Fire And Ice

by Diana Palmer

  She managed a shaky laugh, her face fiery with the fever he’d kindled in her body, her eyes blazing with it. “It’s…a public beach,” she reminded him.

  He searched her eyes. “More’s the pity.” His gaze dropped to his chest, where her fingers were gently exploring his corded muscles.

  “You wanted to do this on the boat, didn’t you?” he asked quietly.

  “Yes,” she admitted, watching his chest rise and fall heavily under the gentle pressure of her fingers. She loved the feel of him, the male scent of him.

  He glanced back down the beach to find that Jan and Andy had gone out beyond the surf and were swimming away from the beach together.

  “Finally,” he groaned. “A minute’s grace.”

  He rolled over toward her, his hand on her stomach as he bent and took her mouth under his in a smooth, easy motion.

  She pushed at his shoulders, but he lifted his head and shook it gently. “They aren’t looking right now,” he whispered. “Let’s enjoy it while it lasts.”

  As he spoke his hand moved up between her breasts. While he watched her, his fingers eased under the elastic fabric in a slow, sensuous exploration that caused her to catch her breath and arch helplessly, wanting him to touch her with more than that light, tormenting pressure.

  His mouth was poised over hers. “Do you want it?” he breathed softly.

  “Please,” she whispered, her fingers hovering nervously over his, barely touching.

  “Help me, then,” he breathed into her mouth as he took it again.

  Her fingers guided his, her shoulder moving to ease the pull of the fabric. She felt his hand engulf her, skin touching skin, his palm against the hard, taut rise, and she cried out, the sound taken and swallowed by his mouth as it became suddenly possessive, devouring hers in a wave of pleasure that made her tremble from head to toe.

  A minute later, he drew back, his eyes almost black with frustration, and looked over his shoulder. Andy and Jan were just turning back toward the shore, and Cannon said something that sounded like a fervent curse.

  He looked down at Margie, at his hand touching her white flesh where he’d pulled the bathing suit to one side. His hand was dark against her paleness, and he lifted it just slightly, stroking her, his eyes apparently fascinated by the helpless reaction of her body to his touch.

  “They’ll see,” she protested unsteadily.

  “I won’t let them,” he said softly. His eyes moved back up to hers. “I take back every word I said about you that first night. The last thing in the world you need is a padded bra. You’re perfect.”

  She flushed at the adoration in his eyes, at the feel of his fingers stroking her so intimately.

  “Look,” he whispered, coaxing her eyes down to her own body, to the darkness of his fingers against her skin.

  She trembled in reaction, her hand catching his, her eyes gently pleading with him.

  “Embarrassed?” he asked gently. “Here.” He drew the bathing suit back in place with quiet reluctance, smoothing the shoulder strap down.

  She couldn’t meet his eyes. She felt like a schoolgirl caught necking with the class hero, and her face burned as she sat up, hugging her knees to her breasts.

  He sat up beside her, reaching for the package of cigarettes and lighter beside the bundle of towels on the sand. He lit one with steady fingers as Jan and Andy came running up beside them.

  “Gosh, that was fun.” Jan laughed, reaching for a towel to dry her hair.

  “I could do with a sandwich now,” Andy said as he dried his torso with a towel. “Anyone else feeling hungry?”

  “I am,” Cannon said with a dry laugh, but only Margie knew what he meant. “Let’s see if we can raid the refrigerator before Nina starts on supper.”

  “But you two haven’t gone in yet,” Jan pointed out.

  “We had better things to do,” Cannon said as he helped Margie up.

  “Now they’re suspicious,” Margie murmured as they followed the younger couple down the beach.

  “Isn’t it a good thing they weren’t wearing binoculars a minute ago?” he murmured, grinning at the expression on her face.

  “I wasn’t afraid,” she murmured after a moment. “A little embarrassed, yes; it’s never been like that for me. But I wasn’t afraid.”

  He stopped, turning her toward him, and linked his hands around her waist. His dark eyes searched hers for a long time. “You’re not frigid,” he said softly. “And I can get rid of every one of those scars, if you’ll let me.”

