by Sandra Brown
“Thank you, Gracie.” She hauled herself off the bed and tried to shake off the lethargy that threatened to anchor her to the mattress. In her stocking feet she padded into the hallway and picked up the receiver. “Hello, Les.” She heard Gracie break her connection.
“Hello, baby doll. How is everything?”
“Fine.”
“Crew get there without mishap?”
“Yes, they arrived very early yesterday morning.” Too early. Why couldn’t they have arrived an hour later? Then maybe Lyon. …
“How’s the taping going?”
“Fine. We’ve got three in the can. The general’s wonderful.”
“No equipment trouble?”
“No. Yesterday Gil had a dead cord, but he drove down to San Antonio and got another one. Everything’s fine now.”
There was a sustained pause in the conversation while Les digested everything she’d said. She wondered where Lyon was, what he was doing.
“Andy baby, it makes me nervous as hell when every thing is going just ‘fine.’ ”
“I don’t know what you mean.” She knew exactly what he meant. Usually she was bubbling with excitement over what she was doing, or boiling with anger over the uncooperative weather, or griping about a technical breakdown, or laughing over something that had happened to a crewman. But she was never apathetic.
“I like for little disasters to happen every now and then to keep everybody on their toes. Know what I mean? You sound like you could use a big dose of either Geritol or milk of magnesia or Midol. When things are so damn ‘fine,’ I get skittish. What in hell is going on down there?”
No more Mr. Nice Guy. His glasses had been flung to the top of his desk. His feet had hit the floor hard. One hand was plowing through his mop of red hair. His eyes were boring a hole into the door of his office, in lieu of her hide. Ordinarily she would be sitting in the chair opposite his desk. Being a thousand miles away from Les’s wrath had distinct advantages.
“Les, calm down. Nothing is going on except the interviews, which are going very well. The crew feels as I do about the general and were surprised by his astuteness. If anything is bothering me personally, it’s the heat. It’s energy-draining.”
“What about Hopalong Lyon?”
Her palms were sweaty. “What about him?”
“Find out anything from him?”
She sighed in exasperation, hoping that if she sounded annoyed, he wouldn’t hear the tremor in her voice. “Les, for the hundredth time, there’s nothing to find out.”
“I saw his picture.”
“Whose?”
“Lyon Ratliff’s. A picture of him in Nam that the AP supplied. He’s a hunk.”
“I haven’t really noticed.”
“If I was a woman, I’d have noticed.”
“Well as you remind us far too often, you’re an extremely virile man, so your opinion on the subject doesn’t count. Now, Les, if there’s nothing more, the crew is calling me to join them in the pool.” They weren’t, but it sounded more like her old self to say so.
“They’re not down there for a vacation. Don’t they have anything better to do?”
“Not after we’re through for the day.”
“Okay,” he grumbled “Andy, you wouldn’t keep anything important from your ol’ buddy Les, now would you?”
Instantly on her guard, she laughed, searching through her blank mind for something clever to say. “Of course not. I think you’re disappointed and jealous that we’re all having such a good time down here.” She laughed again, but she was the only one laughing, and it sounded hollow and insincere. “I’ll call you back tomorrow and report in. Okay?”
“Okay. Bye, baby. Love ya.”
The phone went dead in her hand.
Knowing it would be just like Les to call one of the crew to check up on her and verify everything she’d told him, she knew that sulking in her room was a bad idea. Much as she wanted to avoid company, she put on a strapless terry-cloth jumpsuit and went to the poolside. She sat in the shade of an umbrella over a wrought-iron table. Periodically she smoothed tanning lotion on spots that couldn’t be reached, fetched towels, and offered unsolicited coaching on diving technique.
Late in the afternoon, Gracie brought out a pitcher of frozen margaritas and a platter of nachos. Jeff, dripping water, hugged her to him and kissed her on the cheek. Andy had never seen him blush, but he did so profusely when he turned away from Gracie and she swatted him on the behind with a resounding whack.
