by Carol Devine
"No. Yes." An agony of indecision stung her. She pulled back, ran her fingers along his jaw and admitted, "I don't want to go."
"Then don't."
Their next kiss was long, hot and hungry. Reason left her. If she hadn't been sitting down, her legs would have folded. A longing sound welled deep in her throat. His matching groan shortened her breath. He broke the kiss long enough to open the door and lift her out of the car.
"Where are you taking me?" she asked breathlessly.
"You tell me." When she didn't immediately answer he nuzzled her neck. "I wasn't lying this morning. I've wanted you from the moment I first laid eyes on you. Now tell me what you want."
"How can I? I never do crazy things like this."
"You do now."
He grinned down at her and she couldn't help but laugh, ready to burst with a lightness which threatened her heart.
"I love that sound. Reminds me of wind chimes."
"And you remind me of the devil. A very tempting devil."
"Do devils say 'please'?" His lips sought her ear and whispered, "Please stay, Mandy. Let me make love with you."
The huskily spoken words shivered through her limbs like a breeze through the branches of a tree. She tilted her head back and he followed the curve of her throat, brushing it with more whispers. Her arms tightened around his strong neck.
All her life she'd done the right thing, the careful thing. Just once she wanted to be like everyone else, to explore passion with a man who made her want to forget about what happened in the past or what might happen in the future. Now was what mattered.
She raised her head, sought his eyes, nodded and smiled.
He whirled in a circle, finding her mouth somewhere in the dizzying ride. She melted, spinning, though he still held her close to his chest. He carried her across the yard, up the steps and into the house. His speed took her breath, spurring her to urgency. When he set her on her feet in the front hall, she rubbed at his shirt, needing to feel his chest. He bent his knees and ducked his head and she drew off the shirt, wrapping her hands in the warm jersey. Looping her arms around his neck, she rubbed the inner fleece of the shirt over his shoulders while they kissed, trading breaths and tongues.
Emboldened, she dropped the shirt and let her hands run down his arms. Greedy fingers explored his shape, roaming his biceps, then his torso. Ribs rippled under her palm while her thumb grazed a flat hard nipple. He inhaled sharply and covered her hand with one of his own, pressing it there in place. Beneath the warm satin skin, his heart thundered.
She drew back and smiled, feeling power. He smiled, too, and laced his fingers around the back of her neck. "You're playing with fire," he said.
"Burn me," she whispered .
His fingers tightened and he pulled her close, forcing her to meet him face to face. He thrust his tongue deep into her mouth and she gripped his arms to keep from falling. Lord, he was strong. Touching him inspired such fantasy. Bobby pins fell like rain and he gathered her escaping hair in his fists.
She pressed her body flat against his length and moaned.
He smothered the sound and grasped her hips, lifting her. Loosened hair fell down her back in a flood. One of his hands burrowed beneath her jacket and pulled the tail of her blouse from her skirt. The incredible heat of his fingers caused her to gasp and break off the kiss. Frantic, she shrugged off her jacket .
"Let me," he said and before the sleeves were all the way down, he captured her around the waist, her wrists and hands imprisoned within the sleeves of the jacket bunched behind. Her shoulders were thrown back and her breasts stood out, exposing the outline of her bra beneath the pale silk blouse. He smiled wickedly and traced the outline of lace with his finger, following it across the front of her chest. Her nipples immediately hardened and she was helpless to stop him when he dipped his head to kiss her there. Through the silk and lace, his breath heated her softest flesh, causing her knees to buckle. She swayed and struggled to free her hands, wanting her clothes off. Now.
"Help me," she said.
"Help you what?" he asked and used his teeth to nip through her shirt. The layers of fabric took away the sting and heightened the eroticism of what he was doing to her. Her objective abruptly changed. She ripped her hands from her sleeves and caught his head to draw him closer to her breast.
She thought she might die when he suckled her through silk and lace. Her clothes weren't even off yet.
