now?

  The question must have flashed in her eyes.

  "The living room is just below," Rolt reminded her cuttingly. "I heard you pushing furniture around last night and I doubted that you were simply rearranging it at that hour."

  "Then you knew!" she breathed.

  "Of course I knew," he snapped. "But you don't honestly think it would have stopped me if I wanted to get in this room!"

  "I would have clawed your eyes out if you'd succeeded," she warned.

  "I doubt that." He laughed harshly in his throat.

  Too incensed to realize what she was doing, Alanna tossed her head defiantly. "You try it some time."

  "That is an invitation I accept."

  The spring uncoiled with a swiftness that caught Alanna off guard. Rolt was before her and she struck at him. He dodged the blow and let it land harmlessly on his shoulder.

  His hands grabbed her upper arms, bruising her soft flesh.

  She struggled, kicking at him, hurting her bare toes against the hardness of his shins. Flailing and pushing at his chest and ribcage, she tried to prevent him from drawing her against him.

  Although failing in that she did succeed in wedging an arm above his, loosening his grip, forcing him to circle her back to hold her. It left her arms free to beat at him, as she writhed and twisted in his iron embrace.

  The blows she rained on his chest and shoulders didn't faze him so she aimed a fist at his mouth, the mocking curl of his lips. She felt it split, the bright red of blood showing against the bared white of his teeth. She had the sense to feel fear at what she had done.

  Her eyes widened as he lifted her bodily off her feet and tossed her angrily backward. The bed broke her fall, and a gasp of surprise came from her throat. She stared at Rolt's glowering face, unable to move as he towered above the bed.

  Recovering her wits, she started to roll to the opposite side of the bed away from him. But he was too quick for her, grabbing an arm and spinning her onto her back, pinning her to the mattress with his weight.

  Her hands strained against him, trying to push him off, but Rolt caught them and stretched them above her head. She stared at him, knowing she was trapped. Her violet eyes were wild with despair as they met the hard glitter of his. He lowered his blood-stained mouth, covering hers in along, fiery kiss, parting her lips until the taste of his blood was on her tongue.

  Her head moved in faint negation, trying to fight yet feeling the will to resist weaken. The heat of his body warmed her skin. The dampness of his clothes added to the heady, masculine scent. The firm touch of his hand on her bare shoulder furthered the destruction of her defenses. The physical ache for fulfillment was real and undeniable, adding to the overwhelming vulnerability that threatened her.

  Somewhere Alanna found the ounce of reserve needed to keep her from responding with the fervor she felt. She mustn’t surrender to Rolt, not after what he'd done to her and Kurt, and used her father to trap her in a marriage she despised. When she felt that last measure draining under his savage passion, she was sure she was lost. As the tiny light of resistance flickered and died, Rolt lifted his head.

  With an expression of angry disgust, he moved away from her, standing beside the bed. Her trembling hand clutched the loosened folds of her towel, uncertain whether his release was permanent or temporary.

  "This is the way it's going to be, is it?" he said grimly. "A battle of wills? We'll see who gives in first."

  With an abrupt turn, he walked away from the bed toward the barricaded door to the hall. Alanna stared, feeling a sudden overpowering need to have his arms around her and the warmth of his body next to hers.

  "Rolt," she called weakly after him.

  He halted, turning at an angle. "What is it, Alanna?" His voice was curt and unyielding.

  A bitterness rose in her throat. For the second time, she had nearly let physical attraction override her self-respect and pride. She hated Rolt.

  "Go to hell!" she breathed with sobbing fury.

  The line of his mouth curved in a cold smile. "Only with you, my wife." He easily pushed the dresser to its proper position, then walked back to unlock and open the door. There he paused, slicing another look in her direction. "It won't be necessary to erect your little barricade every night. I wouldn't want your attractive figure to become muscle-bound."

  As the door closed behind him, Alanna pressed the knuckles of her fist against her mouth and rolled onto her side. The bedcovers were damp where they had lain on top of them. She was filled with the humiliating truth of whose will was stronger. She would have surrendered just now if Rolt had persisted another few seconds. She mustn't let herself fall in love with him, she thought desperately.

  Fall in love with him! The phrase was a lightning bolt that jolted her upright. That was ridiculous! How could she even consider such a possibility? Just because funny things happened inside her whenever Rolt came near or touched her, it didn't mean she was falling in love with him, did it? But doubt crept in.

