Man of the Hour

by Diana Palmer

  “Don’t be afraid, Meg,” he whispered deeply. “It’s only going to hurt for a few seconds.”

  “But…Steve…” She gasped, trying to find the words to protest what was happening.

  “Let me love you,” he said unsteadily. His hands tugged her over him and he shivered. His face was tormented, his eyes like silver fires. “God, baby…let me. Let me!” He ground out the words.

  She knew that it would be impossible for him to stop. She loved him. That was all that really mattered now. She gave in, yielding to the pain, her hands taut on his shoulders. Her hold on him tightened and she flinched.

  “Just a…little further. Oh, Meg,” he growled, shivering as he completed the motion and felt her all around him. His eyes closed and he shivered. Then they opened again and searched hers as he repeated the slow, deliberate movement of his hips until his possession of her was complete and the lines of strain left her face. Then he rested, his body intimately joined to hers, and gently pushed her disheveled hair back from her face.

  She swallowed. There was awe in her eyes now, along with lingering pain and doubt and shock.

  “I’ve waited so long, Meg,” he said unsteadily. “I’ve waited all my life for this. For you.”

  Her fingers trembled on his shirtfront. “Steve, you’re…part of me,” she burst out.

  Color burned along his high cheekbones. “Yes.” He moved, as if to emphasize it, and she blushed. “Unfasten my shirt, Meg. Let me feel your breasts against my skin while we love.”

  While we love. She must be insane, she thought. But she was too involved to stop, to pull back. She was in thrall to him. Her hands fumbled with his tie, his jacket, his shirt. She fumbled, but finally she stripped it all off him.

  Her hands speared through the thick mat of hair that covered him from collarbone to below his lean waist. She looked down and stared helplessly, her body trembling. His powerful hands lifted her up just a little, smiling even through his need at the expression on her face.

  “Steve…”

  He tilted her face and brought his mouth down on her lips with exquisite tenderness as he began to guide her hips again. This time there was no pain at all. There was a faint pleasure that began to grow, to swell, to encompass her. She gasped and her nails bit into his shoulders.

  “Like this?” he whispered, and moved again.

  She sobbed into his shoulder, her mouth open against his neck, clinging to him as he increased the rhythm and pressure of his body. His hand clenched in the hair at her nape and he caught his breath, shivering.

  “Relax, now,” he said, sliding a hand under her thigh to pull her to him roughly. “Yes…!”

  His image began to blur in her open, startled eyes as the pleasure became suddenly violent, insistent. She felt herself tense as he lifted to her as they knelt so intimately together, shivering with every movement, reaching for something she couldn’t quite grasp. Her strength gave out, but his was unfailing, endless.

  “Help me,” she whispered brokenly.

  “Tell me how it feels, Meg,” he whispered back, his voice rough, deep as he pushed up insistently. “Tell me!”

  “It’s so sweet…I can’t…bear…it!” She wept.

  “Neither can I.” His hands tightened on her thighs almost to bruising pain and he lost control. “Meg…. Meg….!”

  She felt him go rigid just before her mind was submerged in a heated rush of pleasure. It was a kind of pain, she thought blindly. A kind of sweet, unbearable pain that hit her like a lightning bolt, lifting her in his arms, making her cry out with the anguish it kindled. She didn’t know if she could bear it and stay alive.

  Steven’s heart was beating. She felt the heavy, hard beat against her breasts, felt the blood pulsating through him as he eased her down on her back, still a part of him. He relaxed, his arms catching the bulk of his weight while he struggled to breathe normally. The intimacy of their position was beyond her wildest dreams. She closed her eyes, experiencing it through every cell of her body.

  He could hardly believe what he’d done. The rush of pleasure had almost knocked him out. He’d been so desperate for her that he hadn’t even removed all his clothing. He’d fought them both out of their garments and taken her sitting up on the carpet, when her first time should have been in a bed with their wedding night before them and everything legal and neatly tied up. And worst of all, he hadn’t had the foresight to use any sort of protection. He groaned aloud as sanity came back in a cold rush. “Oh, hell!” He ground out the words.

