by Diana Palmer
His eyes narrowed, and his hand tightened on the thick glass. “Can't you?”
She squared her small shoulders. “You're just being a tyrant again,” she accused. Her hands slid down the sensuous burgundy velvet over her hips as she lifted her face defiantly. “What's the matter, Blake, do I disturb you?” she challenged. “Would you rather I wore my gym suit from high school?”
He set the glass down on the bar and strode toward her deliberately, his eyes blazing, his face harder than granite. She saw the purpose in his eyes and turned with a feeling of panic, grabbing for the doorknob. But the action was too late. He caught her and whirled her around with rough, hurting hands to hold her, struggling against the door.
Chapter Five
She stared up into the face of a stranger, and her voice caught in her throat. “Blake, you wouldn't…!” she burst out finally, frightened by what she read in his dark eyes.
He moved, and his big, warm body crushed her against the door. She felt the pressure of his hard, powerful thighs against hers, the metal of his belt buckle sharp at her stomach. There was the rustle of cloth against cloth as his hands caught her bare arms and stilled her struggles.
“Oh, wouldn't I?” he growled, as his eyes dropped to her tremulous lips.
Stunned by the sight of his dark, leonine face at such a disturbing proximity, she looked up at him helplessly until he suddenly crushed her soft mouth under his, forcing her head back under the merciless pressure.
She kept her mouth tightly closed, her body trembling with sudden fear at what Blake was asking of her. She stiffened, struggling instinctively, and his mouth twisted against hers to hold it in bondage, his teeth nipping her lower lip painfully.
A sob broke from her tight throat as she yielded to the merciless ardor that was years beyond her few experiences with men. Nothing that had gone before prepared her for the adult passion she felt in Blake, and it sparked a response that was mingled fear and shock. This was no boyfriend assaulting her senses. This was Blake. Blake, who taught her to ride. Blake, who drove her to cheerleading practice and football games with her friend Nan. Blake, who was a confidant, a protector, and now…
He jerked his head up suddenly, surveying the damage in her swollen, bruised lips, her wounded eyes, her wildly flushed cheeks and disordered hair.
“You're…hurting me,” she whispered brokenly. Her fingers went to her drooping coiffure, nervously, as tears washed her eyes.
His face seemed to harden as he looked down at her. His breath came hard and fast. His eyes glittered with unfathomable emotions.
“This is what happens when you throw that sweet young body at me,” he said in a voice that cut. “I warned you before about flaunting it, and you wouldn't listen. Now, maybe I've managed to get through to you.”
She drew in a sobbing breath, and the tiny sound seemed to disturb him. His eyes softened, just a little, as they wandered over her face.
“Please let me go, Blake,” she pleaded in a shaken whisper. “I swear, I'll wear sackcloth and ashes for the rest of my life!”
His heavy brows drew together and he let go of her arms to lean his hands on either side of her head against the door, pushing back a little to ease the crush of his powerful chest and thighs.
“Afraid?” he asked in a deep, lazy voice.
She swallowed hard, nodding, her eyes mesmerized by his.
He let his eyes move down to her swollen, cut lip as he bent toward her again. She felt his tongue brushing very softly against it, healing, tantalizing and she gasped again—but this time, not in pain.
He drew back and caught her eyes. The expression he found was one of curiosity, uncertainty. She met that searching gaze squarely and felt the breath sigh out of her body. Her heart went wild under the intensity of it. She wanted suddenly to reach up and bring his dark head back down again, to feel his mouth again. To open her lips and taste his. To kiss him hungrily, and hard, and feel his body against the length of hers as it had been, but not in anger this time.
His jaw went rigid. His eyes seemed to burst with light and darkness. Then, suddenly, she was free. He pushed away from her and turned to walk back to the bar. He poured himself another whiskey, and paused long enough to dash a jigger of brandy into a snifter for her before he moved back to the door where she stood frozen and handed it to her.