  Quickly Alanna reminded herself of the unscrupulous methods Ro
lt had used to trap her into this marriage, She couldn't possibly love a man who would so coldly ignore his brother's feelings. She mustn't, she insisted with wild frenzy.

  The aroma of frying bacon greeted her when she finally came down the stairs. The plague of doubts and fears had been pushed to the back of her mind. Yet, as she entered the kitchen, she eyed Rolt warily, half afraid he would guess the crazy ambivalence of her feelings toward him and take advantage of it.

  He was standing in front of the stove, his back to her, tall and broad-shouldered, lean-hipped and muscled. Alanna's skin tingled with the remembering feeling of being molded against his hard frame. She trembled, not wanting to be aware of him. She wanted to flee the room, and would have if Rolt hadn't chosen that moment to glance over his shoulder.

  "How do you like your eggs?" There was absolutely nothing in his expression to indicate that the tumultuous scene in her room had ever taken place.

  "Over easy." Alanna tried to match his composure.

  He cracked two eggs over the skillet and dropped the contents in the sizzling butter in the pan, discarding the shells. "Breakfast is about ready. There's orange juice in the refrigerator. The glasses are already on the table."

  Taking the pitcher of juice from the refrigerator, Alanna set it on the small breakfast table in the kitchen. The place settings were already there for two people. She had expected a cold war to exist between them. If not that, then she had thought Rolt would regard her with barbed looks and mocking gibes.

  But not this. He was almost companionable—aloof, yes, but still companionable. It made him more dangerous to her hastily reconstructed defenses than before.

  THE HONEYMOON WEEKEND passed in that same vaguely congenial atmosphere. They swam, boated, lazed in the sun, and walked in the woods. Rolt's invitations were always accompanied by a silent "You're welcome to come if you like or stay if you don't." They didn't talk much or laugh. They were two strangers doing things together simply because there was no one else to do them with.

  Yet Alanna found herself identifying days by the times Rolt had touched her. When they had gone boating, he had lifted her from the dock to the boat, and out again on their return. Swimming, he had helped her up the ladder. Walking through the woods, he had occasionally held her hand to steady her over rough ground. The times he had smoothed suntan lotion on her shoulders and back were the hardest to forget. The contact had never lasted long, but Alanna was disturbingly conscious of his touch.

  At any time, she knew that the slightest indication from her would have changed the impersonal contact to a caress. The knowledge pulsed below the surface each time they were together.

  Early Monday morning, she was awakened by a knock on her door. Blinking the sleep from her eyes, she sat up, hugging the covers about her.

  "Yes?" she said thickly.

  The door opened and Rolt stood, outside. He was impeccably dressed in a suit of a pale tan check, and Alanna thought fleetingly of how well he wore the garb of civilization. Fathomless indigo eyes examined the sleep-tossed curls of her tawny hair and the hazy vulnerability of her expression.

  "I'm on my way to the office," Rolt told her impassively. "I'll be home around eleven-thirty for lunch. It will be expected that the first few weeks I lunch with you whenever it's possible."

  "Of course," she nodded.

  "I'll see you then," he said shortly, and loft. A few minutes later she heard the sound of the car pulling out of the drive.

  Three times during that week he came home for lunch. Twice Alanna went into town to visit her parents, mentioning Rolt's name as often as she thought a new bride should. The weekend was almost a repeat of the first, with the exception that on Saturday night they were invited to a dinner with a business associate and friend of Rolt's. It wasn't difficult to pretend to be the adoring wife, especially when Rolt was acting out the complementing role.

  It seemed to Alanna, as she smoothed suntan lotion on her legs, that admitting that she could fall in love with Rolt made it more likely that she would. She fought against the prospect, constantly reminding herself what a despicable character he was. But it was difficult to keep summoning the old hatreds when he offered no new fuel to keep the fire burning. If he had forced himself on her, taken her against her will, she would have had fresh cause to detest him.

  As it was—she sighed and poured more lotion into her palm. As it was, it was becoming impossible to live under the same roof with a man as virile and compelling as Rolt and remain immune. It wasn't natural for a man and a woman to live together and separately. This falsely platonic relationship couldn't last. She had seen the look in his eyes sometimes when he watched her. He wanted her—that hadn't changed.

  Initially her goal had been to make Rolt's life miserable. Now she was concentrating all her efforts on not being caught in her own trap. Her chances of succeeding were growing dismally smaller each day, and she felt frustrated and helpless.

  Staring out over the landscape of Minnesota green, she tried to lose her thoughts in the beautiful view from the sundeck. She smoothed the lotion on her shoulders, stretching her arm to try to reach more of her back.