His other hand came up to palm her other breast through the loosened blouse. Her breathing became shallow, shortened by anticipation. Her nipples ached, the press of heat a torment against the lace bra imprisoning them. Intoxicated by the feeling, she offered more of herself, unwilling to hold anything back. The offer went beyond desire or need. It dared, expanding what she knew she was capable of, beckoning her into a profound leap of faith.
She loved him. Loved him without care to what her family might think or what her mother would say. Loved him without thought to how the world would view their relationship. Loved him because he was kind and generous and strong and made a mean corned beef sandwich. But most of all she loved him because he brought out the best in herself.
"Bram?"She pulled back to look at him.
"What, Mandy?" His hand reached to touch her cheek. The pads of his fingers traced her skin and shaped her nose, finally pausing to curl under her chin.
"I couldn't admit it before. But now I need to tell you so you know. I want to make love with you, too," she said.
He searched her expression, struck by the certainty in her voice, the candor in her eyes. He liked honesty. Especially hers. She came to him without conditions, without promises. He understood how difficult that was for her. Maybe that was why his arousal was like nothing he'd ever felt. It went beyond the physical.
His hands were shaking so he plunged them into her hair, drawing her up for the kiss. He wanted to taste her, smell her, feel her around him all at once.
She pressed closer and the rub of silk against his bare skin stole his breath. He urged her mouth to part and took her tongue between his teeth, then invited her to do the same. She did and he lost more sanity, the fever in his blood like flame.
He gasped and broke the kiss to stare at her, his hands a frame for her face. She raised languorous lids, yet her eyes were bright with passion, blue as a summer sky. She touched his cheek, letting a wayward finger trace the permanent crease etched alongside his mouth. Her thumb caressed his chin and followed his jaw line. When she reached his shaggy hair, she combed it back with her fingers and smiled with a dazzling joy.
The smile undid him. It gripped his heart, intense as the flame, only deeper. He'd never thought himself a man to lose his head. Not anymore. Yet here he stood shaken, humbled by a feeling so strong, he dare not reveal it. Instead he made a silent promise that he would do this right or not at all.
"I'm taking you upstairs to bed," he said.
She nodded, then gasped when he scooped her up into his arms. When they reached the bedroom, he set her upright and clasping her hand, pressed her palm to the middle of his chest. The swiftness of his heartbeat widened her eyes. "For you," he whispered. "My heart beats like that whenever I'm near you."
Amanda sucked in a sharp breath. She'd expected him to take her without words, without preamble. She pressed an impulsive kiss into the center of his chest. His scent reminded her of the smell of sun-warmed earth. Solid. Real. She closed her eyes and felt him move to gather her within the circle of his arms. There she stayed, overwhelmed by a sensation she couldn't name. Awe was part of it. And arousal. Beyond that, she couldn't think. All she could do was feel.
Her arms curved over his broad back. She felt him rest his chin on the crown of her head, felt the hard evidence of his desire rub against her belly. A picture of how the two of them must look came to her. He, dark and tall. She, pale and blonde. Amanda opened her eyes, aware that the bedroom was flooded with daylight. There was no darkness to hide behind, no night to cloak the imperfect
ions of her body. What if he didn't like bony hips and small breasts? Suddenly she wished to be perfect, as he was to her. Wished it with an poignancy which led her to confess on a deep, painful breath, "I'm afraid I'll disappoint you."
"Impossible. "His arms tightened around her. "Don't you know how beautiful you are?"
He called her beautiful. Self-consciousness notwithstanding, she wanted to be that for him. She gathered her courage and stepped backward, trembling inside. Kicking off her shoes, she began a slow and deliberate stripping of her clothes.
Despite the show of confidence, shedding her blouse was difficult. She raised her arms to reach the pearl buttons running down from the back of her collar. Fumbling a little, she laid them all open. Cool air touched her spine, raising goose bumps on the exposed skin.
His gaze swept downward before returning to her face.