  He levered himself away from her and got to his feet a little shakily. He zipped his trousers with a vicious motion of his hands before he fumbled a cigarette out of the pocket of his discarded shirt and lit it. He put on his shirt. He didn’t look at Meg, who finally managed with trembling hands to slide her gown back on. The briefs were beyond wearing at all.

  Steve smoked half the cigarette before he crushed it out in an ashtray on the table, one that David kept for him. He buttoned his shirt and replaced his tie and jacket before he spoke.

  By then, Meg was sitting on the very edge of the sofa, feeling uncomfortable and very ashamed.

  He stood over her, searching for the right words. Impossible, really. There weren’t any for what he’d done.

  “You’ll be sore for a while,” he said stiffly. “I’m sorry I couldn’t spare you the pain.”

  She wrapped her arms around herself and shivered.

  He knelt just in front of her, his hand on the sofa beside her as he searched her wan, drawn face.

  “Meg,” he said roughly, “it’s all right. You don’t have anything to be ashamed of.”

  “Don’t I?” Tears rolled down her cheeks.

  “Oh, baby,” he groaned. He pulled her down into his arms and sat on the carpet, cradling her against him. His lips found her throat and pressed there gently. “Meg, don’t cry.”

  “I’m easy, I’m cheap…!”

  “You are not.” He lifted his head and held her eyes. “We made love to each other. Is that so terrible? If I hadn’t gone crazy and chased you away, it would have happened four years ago, and you know it!”

  She couldn’t really argue with that. He was telling the truth. “Will you tell Daphne?” she asked.

  “No, I won’t tell Daphne,” he replied quietly. “It’s none of her business. It’s no one’s, except ours.”

  She still felt miserable, but some of the pain eased away as he smoothed her against him. Her eyes closed and she wished that she never had to move away again. He was warm and strong and it felt right to be lying with him this way. What had happened felt right.

  His lean hand smoothed over her flat belly. He drew back a little and stared down at it, his face troubled.

  She knew what he was thinking. It had just occurred to her, too.

  “You didn’t use anything,” she whispered.

  “I know. Damn me for a fool, I was too far gone to care.” He lifted his eyes to hers and grimaced. “I’m sorry. It was irresponsible. Unforgivable.”

  Her blue eyes sketched his dark face, down to his stubborn chin and the breadth of his shoulders.

  “What are you thinking?” he asked curiously.

  “You were an only child,” she said. “Did your father have any sisters?”

  He shook his head. His brows curved together and then a smile tugged at his firm mouth as he searched her eyes. “Boys run in my family, Meg. Is that what you wanted to know?”

  She nodded, smiling shyly.

  His big hand pressed slowly against her belly. “A baby would cost you your career,” he said slowly.

  She looked up at him. “You don’t think my ankle won’t?”

  The expression drained out of his face, leaving it blank. “What do you mean?”

  She threw caution to the wind. It was time for honesty. Total honesty, despite the cost. She’d truly burned all her bridges.

  “It hurts just from walking. It’s swollen. It’s been weeks, and it’s no better.” She traced a p
early button on his shirt with her fingernail as she forced herself to face the fear she’d been avoiding. “Rehearsals begin at the end of next week, but it might as well be yesterday. Steve, I won’t be able to dance. Not for a long time. Maybe not ever.”

  He didn’t move. His eyes searched her face, but he didn’t speak, either.

  She looked up at him miserably. “What will happen to you and Daphne if I get pregnant? It would ruin everything for you.” She sighed wearily, closing her eyes as she laid her cheek on his chest. “Oh, Steve, why is life so complicated?”

  “It isn’t, usually.”

  “It is right now.” She bit her lower lip. “Would you…want a baby?”

  His body began to throb. Light burst inside him. A child. A little boy, perhaps, since they ran in his family. A bond with Meg that nothing could break. The thought delighted him.