Lyon drove up in his battered Jeep. He rolled out of it with lithe grace and sauntered over to the pool. “How’s the water?”
“Great,” Jeff called. “Join us.”
“Sorry. I’ve got a date.”
Andy kept her eyes glued to the book she had brought down with her, but the words blurred in front of her eyes. Her heart plummeted to her stomach and lay there like a stone.
“Gracie told me she’s serving you Mexican food out here on the patio. Enjoy it. I’ll see you in the morning.”
Everyone called their good-byes, including Andy. Intending to show him she didn’t care if or with whom he had a date, she glanced up at him through the large lenses of her sunglasses. Though the brim of his hat cast his face in deep shadow, she knew his eyes were riveted on her. “Have fun,” she called brightly, as much for the benefit of her crew as for Lyon.
“I will,” he said firmly, grinning at her sardonically and leaving no doubt in her mind what kind of fun he’d be pursuing. Then he turned his back on her.
The pain in her chest was so severe, she didn’t start breathing again until long after she’d heard his footsteps disappear into the house.
Gracie’s enchiladas, tacos, and guacamole were delicious, but Andy didn’t taste anything. Soon after the food had been demolished, the crew bade her good night and headed toward the bunkhouse, where a rousing poker game was scheduled. She wandered through the house after Gracie refused her offer to help in the kitchen. The general had been in bed for hours. She tried not to think about Lyon and who he was with and what they were doing.
Did he go out regularly? Someone specific? Had he called someone today and made the date for tonight? Would women be willing to go out with him on that short notice? Yes. She would have been. Why hadn’t he asked her out?
The answer to that was painfully simple. All too clearly, he’d demonstrated his dislike. The tenderness with which he’d kissed her that morning in her bedroom had been the result of a mood that would never be recaptured. Once he’d remembered who she was and what she was doing in his house, he’d been filled with self-disgust and bitterness. If he chose to believe her manipulative and grasping, then there was nothing she could do at this point to prove him wrong. Strangely she lacked the energy to try.
At eleven o’clock, after filling the long, lonely hours with daydreams of what could never be, she despairingly climbed the stairs to her room.
And at twelve o’clock she was still wide awake, and she decided to avail herself of the pool after all, hoping that a few brisk laps would exhaust her enough to sleep.
Wearing her discreet bikini, which was nonetheless provocative on her lush figure, she went down the stairs, out the back door, and into the pool. All was dark, and she didn’t turn on any lights.
The water caressed her ankles, calves, and thighs. Then she did a surface dive and swam the length of the pool underwater. Coming up for air, she kicked away from the side and swam with even strokes, back and forth three times. She brought herself to the surface, leading with her chin to pull her hair out slick behind her. Leaning her head against the mosaic tiles just above the waterline, she drew in deep breaths.
Only then did she see Lyon, and her heart, which was already pounding with exertion, accelerated even faster. He was standing at the opposite end of the pool. The sport coat that was hooked over his shoulder by an index finger was tossed into a lounge chair. The necktie was whipped from beneath his shirt collar and he began unbuttoning his s
hirt.
“What are you doing?” she asked on a high, breathless note.
Chapter Seven
What does it look like I’m doing?” The unbuttoned shirt was pulled out of the waistband of his slacks. He worked his feet out of a pair of dress loafers and raised each foot in turn to peel off his socks. Next came the lizard belt; it was whisked through the belt loops and joined the growing heap on the lounge chair. Never for an instant did his eyes leave hers. Even through the darkness she felt their impaling power.
His fingers loosed his trousers with dispatch, and he proceeded to step out of them. Andy, watching his act with stunned disbelief, heard her own breathing as rapid panting.
He folded the trousers and laid them on the back of the chair. His thumbs hooked into either side of his underwear.
“I’m not going to scream, you know,” she said haughtily. She knew that this entire scene had been planned and executed to unnerve her. “I’ve seen a naked man before.”