Wordlessly, he caught her free hand and drew her back to his desk with him. He perched against it, holding her in front of him while she nervously sipped the fiery amber liquid.
He threw down his own drink and put first his own glass, then hers, aside. He reached out to catch her by the waist, drawing her gently closer. He stared down at her flushed face for a long time before he spoke, in a silence heady with new emotions.
“Don't brood,” he said, in a tone that carried echoes of her childhood. Blake's voice, gentle, soothing her when her world caved in. “The tactics may have been different, but it was only an argument. It's over.”
She pretended a calm she didn't feel, and some of the tension went out of her shocked body. “That doesn't sound very much like an apology,” she said, darting a shy glance up at him.
One eyebrow lifted. “I'm not going to apologize. You asked for that, Kathryn, and you know it.”
She sighed shakily. “I know.” Her eyes traced the powerful lines of his chest. “I didn't mean to say what I did.”
“All you have to remember, little innocent one,” he said indulgently, “is that verbal warfare brings a man's blood up. You can be provocative without even realizing it.” He shook her gently. “Are you listening?”
“Yes.” Her dark, curious eyes darted up to his for an instant. “You…I didn't think that you…” she stopped, trying to find words.
“There's no blood between us to protect you from me, Kate,” he said in a deep, quiet tone. “I'm not in my dotage, and I react like any normal man to the sight of a woman in a revealing dress. Phillip could have lost his head just as easily,” he added gruffly.
She felt her heart pounding and caught her breath. “Perhaps,” she whispered. “But he would have been…gentle, I think.”
He didn't argue the point. His big, warm hand tilted her face up to his quiet eyes. “Another of the many differences between Phillip and me, young Kate,” he said. “I'm not a gentle lover. I like my women…practiced.”
The flush made bright banners in her cheeks. “Do they get combat pay?” she asked with a hint of impudence and a wry smile as she touched her forefinger gingerly to her cut lip.
His lips turned up, and his dark eyes sparkled. It was as if there had never been a harsh scene to alienate them. “It works both ways, honey,” he replied musingly. “Some women would have returned the compliment, with interest.”
Her eyes looked deep into his. This, she thought dazedly, is getting interesting. “Women…bite men?” she asked in a whisper, as if it was a subject not fit for decent ears to hear.
“Yes,” he whispered back. “And claw, and scream like banshees.”
“I…I don't mean then,” she said. “I mean when…oh, never mind, you just want to make fun of me. I'll ask Phillip.”
He chuckled softly. “Do you really think he's ever felt that kind of passion?” he asked.
She shrugged. “He's a man.”
“Men are different,” he reminded her. His eyes dropped to her mouth. “Poor little scrap, I did hurt you, didn't I?” he asked gently.
She drew away from him, and he relaxed his hold to free her. “It's all right,” she murmured. “As you said, I did ask for it.” Her eyes glanced off his. “You're…very sophisticated.”
“And you're a delicious little innocent,” he replied. “I didn't mean to be so brutal with you, but I do want to impress on you what you invite from a man with a dress like that.” He smiled drily. “I've got a low boiling point, Kate, and I do recall warning you.”
“I didn't think you were serious,” she said with a sigh.
His dark eyes swept over her again. “Now y
ou know better.”
“And better,” she agreed. She turned, almost knocking over Maude's priceless porcelain vase on its marble-topped table on the way out. “I'm taking back every dress I bought while there's still time.”
“Kate, don't be ridiculous,” he growled after her. “You know what I meant. I don't want you wearing dresses with necklines cut to the waist, that's all. You're still too much a child to realize what you could be letting yourself in for.”
She turned at the door with great dignity, her carriage so perfect that Mademoiselle Devres would have cheered. “I'm not a child anymore, Blake,” she told him. “Am I?”
He turned away, bending his head to light a cigarette with steady hands. “When does that writer get here?”
She swallowed nervously. “Tomorrow morning.” She watched him walk to the darkened window and draw the curtain aside to look out. His broad back was toward her and unexpectedly, she remembered how warm and sensuous it had felt under the palms of her hands.