  But he didn’t answer immediately, and Meg thought the worst. She had to fight tears. “I see,” she said brokenly. “I guess you’d want me to go to a clinic and—”

  “No!”

  “You wouldn’t?”

  “Of course I wouldn’t!” he said curtly. He held her face up to his. “Don’t you even think about it! I swear to God, Meg, if you do anything…!”

  “But, I wouldn’t!” she said quickly. “That’s what I was going to tell you. I couldn’t!”

  He relaxed. His hand moved to her cheek and brushed back the disheveled hair around its flushed contours. “Okay. Make sure you don’t. People who don’t want babies should think before they make them.”

  “Like we just did,” she agreed with a flicker of her dry humor.

  He lifted an eyebrow. “Right.”

  She relaxed a little more. He did look marginally less rigid and austere. “I could have said something.”

  “Of course. Exactly when did you think of saying something?”

  She flushed and dropped her eyes.

  “That’s when I thought of saying something. It was a bit late, of course.” He frowned slightly and his silver eyes twinkled. “It was very intense, wasn’t it? Even for you.”

  “I’d wanted you for a long time,” she confessed quietly.

  “And I, you.” He drew in a long, slow breath. “Well, it’s done. Now we have to live with it. I’ll get your ring out of the safe and bring it over. We are now officially reengaged.”

  “But Steve, what about Daphne?” she exclaimed.

  “If you mention Daphne one more time today, I’ll—!” he muttered. He let her go and got to his feet, pulling her up beside him. “She’ll understand.”

  “You haven’t asked if I want to be engaged again,” she protested, trying to keep some control over her own destiny.

  He pulled her to him and his hand curved around her flat stomach. “If you’ve got a baby in here, you don’t have much choice. My mother would bring the shotgun all the way from West Palm Beach and point it at both of us before she’d see her first grandchild born out of wedlock.”

  She smiled, picturing his mother staggering under the weight of one of Steven’s hunting rifles. “I guess she would at that.” She glanced at him wryly. “And I’d already be sitting on your doorstep wearing a sign—and maternity clothes—so that everyone would know who got me pregnant in the first place.”

  He felt the world spin around him. He mustn’t read too much into that beaming smile on her face, he told himself. After all, with her ankle in this condition, she had no career left. He was still second best in her life. At least she would want a child, if they’d made one.

  She looked up and encountered the cold anger in his face and knew instantly that despite his hunger for her, all the bitterness was still there.

  He shrugged. Bending, he pushed back her tousled hair. “I want you. You want me. Whatever else there is, we’ll have that.” He sighed gently. “Besides, if the attraction we feel is still strong enough four years after the fact to send us making love on the carpet, it isn’t likely to weaken, is it?”

  “For heaven’s sake, Steve!” she exclaimed, outraged.

  “Meg, you’re repressed.” He shook his head. “What am I going to do with you?”

  “You might stop embarrassing me,” she muttered.

  His eyebrow jerked as he stared at her. “My beautiful Mary Margaret,” he said softly. “When I wake up in the morning, I’ll be sure that I was only dreaming again.”

  “Did you dream of me?” she asked involuntarily.

  “Oh, yes. For most of my life, I think.” He searched her soft eyes. “‘There be none of Beauty’s daughters with a magic like thee…’” he quoted tenderly, and watched the heat rise in her cheeks. “Do you like Lord Byron, Meg?”

  “You never read poetry to me,” she said with a sad little smile.

  “I wanted to. But you were very young,” he recalled, his face going hard. “And I was afraid to trust my heart too far.” He laughed suddenly as all the bitterness came sweeping back. “Good thing I didn’t. You walked out on me.”

  “You made me,” she shot right back. “You know you did.” The anger eased as she saw the pained look on his face. “You haven’t had a lot of love, Steven,” she said. “I don’t think you trusted anyone enough to let them close to you—not Daphne, and certainly not me. You like my body, but you don’t want my heart.”

  He was shocked. He stared at her, searching for words. He couldn’t even manage an answer.

  “I’d love you, if you’d let me,” she said gently, her blue eyes smiling at him.