Unswayed, he said silkily, “You’ve seen me naked before. And I think you liked it. I think you’d like a second look.” The underwear was discarded.
What he’d suggested was true. The second look was better than the first. His broad shoulders narrowed only slightly in the chest, then his long lean trunk tapered to slender hips. His legs, dusted with the same dark hair that covered his chest, were straight and hard, each muscle and tendon honed to perfection by constant, strenuous use.
He did a foolhardy dive off the shallow end and torpedoed under the water the length of the pool until he slowly surfaced inches from her. His hair clung to his head like a snug, dark cap.
He was so dangerously, sexily magnetic that Andy felt compelled to retreat. She bent her knee with the intention of pushing away from the wall and going around him. His arms came up on either side of her, pinning her between the side of the pool and his equally unyielding flesh.
“No, no, Ms. Malone. We’re going to have a little chat.”
“You’re home early. Didn’t your date invite you in for a cup of coffee?” she asked nastily.
“As a matter of fact she did.”
“I’ll bet.”
“But I turned down the refill.”
“A pity.”
“Not exactly,” he drawled. His legs drifted closer to hers. She felt the hairs, like harbingers of caresses yet to come, tickle her skin only a moment before his thighs were rubbing against hers. “I figured why go to all that bother when there’s someone under my own roof ready to do anything for the sake of research?”
His words were spoken softly, but his eyes glittered like slate. Rarely had Andy Malone been afraid. Her self-confidence didn’t leave much room for a weak emotion like that. Cautious, yes. Fearful, no. Now, with Lyon’s hard body radiating anger like a furnace, she was afraid.
“You’re wrong. I’m not ready to do anything with you.”
He laughed without humor. “Oh, yes, you are.” His eyes dropped to her breasts, swelling voluptuously over the top of the bikini. “You’ve been waving the red flag at the bull for days. It’s time you came across.” Before she could stop him, he had thrust his hand beneath the fabric and lifted her breast loose from the material.
“Lyon, no,” she cried softly.
“Yes.” His mouth came down on hers hard, savagely, angrily. His tongue was like a whip, lashing and stinging her mouth everywhere it struck. She tried to twist free, but his hand tangling in her wet hair forbade it. His mouth persisted with that punishing, bruising kiss while the hand on her breast insulted her. Unlike this morning in her room, when his touch had been almost worshipful, he fondled her now with careless disdain.
His body closed what small space remained between them, and cemented her to the side of the pool. He forced her thighs apart. From chest to knees he pressed her to him lustfully.
“You’re going to have to do better than this, Ms. Malone. You want to know all my deep, dark secrets, don’t you? Aren’t they worth more to you than one uncooperative kiss? Hm?”
The violation began again. The kiss was harder. He released her hair to slide his hand down her back to her hips, which he molded to his palm as he fastened her body to his. She felt the flat, hair-silky plane of his stomach muscles against her own. His heaving breaths matched her own. And against her middle—oh, God—a hard and insistent pressure that declared him man and her woman.
Despite the violence of the embrace, despite his anger and her wounded spirit, she felt desire beginning to uncoil and snake through her body. She fought it, cursed herself, cursed him for awakening such a treacherous frailty. Yet even as her mind hardened against him, her body softened and became malleable.
He lifted his head immediately when she ceased to struggle. Long, ponderous moments ticked by as he watched her, asking a million silent questions that she answered with sincerity pouring like tears out of her golden eyes, past the wet, spiky lashes. He placed his hands on the deck of the pool and floated the length of his arms away from her, allowing her to escape him if she chose.
She didn’t. All her attention was focused on him. Slowly he inclined his head toward her. Touching only her mouth, he kissed her. Gone was the brutality. He conquered this time, not with force, but with finesse, his tongue an instrument of pleasure that ignited deeply embedded fires as it caressed the inside of her mouth in symbolic penetration.
Her hands came up like a blind man’s to touch the rigid planes of his face, hoping to find the mellow expression that she had seen before. Momentarily he closed his eyes and allowed her fingertips to wander as they would, exploring, examining … loving.