  “I know,” she admitted. Her eyes dropped to his wide, chiseled mouth. “It’s just that it’s happening so quickly….”

  He touched his finger to her mouth, silencing the words. “I’ll give you time to get used to me first,” he said. “I won’t take more than you want to give.”

  But she wanted to give him everything, and she was only just realizing it. She turned and fell into step beside him without replying. But her hand, in his, tightened.

  * * *

  Margie had wondered how she was going to keep her eyes away from Cannon that evening—so that the family wouldn’t see her helpless interest in him. But fate solved the problem for her. Cannon was invited to a banquet that night—one he’d apparently forgotten until some woman with a sexy voice called to remind him.

  Margie had answered the phone, being the closest one to it, and her eyes followed Cannon while he spoke to the caller. His expression hadn’t been one of pleasure, but his deep lazy voice had a different pitch to it, a note that spoke of long acquaintance. As soon as he’d hung up he excused himself to go dress.

  Jan and Andy had decided to take in a movie and were already gone when he came back down. Victorine was engrossed in her favorite television show, and Margie, lacking anything more pressing, was watching it with her, despite the fact that her book deadline was looming closer by the day.

  “I’ll be getting home late, I’m afraid,” Cannon told his mother as he bent to kiss her cheek. “Don’t wait up.”

  “I wouldn’t dare,” the elderly woman teased. “Who is she, or am I allowed to ask?”

  “Missy Caller,” he said, “and her brother. It’s about that damned Seaside contract we’ve been trying to get—an exclusive on their swimwear fashions.”

  “Surely you can wink at Missy and get anything you want.” His mother laughed.

  He didn’t smile, and his eyes were troubled as they studied Margie’s averted face. “Margie, come outside with me,” he said curtly.

  She glanced at him, uncertain, ignoring Victorine’s pointed stare. “I…”

  He held out his hand. Just that, but it was enough. She got up, mumbled something to Victorine, and let him take her by the hand and lead her out into the sea-scented night air.

  “I don’t want to go,” he said quietly, turning to face her when he reached the car. “If this contract weren’t important, I’d forget the whole damned thing. Despite what Mother said, I have no personal interest in Missy. Only a business one.”

  She looked up at him. “I don’t have any claim on you,” she reminded him.

  “I know. Maybe I want you to have one,” he said surprisingly. He touched her cheek lightly. “We’ll find something different to do tomorrow—someplace where Andy and Jan can’t find us.”

  “It might be better if we didn’t,” she said softly, remembering how vulnerable she’d become with him.

  His dark gaze lanced down at her. He caught her face in his warm hands and held it up to his. “You don’t have a single reason to be afraid of me,” he said shortly.

  “It isn’t that,” she protested weakly. His touch was devastating.

  His thumbs edged toward her full mouth and brushed over it sensuously. “Is your Victorian upbringing raising its ugly head?” he murmured dryly.

  She couldn’t help laughing. “I know. It’s the twentieth century, isn’t it?”

  He bent and gently pressed his mouth against hers, a kiss that was soft and tender and poignant.
“Suppose we let each day take care of itself?” he suggested in a deep, lazy tone. “Besides,” he added, “you’re the one who wrestles me down on beds and forces me to do intimate things to you….”

  “You wicked man!” she breathed in her best stage whisper.

  “Dirty young woman,” he countered, bending his head again. His open mouth brushed against hers. “Damn Missy,” he murmured.

  Margie’s green eyes peered up at him. “Is she pretty?”

  He cocked an eyebrow, studying her shimmering eyes, her long, waving dark hair, her complexion, soft and creamy in the muted light. “Compared to you, no woman is.”

  “You’re not bad, either.” She laughed.

  He drew in a deep breath. “I’d ask you to wait up, but I don’t have any idea when I’ll get home. Suppose we meet at the breakfast table at six?”

  Her eyebrows lifted. “Shall I wear a trench coat?”

  His eyes gleamed. “How about a see-through negligee?”

