by Diana Palmer
“Thank you,” she said as she sat down.
“You don’t look well,” he said bluntly.
“I’m pregnant.”
“Yes, I noticed that.”
She looked up and caught an amused gleam in his dark eyes.
“I don’t ever feel well in the morning,” she returned. “It’s normal. And as for looking well,” she added with a glare, “as you like to remind me, I never have looked well. I’m frumpy.”
“Talk about bad moods,” he murmured, leaning back to smoke his cigarette with an amused smile on his firm mouth. “Eat your toast, little shrew.”
She glared at him. “You don’t have to feel responsible for me,” she said coldly. “I’ve already told you, it isn’t necessary for you to stay here. I can have the baby all by myself.”
“Sure you can,” he scoffed, his eyes narrowing. “That’s why you look so healthy.”
“I’d be healthier if you’d go away!” she shot back. She left the toast, started to get up and suddenly sat down again, swallowing rapidly.
Dutch went to fetch a damp cloth and held it to her face, her throat, her mouth, kneeling beside her.
“All right now?” he asked in a tone so tender, it brought quick tears to her eyes.
“Yes,” she whispered miserably.
His hand sought her belly and pressed there protectively. “This is mine,” he said softly, holding her gaze. “I put it there. And until it’s born, and the danger is all over, I’m going to stay with you.”
The tears overwhelmed her. “Oh, please go away,” she whispered brokenly. “Please…”
He pulled her gently against him, her face against his, his arms warm and strong at her back. He smelled of spicy cologne and cigarette smoke, and her body reacted to him with a crazy surge of pleasure that she tried to fight down. It wasn’t permanent, she had to keep reminding herself, it was only temporary, until the baby was born. She’d better not get too attached to the feel of his arms.
“I was going to wait until later to discuss this with you,” he said after a minute, “but I think we’d better talk now. Come here.”
He lifted her in his arms and stood up in one smooth motion, carrying her back into the bedroom.
He laid her down against the pillows and leaned over her, searching her wide gray eyes behind the glasses.
“You’re killing me,” she whispered achingly.
“I can see that,” he said quietly. “It isn’t making my life any easier. I can’t love you,” he said tersely, and his face was hard. “I’m sorry. I’m…very fond of you,” he added, brushing the tears from her cheeks. He took off her glasses and laid them aside, wiping the tear tracks away with a corner of the sheet. “But what there was in me of love died long ago. I can’t afford the luxury of caring, not in my line of work.”
Her eyes closed and her voice was hoarse with pain. “I love you,” she said helplessly, her voice strained.
“I know,” he replied. Her eyes opened, and he searched them. What the hell! She needed to know. Perhaps it would help her to understand. He took a sharp breath. “The woman, the one I loved so desperately…she became pregnant with my child,” he said coldly. “The day she left me she told me she’d had an abortion. She laughed about it. How absurd, she said, to think that she’d want a child of mine!” His hands gripped her arms fiercely, but she didn’t notice it at all. Her shocked eyes were fixed on his tortured face. “She got rid of it,” he said harshly, “like so much garbage!”
Now she understood. Now it all made sense. She reached up hesitantly and touched his face.
“I’m raw from thinking about it,” he whispered roughly, “from the memories. When I saw you pregnant with my child it all came back like a fever.” His eyes blazed. “You don’t know me. What I am now, she made me…”
Her fingers touched his hard mouth, feeling its warmth. Everything soft and womanly inside her reached out. Poor, storm-battered man, she thought achingly. Poor, tortured man.
“My parents hated me,” he ground out. “They died hating me!”
“Come here.” She reached up, drawing him down with her, holding him. He shuddered, and her eyes closed. Perhaps he didn’t love her, but he needed her. She knew that even if he didn’t. Her arms enfolded him—loving, comforting arms. Her hands smoothed his cool blond hair, and she nuzzled her cheek against it.
“Parents never hate children,” she said quietly. “Not really.”