She traced the arch of the sleek black brows, the bridge of the nose, the sensual curve of his mouth. His lips opened and caught a daring fingertip between them. He worried the pad of it with his teeth, then with his tongue. She held her breath as his tongue stroked downward the entire length of her finger and then slid between the base of it and the next one, stroking the sensitive skin. She uttered a small cry, and her body reflexively arched against his. His eyes flew open.
Then he was kissing her again, with hunger tamed by tenderness. His hand found her breasts again, bared now by his swift and careful removal of the bikini top. Her nipples became firm and erect in his palms as he covered her. His caressing fingers rewarded them for their ready response. Gently, gently.
She made no protest when his hand slid beneath the bottom of her bikini and eased it down over her hips. With slow, graceful movements of her legs between his, it floated free. He clasped her nakedness to his. Desire was kept banked for a moment as they delighted only in the feel of each other, contrasting textures, forms.
He released her to hoist himself over the edge of the pool, then extended his hand and helped lift her out of the water. Dripping, he led them into the darkened cabana. They didn’t speak, lest they alert anyone to this midnight tryst. Not that either of them at that moment was ashamed of what was about to happen, only that it was too precious, too private, to share.
He squeezed her hand and then released it. In the darkness he found the large bath sheets stored in the closet. Taking one out, he quickly spread it on the wide lounge in the cool, dark room. She approached him in the dark. He sat on the lounge, took her hand again, and pulled her toward him.
Moonlight was her only garment as he caressed her. The fullness of her breasts, their aroused crests, were admired and adored. His hands encircled her rib cage, and he massaged his thumbs down the furrow between them.
“Appendectomy?” he asked, tracing the thin scar on her abdomen.
“Yes.”
Turning her around, his teeth took a delicate bite out of the side of her waist. Pivoting her again, he kissed her where her spine curved into the small of her back. His mouth opened over the skin lightly sprinkled with white down. He dragged his tongue through it.
“Lyon,” she breathed.
He brought her back around to face him and leaned forward, his mouth hovering over her navel. He delved into it with his t
ongue and found a few drops of water there.
He looked up at her and smiled. “Chlorine never tasted so good.”
She laughed softly and riffled through his hair, which was drying now. Her laughter became short, halting breaths as his kisses continued across her belly to her thighs. This lack of restraint was new to her. Robert had seen her naked, of course, but she never remembered a time when she had stood like this and watched as he adored her nudity. Never had his hands caressed, nor his lips kissed the way Lyon’s were. Nor would she have welcomed such intimacy.
Why then was she standing in tingling excitement and allowing him to do this? Why was her heart expanding with pride in her body, when she’d always been self-conscious about her femininity before? When he lay down and urged her to join him, she didn’t resist, but settled naturally along his length.
“I was watching you swim,” he said as he idly stroked her spine with his fingertips.
“I didn’t see you.” Her palms flattened over the sculptured chest and rotated slowly.
“You weren’t supposed to.” Her lobe was captured by nipping teeth and then laved by a capricious tongue. “I sat perfectly still when I saw you come out.” He groaned when her fingernail skated across one flat, brown nipple.
“Among other things,” he grated as she kept up that blissful torment, “you swim very well.”
“Thank you.”
He kissed her as his hand appreciated the line of her thigh. His mouth was hot and urgent, his tongue probing. Her lips closed around it and sucked gently. He groaned again. “God, Andy.” He lifted his mouth only far enough to tease the corner of her lips with nibbling kisses.
Much as she didn’t want to destroy the kindling desire, she wanted to break down any barriers between them, eliminate any misunderstanding. “Lyon … oh … what are you doing? Are you … touching …”
“You feel so good,” he murmured against her throat.
His gentle manipulations were educating her to a level of sensuality she’d never known before. Throwing inhibitions aside, she moved against his hand. “Lyon, please … wait. I want to explain … ah, Lyon.”