  His jaw clenched. “You already did, on the floor,” he said coldly. All sorts of impossible things were forming in his mind. He felt vulnerable and he didn’t like it. He glared at her. “You didn’t even try to stop me. Since you can’t dance anymore, what a hell of a meal ticket I’ll make!”

  She stared at him and suddenly saw right through the angry words. She knew with a flash of intuition that he was still fighting her. He cared. Perhaps he didn’t know it. Perhaps he’d even convinced himself that he really loved Daphne. But he didn’t. Even though she was innocent, Meg knew that men didn’t lose control as Steve had tonight unless there were some powerful emotions underlying the desire. He was fighting her. It had been that all along, his need to keep emotional entanglements at bay. He was afraid to risk his heart on her. Why hadn’t she seen that years ago?

  “No comeback?” he taunted furiously.

  She smiled again, feeling faintly mischievous. “Are you going to bring my ring back tonight?”

  He hesitated. “Meg…”

  “I know. It’s way after midnight and David will be home soon, I suppose,” she added. “But you could come to supper tomorrow night. And bring my ring back,” she emphasized. “I hope you haven’t lost it.”

  He glared at her. “No, I haven’t lost it. I can’t bring it tomorrow night. I have a dinner meeting with Ahmed. Daphne’s coming along,” he reminded her.

  She felt a little uncertain of her ground, but something kept her going, prodded her on.

  She moved toward him, watching his expressions change, watching his eyes glitter. She caught him by the lapels and went on tiptoe, softly brushing her body against his as she reached up and drew her mouth tantalizingly over his parted lips. She could feel his heartbeat slamming at his ribs, hear his breathing. He was acting. It was a sham. She bit his lower lip, gently, and let go of him, moving away.

  “What was that all about?” he asked gruffly.

  “Didn’t you like it?” she asked softly.

  His jaw clenched. “I have to go.”

  “To dinner, perhaps. But not to Daphne’s bed. Not now.”

  “What makes you so sure that I won’t?” he demanded with a mocking smile.

  She searched his eyes. “Because it would be sacrilege to do with anyone else what we just did with each other.”

  He would have denied it. He wanted to. But he couldn’t force the words out. He turned and went to the door, pausing just to make sure the lock was on before he glanced back.

&
nbsp; “Buy a wedding gown,” he said curtly. “And if you try to run away from me this time, I’ll follow you straight to hell if I have to!”

  He closed the door behind him, and Meg stared at it with a jumble of emotions, the foremost of which was utter joy.

  Steve was feeling less than pleased. He had Meg, but it was a hollow victory. Despite the exquisite pleasure she’d given him, he was no closer to capturing her heart. He wanted it more than he’d ever realized.

  She cared about him. She must, to give herself so generously. For Meg, physical need alone would never have caused such a sacrifice. But he had to remember that her career was no longer a point of contention between them. Her career was history. Even if she cared about him, ballet would have come first if it had been an option. He knew it. And that was what made him so bitter.

  8

  Later that same night, after a refreshing shower, Meg went to bed, feeling tired. But she barely slept at all, wondering at the way things had changed in her life.

  David gave her curious looks at the breakfast table. “You look like you haven’t slept at all,” he remarked.

  “I haven’t,” she confessed, smiling at him. “Steven and I got engaged again last night.”

  He caught his breath. The delight in his eyes said everything. “So he finally gave in.”

  “Not noticeably,” she murmured dryly.

  “He’s taken the first step,” he replied. “You can’t expect a fine fighting fish to just swallow a hook, you know.”

  “This fighting fish is a piranha. He’s very bitter, David,” she said quietly. She sipped coffee, her brows knitted. “He’s never really forgiven me for leaving—even though he drove me away.”

  He smiled at her, his eyes kind and full of warmth. “I gather that he’ll be over tonight?”

  “Probably not. I doubt if Daphne can spare him,” she muttered. “He’s having dinner with her.”

  He grimaced at the expression on her face. He knew what was going on, and that Steve couldn’t tell her. Neither could he.