Encouraged, she smiled shyly and, without taking her eyes off him, bowed her shoulders. The silk blouse and lacy bra fell forward, whispering down her arms. She let the material float to the floor and waited, her knees like jelly.
He offered his hands. She took them and his firm hold absorbed her trembling. Wide-eyed, she watched him draw her arms toward his head and kiss the inside of each wrist, then the inner joint of each elbow. When her arms were fully stretched overhead, he opened his hands and stroked downward, his smile lazy. Amanda arched, purring like a contented cat. A delicious jolt lit through her when his thumbs brushed over her nipples.
"You like?" he whispered.
"I like," she answered, reveling in the huskiness of his voice. He sounded as affected as she felt. Emboldened, she stretched provocatively. His thumbs pressed the hard centers of her softest flesh. Moaning, she tilted back and let her hair brush the middle of her back. He cupped and stroked, making her swell in hidden places. She forgot to breathe, the rub of cool air and hot palms was so intoxicating.
She reached and slipped her hands into his jeans, taking them down. Shifting muscle flowed beneath her palms. He possessed strength like she'd never experienced. She wondered what it was like to wield, to possess a power few could match.
He stepped from his clothes while she slipped off her skirt and panties. He led her to the bed and laid down. Reaching, he measured her waist with his hands and drew her on top. Reverence lit his eyes as he guided her down to cover him. Suddenly she was glad that it was morning, glad that the room was flooded with light. She saw things with a clarity she'd never before possessed.
He wasn't intimidated by her ambitions, her forthrightness or her family name. She came to him as an equal, if not in size, then in spirit. For the first time she understood what making love, woman to man, truly meant.
Chapter Twelve
That afternoon they lay entwined together on Bram's huge bed. Amanda snuggled at his side, her cheek pillowed by his shoulder while he stroked her warm spine, supple in the aftermath of love making.
"You're going to be late for your meeting," he said.
"Mmm-mm ."
"Very late."
"Mmm-mm."
"Maybe too late."
She propped her chin on his chest, reveling in this newfound laziness and smiled sleepily. "So late maybe I shouldn't bother showing up. I suppose I'll have to make up the class the next time it's offered."
"I can't argue with that," he said, brushing damp curls from her flushed face.
"Trouble is," she said, drawing circles on his chest with a wayward finger. "I'm not sure if I'm wanted elsewhere."
"You need an invitation?"
She nodded. Without taking his eyes from hers, he rolled her on top of him. "Now what do you think?"
"Mr. Masterson," she murmured and paused to wiggle provocatively. "I think you know how to make a woman feel welcome."
The next morning, half wakened, Bram reached for her from across the bed, wishing to curl around her long-limbed body and burrow his face in the nape of her neck. His hand came up empty and his foot too, when he extended it to reach the nether regions of the huge bed. He sat up then, blinking away sleep and spotted her wristwatch and a pair of simple gold earrings on the nightstand. The alarm inside him eased. A woman wouldn't leave without her jewelry.
Standing, he pulled on some shorts and started his search. He went to the kitchen first, reasoning she might be hungry. He certainly was. He'd have to eat something soon, preferably something from the four basic food groups. All other appetites were well sated.
The kitchen was empty, although several cabinet doors were open. She'd found his stash of Fig Newtons. The package was on the counter, the top ripped off. A good half dozen were gone. A half-full glass of milk sat next to it. He drank what remained and grabbed a couple cookies for himself. "Mandy?" he called.
He checked the adjoining living room, half expecting her to be curled up in his chair, covered in cookie crumbs. She wasn't. He poked his head into the only other room on the main floor, his weight room, although he hadn't gotten around to showing it to her yet. It spanned the width of the house, one wall entirely windows. What he saw outside brought him to a standstill.
Mandy was playing. Playing with Tasha.
Her hair tumbled around her shoulders, swinging and golden in the sunlight. She wore a blue terrycloth robe belted loosely around her waist. His robe, he realized. It hung past her knees and she'd rolled up the sleeves. They flapped around her wrists, emphasizing the delicacy of her build. Most surprising of all, she was barefoot.