“Aren't you going to tell me to call it off again?” she asked, testing him, feeling a flick of danger run through her that was madly exciting.
He stared at her across the room for a long moment before he answered. “At least I won't have to worry about you sneaking off to go to that convention with him while he's under my roof,” he remarked carelessly. “And he'd have his work cut out to seduce you, from what I've seen tonight.”
Her eyes flashed at him. “That's what you think!” she shot back.
He only laughed, softly, sensuously. “Before you flounce off, hugging your boundless attractions to your bare bosom, you might remember that I wasn't trying to seduce you. You ought to know by now that my taste doesn't run to oversexed adolescents. Not that you fall in that classification,” he added with a mocking smile. “You're green for a young woman just shy of her twenty-first birthday.”
That hurt, even more than the devastating taste of him as a lover. “Larry doesn't think so,” she told him.
He lifted the cigarette to his hard mouth, his eyes laughing at her. “If I had his limited experience, I might agree with him.”
That nudged a suspicion in the back of her mind. “What do you know about his experience?” she asked.
He studied her for a long, static silence. “Did you really think I'd let you go to Crete with him and that harebrained sister of his without checking them out thoroughly?”
Her face flamed. “You don't trust me, do you?”
“On the contrary, I trust you implicitly. But I don't trust men,” he said arrogantly.
“You don't own me,” she cried, infuriated by his calm sureness.
“Oh, go to bed before you set fire to my temper again,” he growled at her.
“Gladly,” she returned. She went out the door without even a good night, and then lay awake half the night worrying about it.
Her dreams were full of Blake that night. And when she woke to the rumble of thunder and the sound of raindrops, she had a vivid picture of herself lying in his big arms while his mouth burned on her bare skin. It was embarrassing enough to make her late for breakfast. She didn't think she could have looked at Blake without giving herself away.
But her worries were groundless. Blake had already left to go to the office when Kathryn came downstairs to find Vivian sitting by herself at the breakfast table.
“Good morning,” Vivian said politely. Her delicate blond features were enhanced by her buttercup yellow blouse and skirt. She looked slim and ultra-chic. She eyed Kathryn's jeans and roll-neck white sweater with disgust. “You don't believe in fashion, do you?” she asked.
“In my own home, no,” she replied, reaching for cream to add to her steaming cup of coffee as Mrs. Johnson hustled back and forth between the kitchen, adding to the already formidable breakfast dishes.
Vivian watched her add two teaspoons of sugar to her coffee. “Don't count calories either, do you?” She laughed.
“I don't need to,” Kathryn said quietly, refusing to display her irritation. Where in the world were Maude and Phillip and Dick Leeds?
Vivian watched her raise the cup to her mouth, and her hawk eyes lit on the slightly raw lower lip, which was faintly throbbing this morning—a painful reminder of Blake's shocking intimacy.
The blonde's narrow eyes darted down to her plate as she nibbled at scrambled eggs. “You and Blake were downstairs together a long time last night,” she said conversationally.
“We…had some things to discuss,” Kathryn murmured, hating the memory of him that came back to haunt her with a vengeance. She was being forced to see Blake in a new, different way, and she wasn't at all sure that she wanted to. She was more afraid of him now than ever: a delicious, mushrooming fear that made her pulse race at just the thought of his mouth crushing hers. What would it have been like, she wondered reluctantly, if he hadn't been angry…
“You missed Blake this morning,” Vivian remarked, her eyes strangely wary as she watched Kathryn spoon eggs and ham onto her plate. “He asked me particularly to come down straightaway when the alarm went off so that we could have breakfast together.”
“How nice,” came the stilted reply.
Kathryn's head was bent, and she missed the faintly malicious smile that curled Vivian's full lips.
“He was anxious to leave before you came down,” the blonde went on in a low, very cool voice. “I think he was afraid you might have read something more than he intended into what happened last night.”