  Her fist connected with his chest. “Stop that.”

  He grinned. “Why don’t you put on a dress and come with me?”

  She shook her head. “I don’t want to spend my evening watching other women drool over you.”

  The smile faded slowly, and his eyes were shrewd as they searched hers, seeing through the teasing to the truth.

  He caught her by the waist and lifted her up to him so that her lips were level with his. “Kiss me good night and go back in. It’s chilly out here, and you don’t have a wrap.”

  That one expression of concern made her want to cry. Only Jan had ever cared what happened to her. It was new to be worried about. She stemmed the tears by pressing her lips to his, her arms going around to hold him while he kissed her back, slowly, sweetly, endlessly.

  He lifted his head after a minute, his eyes dark and strangely soft. “Good night,” he murmured.

  “Good night,” she whispered.

  But he was already kissing her again, and this time it was neither soft nor brief. When he let her slide back to the ground, she felt as if she were on fire all the way to her toes.

  “I’m going,” he said curtly, “while I still can. ’Night.”

  She stood and watched him until he drove out of the gates.

  Victorine gave Margie a brief, amused glance when she sat back down on the sofa to watch television.

  “He really isn’t attached to Missy,” she offered gently.

  Margie smiled. “I think I’d rip her eyes out if he were,” she admitted with a sheepish grin.

  The older woman laughed gently and reached out to pat her hand. “I’m very glad that you and I get along so well,” she murmured. “You’ll be able to help me find ways to get around Cannon.”

  It was too soon to be thinking that way, but Margie wanted the fiction so badly that she didn’t even offer a protest.

  The program was almost over when the phone rang, and Margie picked it up, surprised to find her agent on the other end of the line.

  “Why aren’t you at home?” he grumbled. “I’ve looked high and low, and I finally got your answering service; the lines had been out…. Anyway—” his tone brightened “—I’ve got great news. Remember Gene Murdock? Well, he wants to talk about a movie contract on your last book, and he’s only going to be in town until late tomorrow. He wants to have you in on the discussion. Can you be in my office by ten in the morning?”

  Seven

  She couldn’t even answer him. Since she’d arrived in Panama City, the book had been the furthest thing from her mind. It seemed in some strange way to belong to another life, not the one she was involved in with Cannon Van Dyne.

  “Uh, in the morning?” she stammered.

  “Feeling okay, love?” He laughed. “Remember who you are? Silver McPherson, author of Blazing Passion, that number one bestseller of the past four weeks…?”

  “Sure, I remember,” she agreed numbly. “Ten o’clock in the morning. Well, if I can get a flight out at seven…I’ll do my best. If I can’t make it, I’ll call you, okay?”

  “Okay. And congratulations! This one looks like a winner. See you!”

  She stared at the receiver in her hand, aware of Victorine’s brief, puzzled gaze. New York in the morning. She’d almost surely have to stay overnight, and just the thought of being away from Cannon that long was torture. What was the matter with her? Once, a movie contract would have been the biggest thing in the world to her, but now it was only a barrier between herself and Cannon—another brick in the wall her deception was building between them. Someday he was going to find out about her notorious profession, and what would he think? He’d be furious that she hadn’t told him the truth, that was certain. And how would her nom de plume affect his very conservative image? She felt a wave of pain so sweeping it brought a mist of tears to her eyes.

  “Are you all right, my dear?” Victorine asked gently.

  Margie started, glancing at her. “Oh, yes,” she said numbly. “It, uh, it was just some business I have to see about tomorrow. Something to do with dividends…” she concluded vaguely, leaving Victorine to draw her own conclusions.

  “Thank goodness I have Cannon to keep up with my finances,” the older woman replied. “And there’s no need to worry about a commercial flight. Cannon will fly you up.”

  “I couldn’t ask him…” Margie began nervously.

  “Of course you can. Now come and watch television with me and don’t worry, dear. Everything will work itself out,” she promised.

  Margie sat back down, but her eyes were troubled. What would she do if Cannon decided to go with her? How would she keep him from finding out why she was going?