“How would you know?” he growled harshly. “Didn’t yours desert you?”
She took a slow breath, clinging to him. “Yes.” She shifted under his formidable weight. “They were very young. Just children themselves. The responsibility must have been terrible.” She held him closer. “They tried to contact me once. My aunt…told them I was dead.” He stiffened and she swallowed hard. “I found out only when she was dying herself. It was too late then.”
“Dani…”
“We can’t go back, either of us,” she continued quietly. Her hand brushed the nape of his neck. “We have to do the best we can with what we have.”
“Are you sorry that I made you pregnant?” he asked in a tone so quiet she barely heard it.
“I’ve already told you that I’m happy,” she said, and smiled against his cool skin. “I’ve never had anyone of my own.”
It was a long minute before he lifted his head. He drew in a slow, calming breath and met her eyes. His own were stormy, turbulent; his face was terrible with remembered pain.
“I would never hurt you,” she said. “Never, in any way, even if I had the ability. She was a horrible woman, and you were young and vulnerable. But I’m sure your parents understood, even if they were hurt. And I will never believe that they didn’t love you,” she said, her face soft and caring.
His jaw tautened. He got to his feet and turned away. A long moment later he fumbled to light a cigarette.
Dani, blind without her glasses, didn’t see the betraying movement of his hands. She tugged her glasses back on and sat up, straightening her dress, which had ridden up her legs.
“I have to get to the store,” she said after the long silence began to grate on her nerves. “Harriett has an appointment to get her hair cut at noon.”
He turned, scowling. “You’re in no condition to go to work,” he said curtly.
She looked up, eyebrows raised. “Fudge! I’m a little shaky on my legs, that’s all.” She got up, daring him to stop her. “I’ve got a business to take care of.”
“You’ve got a baby to take care of,” he corrected. “Call Harriett and tell her to close up when she leaves.”
She glared at him. “No.”
He shrugged and watched her pull out a slip and hose, and she thought the matter was settled.
He waited until she started to pull the dress over her head. Then he put down his cigarette and moved forward. Before she had time to react he stripped her, quickly and deftly, and put her under the covers. Then he took her clothes, tossed them into the closet, locked the closet, and pocketed the key.
She lay there with the covers around her neck, staring at him with eyes like saucers. It had happened so quickly, she’d had no time to retaliate.
He picked up the phone and asked for the number of her bookstore. Blankly, she told him. He finished dialing.
“Harriett? This is Dutch. Dani said to close up the shop when you leave. She’s staying in bed today. Yes, that’s right. Yes, I will.” He hung up and retrieved his cigarette. “Now,” he told Dani, “you’ll stay right there until I say you can get up.”
“I won’t!” she returned.
“All right,” he said easily, sliding one hand into his pocket. “Get up.”
She started to, remembered her unclothed condition, and sank back against the pillows. “I want my clothes.”
“You can have them tomorrow.”
“I want them now.”
“Go back to sleep. It’s only nine,” he said. “I’ll clean up the kitchen.
He
started out of the room and she stared at him uncomprehendingly, her eyes wide and uncertain. He turned and looked at her, the cigarette in his hand sending up curls of gray smoke.
“You’re very much like Gabby,” he said quietly.
He was gone before she could reply. Was Gabby the woman in his past? she wondered miserably. She took off her glasses and turned her face into her pillow as fresh tears came. She was sure that he hated her. Why else would he have said such a thing to her?
Eventually, she slept. It was late afternoon when she awoke, to find her clothes at the foot of the bed and a note under the pillow. Drowsily, she unfolded the paper and read it.
You can have your clothes, but don’t leave the apartment, it said in a bold black scrawl. I have gone to do some shopping. Back by five. Dutch.
She glanced at the clock beside the bed. It was almost five now. She scrambled out of bed quickly to dress before he got back.
When he came in, with a bag of groceries in one powerful arm, she was curled up on the sofa with her ledgers spread around her. He glared and she glared back.