Kathryn's fork fumbled through her fingers and hit the china plate with a loud ringing sound. Her startled eyes jerked up. “W-what?” she faltered. “He told you?” she asked incredulously.
Vivian looked the picture of sophistication. “Of course, darling,” she replied. “He was bristling with regrets, and I just let him talk. It was the dress, of course. Blake is too much a man not to be swayed by a half-naked woman.”
“I was not…!”
“He makes love very well, don't you think?” Vivian asked with a secretive smile. “He's such a vibrant lover, so considerate and exciting…”
Kathryn's face was the color of red cabbage. She sipped her coffee, ignoring the blistering touch of it.
“You do understand that it mustn't be allowed to happen again?” the older woman asked softly, smiling at Kathryn coolly over her china cup. “I quite realize why Blake hasn't told you the true reason I came over here with my father, but…” she let her voice trail away insinuatingly.
Kathryn stared at her, feeling her secure, safe little world dissolving around her. It was like being buried alive. She could hardly breathe for the sudden sense of suffocation. “You mean…?”
“If Blake hasn't told you, I can't,” Vivian said confidingly. “He didn't want to make the announcement straight away, you know. Not until his family had a chance to get to know me.”
Kathryn couldn't manage words. So that was how it was. Blake planned to marry at last, and this blond barracuda was going to swim off with him. And after last night, she'd actually thought…Her face shuttered. What did it matter, anyway? Blake had always been like a brother, despite his brutal ardor last night. And that had only been to warn her, he'd said so. He was afraid she'd read something into it, was he? She'd show him!
Vivian, seeing the look of despair that came into the young girl's face, hid a smile in her coffee cup as she drained it. “I see you understand,” she remarked smugly. “You won't let Blake know that I said anything?” she asked with a worried look. “He'd be so unhappy with me…”
“No, of course not,” Kathryn said quietly. “Congratulations.”
Vivian smiled sweetly. “I hope we're going to become great friends. And you mustn't think anything about what happened with Blake. He only wants to forget it, as you must. It was just a moment out of time, after all, nothing to be concerned about.”
Of course not, Kathryn thought, feeling suddenly empty. She managed a bright smile, but fortunately the rest of the family chose that moment to join the two wom
en, and she was able to bury her grief in conversation.
***
Kathryn had always liked the airport; it excited her to see the travelers with their bags and bright smiles, and she liked to sit and watch and speculate about them. A long-legged young woman, tall and tanned and blond, ran into the arms of a big, dark man and burst into tears. Studying them as she waited for Lawrence Donavan's plane to get in, Kathryn wondered if they were patching up a lovers’ quarrel. They must have been, because the man was kissing her as if he never expected to see her again, and tears were running unchecked down her pale cheeks. The emotion in that hungry kiss made her feel like a peeping Tom, and she looked away. The depth of passion she sensed in them was as alien to her as the Andes. She'd never felt that kind of hunger for a man. The closest to it that she could remember coming was when Blake had kissed her the second time—that sensuous, aching touch that kindled fledgling responses in her untried body. If he'd kissed her a third time…
A movement caught her eye and she rose from the chair to find Larry Donavan coming toward her. She ran into his outstretched arms and hugged him, lifting her face for a firm, affectionate kiss.
His blue eyes laughed down into hers under the shock of red hair that fell rakishly across his brow.
“Miss me?” he teased.
She nodded, and the admission was genuine. “Would I fight half my family to drive this distance to pick you up if I hadn't?” she asked.
“I know. It is a pretty long drive, isn't it? I could have caught a bus…”
“Don't be silly,” she said, linking her hand with his as they walked toward the baggage conveyor. “How would you like a grand tour of Charleston before we head home? Blake's guests got it, and you're just as entitled…”
“Guests?” he echoed. “Have I come at an inopportune time?” he asked quickly.
“Blake's courting a labor union and a woman at the same time,” she said with a trace of bitterness in her tone. “We'll simply keep out of the way. Phillip and Maude and I will take care of you, don't worry.”