  She hardly slept at all, brooding over it. She and Cannon had become so close—so quickly—that she hadn’t had time to come to grips with the problems. Now they were staring her in the face. She no longer had any logical reason for keeping the truth from him. Not one that he’d accept, anyway.

  It didn’t help when Jan came bouncing into her room beaming as she perched herself on the edge of Margie’s bed.

  “Cannon’s flying you to New York this morning,” she burst out. “What is it, something to do with the book?”

  Margie turned over, her eyes smarting from the early morning sun, her head hurting. “Yes,” she mumbled. “A movie contract.”

  “A movie!” Jan burst out. “What kind?”

  “For television,” she managed, dragging herself up. “What time is it?”

  “Six, and what do you mean, glowering like that?” Her sister laughed. “You’re going to be famous!”

  “I don’t want to be famous,” she grumbled. “I wish I’d never written the first book. I wish I were in China!”

  Jan stared at her. “Huh?”

  “Never mind.” She lowered her face to her drawn-up knees. “How in the world am I going to explain to Cannon why I’m going to New York?” she moaned.

  Jan sobered at once. “Now I understand. He’s gotten to you, hasn’t he?”

  Margie laughed weakly. “That’s one way of putting it.”

  Jan moved closer and put a comforting arm around her. “Oh, Margie, and I’m the idiot who begged you not to tell him about Silver McPherson.”

  “It’s okay,” Margie said softly. “It will all work out somehow.”

  Jan drew back, her eyes speculative. “Are you in love with him?”

  The question, put into words, was devastating. Margie felt herself color, her eyes glowing with the answer.

  Jan only nodded. “It was so obvious yesterday. He could hardly take his eyes off you, and you were looking at him as though he were the best part of the menu….”

  “He wants me,” Margie corrected, studying her drawn-up knees. “And as we both know, I have quite a problem in that respect.”

  “No, you haven’t,” Jan argued gently. “Not if you love him. It will all come naturally, you’ll see.”

  “It means a kind of commitment that terrifies me, though. Don’t you see?” Margie gr
ound out. “I’m not the type for one-night stands; I’m not built for them. I can’t give myself just to satisfy a craving!”

  “You little old Victorian, you,” Jan teased softly. “Believe me, if you love him the way I think you do, you won’t be able to say no. Sad, but true.”

  Margie lifted her eyes, and everything she felt was in them. “He snuck up on me.” She laughed. “Oh Jan, I love him until it hurts!”

  “I’m very glad,” her sister said. “I was afraid you were going to make do with writing all your life. It would have been such a terrible waste, Margie.”

  “But how am I going to explain to him what I do for a living?” Margie sighed. “It’s such a mess!”

  “And you’re a worry-wart.” Jan got up. “Come on, you’d better get a move on. Margie…can I ask you just one big favor—the last one, I swear?”

  “You know you can.”

  Jan shrugged. “Would you kind of mention to Cannon that, well, that Andy and I would even be willing to wait a few months—to be away from each other that long—to show him that we’re sure of each other?” She smiled. “And maybe butter him up just a little…?”

  “You wicked child,” Margie accused. She threw back the covers and stood up, stretching. “But, yes, I will talk to him, if he’ll listen.”

  “Ask him when you’re dressed like that,” Jan suggested, indicating the see-through gown. “He’ll listen.” She grinned, and had barely gotten out of the room before the pillow was flung at her.

  Cannon was at the breakfast table with the rest of the family when Margie came in with her suitcase and purse in hand. She put them down inside the doorway, tingling as she felt his eyes take in the immaculate white linen suit she was wearing with a beige blouse and beige accessories.

  “I hear we’re going to New York,” he murmured with a faintly wicked smile that was meant for her alone.

  “I…I could always get a commercial flight,” she stammered, sitting down quickly in the chair he drew out for her.

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” he said. “We’ll take in the sights while we’re there.”

  She glanced at him shyly, reading all kinds of secrets in his dark eyes. “If you’re sure you don’t mind?”