“Well, somebody has to do the paperwork,” she said stubbornly. “And you won’t let me do my job.”
“Tit for tat,” he said carelessly. “You won’t let me do mine.”
“I won’t get killed selling books,” she returned.
“I like the idea of being a father now that I’m getting used to it,” he said as he put down the bag on the kitchen table. “I’m not going to let you risk losing him.”
“You make me sound as if I didn’t care about him at all,” she snapped.
He started putting food into the refrigerator. “Stop trying to pick fights with me,” he said pleasantly. “I won’t argue with you.”
“I’m not picking a fight,” she said tautly. She just found it hard to believe that he was really concerned about her. She put her paperwork aside and padded into the kitchen to get something cold to drink. The heat was stifling, and the little air conditioner in the window was barely adequate.
He turned, frowning at her damp skin. “Are you hot?” he asked gently. “I’ll get a bigger air conditioner delivered.”
“No, you won’t,” she said stubbornly. “I like the one I’ve got.”
He took her by the arms and held her in front of him. “You won’t win,” he said quietly. “So stop trying. I have to go to Chicago on Monday.”
She wouldn’t look up. “Work?” she asked, trying to sound as if she didn’t care.
“Work,” he agreed. His hands smoothed up and down her soft arms. “I’m not making any promises.”
“Have I asked for any?” she murmured, lifting her eyes.
“You wouldn’t,” he said, as if he knew. “You’re too proud to ask for anything that isn’t freely given.” He bent and started to kiss her, but she turned her face away.
He felt a tremor of hurt and anger go through him. His hands clenched, and he moved away from her with a new and unexpected pain eating at him.
He sighed angrily. How the hell had she gotten so far under his skin? He wanted to throw things.
“I’m not leaving the country,” he said curtly. “An old friend of mine has opened a consulting firm. He teaches counterterrorism tactics to corporate executives. He needed someone experienced in tactics, and asked if I’d be interested.” He shrugged. “So I told him yes.”
It shocked her that he’d even consider changing his profession. Did the baby mean so much? Yes, she thought, probably it did. There were deep scars on his heart. Perhaps he’d never truly get over them. She didn’t have the beauty or the sophistication to capture his heart. It wasn’t enough that he desired her. Desire was something a man could feel for almost anybody, frumpy or not.
“It’s a long way to commute,” she said quietly.
“Yes.” He moved toward her, but this time he didn’t come too close. He studied her, and she looked back, noticing how very tall he was, how powerfully built. He had a face a movie star would have envied—even features, dark velvet eyes, chiseled lips.
“We discussed this a long time ago,” he said. “I don’t mind commuting. I think it’s best, for now, that you stay here. You’d be alone a good bit of the time in Chicago, although I’m sure Gabby wouldn’t mind looking in on you.”
“Gabby?” She stared at him.
“Gabby Brettman,” he said. “She’s married to one of my best friends, a trial lawyer.” His firm mouth relaxed into a smile. “Gabby followed J.D. through a Central American jungle with an AK-47 under one arm. She actually shot a terrorist with it and saved his life. A hell of a woman, Gabby.”
So Gabby hadn’t been the woman from his past! And he admired her—he’d said that Dani was much like Gabby. She blushed.
“Now you make the connection, is that it?” he asked softly. “For God’s sake, what did you think I meant when I compared you to her?”
Her eyes fell to his chest. “I thought…she was the woman who betrayed you,” she said miserably, and went back to the sofa.
“You don’t read me any better than I read you,” he said after a minute. “Suppose you come to Chicago with me for a few days? Meet my friends. Learn a little about me.”
The invitation excited her, but she hesitated. “I don’t know.”
“My apartment has two bedrooms,” he said icily. “You won’t have to sleep with me.”
“I can’t imagine why you’d want me to.” She laughed bitterly, curling up on the sofa with her ledgers. “There are a lot of pretty women in the…Eric!”
He was beside her, over her, the ledgers scattered onto the floor as he pinned her down. His eyes glittered, his chest rose and fell harshly. He held her wrists over her head and looked as if he could do her violence.