She ran lightly upon the cropped grass, dragging a thick nylon rope along the ground so Tasha could track it. When the tigress pounced on the knotted end, Mandy yanked it forward and Tasha happily followed, batting the rope with a giant paw. Mandy laughed and the pure joy in the muffled sound made Bram draw closer and press his hand on the window glass.
He stood transfixed by the drama between tiger and woman, power and innocence. By her very nature, Tasha was a predator. Even declawed and partly deaf, she could inflict serious damage with a single leap. He'd never fully understood exactly what it was that kept her instincts at bay. Now he knew. He recognized the eloquent power which kept Tasha's ferocity contained because it was the same force which threatened his own heart.
Love.
Mandy paused, poised on her toes, the rope coiled in her hand. Tasha obediently crouched. Mandy threw her arm up and the rope sailed high into the air. Tasha sprang, her long body stretched, paws spread wide. Midflight, she snagged the end and twisted to land lightly on her feet. Mandy clapped, obviously delighted, her smiled tipped and glowing.
She was so beautiful. Not only on the outside but on the inside. The desire he felt for her transcended experience. He wanted to love her and not just with his body. In watching her, hearing her, holding her, knowing her, he cradled a gift, one he needed to unwrap slowly, one he wished to cherish fully. It would take more than a moment. It would take a lifetime.
Bram swallowed. The hot play of sunshine angled through the window and burned the realization that he loved her deep within. He didn't know if she felt the same, didn't know if she even could. They were from two different worlds. What happens when worlds collide? he mused. Loving Mandy was worth finding out.
He drew back from the window, planning strategy. Talk about campaigns. This one would test all his strength, all his ingenuity. Life with Amanda Tarkenton would be a challenge and not just because of the sparks which flew between them. She needed a man who wouldn't be intimidated by her high-powered career or family. She needed a man who understood what fame meant, someone she could depend on when the demands of public life spilled into her private one.
Because spill it would. They were both celebrities. His own success had given him a taste of the fishbowl life. He had enough experience to know what lay in store. But that gave him an advantage. He knew exactly what he was getting into. Mandy wouldn't have to hold his hand. She had better things to do with her time.
Like playing with tigers.
And following in her father's footsteps.
He
decided to move fast, sweeping her off her feet figuratively as well as literally. Patience was not his strong suit. Once he started wrestling again, he wouldn't have time for extended courtship. Given her dedication to her work, neither would she.
He flung open the back door and let out a Tarzan yell. She giggled and waved when she saw him, inspiring him to pound his naked chest like a wild man. Tasha, reading his signal for a new game, picked up the rope in her powerful jaws and dragged it backwards .
"Grab the other end," he shouted.
Mandy took up the challenge and hauled on the knotted end, but her strength was no match for the tiger in a tug of war. Bram caught her waist before she lost her balance and placed his grip above hers on the rope, adding his considerable weight to the human side of the equation. The front of Tasha's body lowered and her hindquarter s rose, finding purchase on the grass.
She shook her head from side to side as if to say, is this the best you two can do?
Bram set his feet in a broad stance, answering with a long and steady pull. Mandy followed his lead and leaned back in earnest. Legs tangling and arms straining, they slowly dragged the tiger forward.
Tail lashing, Tasha clamped down on the rope and pulled back. Her eyes glowed with savage delight and she retreated, inch by inch. The rope slipped in Bram's hands. He tightened his grip and closed his eyes to concentrate, relishing the feel of Mandy's body near his, partnered in the same battle.
"I don't know how much longer I can hold on," she gasped.
"Tasha won't give up," Bram panted. "She hasn't lost yet."
The rope slipped again, knocking their hands together. Bram let go and took the brunt of their fall to the earth, cushioning Mandy's body as they landed on the grass. Triumphant, Tasha trotted away with the rope dangling from her jaws.
"Like the cat who swallowed the canary," Mandy said, struggling to sit up.