  "I'll do that."

  Alanna jumped at the sound of Rolt's voice. Her rounded eyes saw him standing behind the screened sliding door leading into the dining room. His suit jacket was off and hanging by the hook of his finger behind him.

  She glanced quickly at her wristwatch lying on the table beside her lounge chair.

  "I didn't expect you for another hour," she murmured self-consciously. "You did say one o'clock?"

  He slid the screen open and stepped onto the planked sundeck. "I got away earlier than I thought," he shrugged, and tossed his jacket over the back of a lawn chair, continuing his path to her.

  Alanna set the bottle of lotion down, flustered by his early arrival. "I haven't even started lunch. I—" She started to rise, but the hand on her shoulders pushed her back down.

  "It doesn't matter. I'm not particularly hungry…for lunch." There was an infinitesimal pause before he added the last word that had Alanna's heart skipping beats.

  Her lashes fluttered down in silent acceptance of the hunger of her senses for his touch. The lounge chair creaked once in protest when his weight settled in the cushion behind her. The coolness of the suntan lotion was on her back, then firmly smoothed over her skin.

  Not an inch of her back was ignored. His hands followed the curve of her spine to the small of her back, stroking the sensitive skin with disturbing results. Manipulating fingers moved over her waist and ribcage, tantalizingly near the swelling of her breasts, then traveled on to the nape of her neck.

  A fire was being kindled inside her, the warmth was building. She knew it would burst into flame at any moment. She moved her shoulders in an instinctive and unwilling signal of protest.

  "That should be good enough," she said with a faint breathy catch to her voice.

  Rolt didn't stop. "It's more effective against sunburn if it's rubbed in." The husky tone was nearly as seductive as his hands.

  "Don't!" Alanna tried to conceal her uneven breathing. She slid forward on the chair's cushion to elude his hands.

  With one she was successful, but the other hand curved around the front of her shoulder and half turned her to face him. She had difficulty meeting his gaze, so she looked at the opened front of his shirt, an equally evocative sight. His hand moved to the side of her neck, a thumb raising her chin. His eyes smoldered with the same desire that burned inside her.

  "It's still no, is it?" Rolt questioned grimly.

  "Yes," Alanna whispered, "it is."

  She knew the pulse in her neck was hammering against his fingers, but she couldn't make her heart slow its rapid boat. Her lips had parted slightly, unconsciously inviting. His gaze slipped to them. For a taut second, she wished Rolt would ignore her answer, but it wasn't to be fulfilled as he released her and stood up, the bronze mask of control covering his features.

  "I guess you'd better fix lunch s
o I can got back to the office," he said blandly.

  Chapter Eight

  "I'M AFRAID YOUR SWITCH is burned out," the mechanic said.

  Alanna looked at him blankly. When it came to the inner workings of a car, she knew absolutely nothing about it. The only time she thought about it was when the car wouldn't run, as was the case now. "Can you fix it?" she asked anxiously.

  "Yeah, I can fix it all right," the man nodded, "but not tonight. I don't have a replacement for your particular model of car on hand. And there isn't time to make it over to the parts store before it closes. I could have it ready for you first thing tomorrow morning."

  Alanna sighed and handed the mechanic the keys. "Go ahead and tow it into your shop and fix it. I'll be by in the morning to pick it up."

  "Between nine-thirty and ten o'clock, it should be ready," he agreed, and walked away.

  "Daddy—" she turned to her father standing in the driveway with her "—can I borrow your car to get home? I'll bring it back in the morning when I pick mine up."

  Dorian Powell shook his head regretfully. "I'm sorry, honey, but I have a meeting tonight or I'd be glad to lend it to you. I'll give you a ride home, though."

  "Oh, no, dad, I can't let you drive all that way." Alanna felt like a heel refusing him, but she knew what an acceptance of the offer would lead to before she reached home. Her father would suggest that her mother accompany them, just for the drive. Once they arrived, she would be obligated to invite them to see her husband's house. They had been hinting at such an invitation for over a week now. There simply wasn't any way Alanna could explain the separate bedrooms without destroying the image of a happily married couple. "You could drive me to the plant and I can ride home with Rolt. He'll be finished work soon."

  Her father's disappointment was obvious, but he couldn't argue with the practical suggestion. "I'll let your mother know where I'm going and be right out."

  "Tell her goodbye again for me," Alanna said, since her first attempt to leave her parents' home had been postponed when the car had refused to start.