“I’d never do that to you,” he said harshly. “Never! What kind of man do you think I am?”
Tears stung her eyes. “You’re hurting me,” she whispered unsteadily.
He loosened her wrists, but he didn’t let go of them. “I’m sorry,” he muttered, still glaring into her white face. “I’ve hardly done anything else, have I? I picked you up, got you pregnant, forced you into marriage without telling you the truth about myself…and lately all I’ve done is blame you for it.”
Her eyes closed. The tears ran from beneath her lids, and he caught his breath.
“Don’t cry,” he said with reluctant concern. “Dani, don’t cry. I’m sorry. Lieveling, I’m sorry, I’m sorry…” he told her over and over again, his mouth searching across her wet cheek to her mouth. He took it gently, opening it to the moist possession of his own, while his hands freed her wrists and moved to cup her face. “Lieveling,” he breathed against her mouth. His body stretched full length over hers, his forearms catching the bulk of his weight. His heart pounded, his breath came unevenly. He wanted her. He wanted her!
She felt him begin to tremble, and against her hips she felt the helpless reaction of his body to her soft yielding. She hadn’t wanted this to happen; she hadn’t wanted to give in to something purely physical. But it had been months since she’d known the possession of that hard, expert body, and his mouth was driving her mad with its taunting hunger. She reached up hesitantly and slid her arms around his neck.
“Let me have you, Dani,” he murmured into her open mouth. He shifted so that his hands could ease up her dress. “Let me have you.”
She wanted to stop. But his hands were touching her soft body now, teasing it into reckless abandon, his mouth probing hers in a kiss so deep it became an act of intimacy in itself. Her body moved against his, her hands trembled and clenched on his shoulders and she moaned.
“Yes,” he said, his voice urgent now, shaking. “Yes.”
“Here…?” she managed in a last attempt at sanity.
“Here,” he groaned, pressing her into the cushions with the gentle, carefully controlled weight of his body. “Here…!”
It was as it had been that morning in Mexico. He was breathlessly tender with her, each motion sl
ow and sweet and reverent. His hands trembled as they touched her, guided her. His voice was passionate as he reverted to Dutch, whispering in her ear.
His mouth moved to hers, open and tender and trembling on her own as he began with aching tenderness to possess her.
Her mouth opened, her eyes widened. “Eric…!”
“Shhh,” he whispered huskily. He watched her as he moved, tender motions that wouldn’t harm his child, arousing motions that made her gray eyes dilate, that made her heart beat wildly against his hair-matted chest.
“Oh!” she cried out, a whisper of sound that he took into his mouth.
“Gentle violence,” he said into her parted lips. “Rock with me. Take my body, and give me yours. Be my lover now.”
“I…love you!” she whimpered helplessly. “I love you!”
It shattered what little was left of his control, to hear her cry it out so huskily, to see it in her eyes as she looked at him with all the barriers down. His mouth crushed softly into hers and his hands held her. He heard her fluttering little cries, felt the wildness in her body, the heat of it burning his hands. He wanted to look, but it was happening for him, too, the tender explosions that were so much more terrible than the fierce passion he’d known before with women. He thought he might die….
He was aware of her in every cell as they lay trembling together in the aftermath. His hands stroked along her relaxed body, feeling its softness in a kind of dazed reality.
“Dani?” he whispered as his eyes opened and he saw the back of the sofa.
“Yes.” Her voice sounded like velvet.
“I…didn’t meant to do it,” he said hesitantly. “I didn’t plan it.”
“I know.” She kissed him. Her lips touched his eyes, his eyebrows, his straight nose, his cheeks, his mouth, his chin.
He loved the softness of her mouth on his face. His eyes closed, so that she could kiss his eyelids, too. He smiled, feeling sated, loved. Profound, he thought dizzily. This, with her, was so much more than a brief merging of bodies. His hands touched her belly and felt his child move.
