by Ann Major
She heard the harsh intake of his breath.
“Don’t worry about me.”
A trembling weakness was spreading through her body. “What if I can’t stop myself?”
“Your family, chere...”
She caressed his rough cheek with a fingertip. “They don’t own me.” Her voice was slow, husky, as if with sleep. Her lips kept teasing his skin.
“They damn sure did in the past.”
He was on fire. She could feel him shaking everywhere his body touched hers. He wanted her. She knew he did.
“Noelle...” he moaned softly, still determined to resist her.
But she wouldn’t let him go when he tried to pull away. “I’m sorry for always making your life harder.” Never had she behaved with such boldness. “From now on, I want to make it easier.”
He swore inaudibly, but she sensed the beginning of his defeat. His hand had become entangled in her hair. He drew her head back.
There was a long moment of charged silence while he hesitated.
She touched him, sliding a hand down from his throat over the matted hair of his chest. Lower, lower, until his breath came in harsh gasps.
Suddenly she felt his mouth, hard and hot on hers, twisting, hungry, devouring. An agony of mutual need and loneliness were in the urgency of that ravaging kiss. Thrilled, she opened her mouth as his tongue thrust deeply inside. He was bruising her lips, her arms, hurting her, crushing her body into his, but she didn’t care. She remembered all the pain, all the despair he’d caused her, but it didn’t matter. More than anything she had ever wanted in her short, pampered life, she wanted his fierce lovemaking tonight.
A shiver shot through her like icy fire as he fumbled with the buttons of her dress. She tried to help him, but her dress only shredded beneath their impatient fingers.
“If you aren’t more careful, I’ll be sending you home naked tomorrow, chere,” he muttered, nuzzling her breasts with his mouth until they grew taut with pleasure, then trailing hot kisses down to her belly.
She half realized, half feared she’d lit a fire in him that had raged out of control. Her boldness evaporated. “There hasn’t been anyone...ever...except you.”
“Cut the lies,” he muttered ruthlessly. “You were always fickle.”
“No...”
“Once I might have believed that. Do you think I care—now?” The angry words were groaned feverishly as he kissed her with long drugging thoroughness.
“Don’t kiss me there,” she whispered.
“Chere, you’re with me. I’m going to kiss you everywhere.”
As his mouth slid lower, his hand teased her legs open.
“There really hasn’t been...”
His hand was inside her, caressing her, turning her senses to flame. “I told you no lies, chere. You want this as much as I do. Just don’t try to make it into something it isn’t.” His angry voice was soft, southern, very French.
Then his mouth pressed against hot wet woman flesh, and a burning heat radiated through her, its source centered on that intimate place where Garret’s mouth was lodged.
Panicked, desperate with the need to escape him if he really believed she was as low as he said, she pushed at him. “No...you’re wrong about me.” Her silken hair was crushed and pulling painfully beneath her twisting head. “Please, let’s talk first...”
Even as she protested, his mouth persuaded her with his fierce expertise to stop fighting him.
Soon she was no longer capable of rational thought, no longer capable of resisting. What he was doing aroused waves of unbelievable pleasure. He kissed her until she was quivering at the point of ecstasy. Until her body was molten flesh against his mouth. Only then did he stop and readjust his great body on top of hers. She caught her breath, afraid to move, spellbound by the exquisite torture of being covered by his lean-muscled sprawl.
Suddenly she felt him tense. When he leaned across her, opened a drawer, fumbled with a foil wrapper, she wanted him too badly to try to stop him.
Slowly, with difficulty, he entered her. She arched her back, stiffening. She was tight from two years of abstinence. She bit her tongue to keep from making a sound.
But he knew.
She felt him start in astonishment.
“There hasn’t been anyone since I left Louisiana and came back,” she murmured.
He became still. “Why not? Doing without was hardly your style before.”
She twisted her face away. A tense silence enveloped them.
“So you learned your lesson after all the uproar?” His low voice was a husky murmur as his callused fingertip traced the path of a tear. “I find that hard to believe. You were even two-timing me with Raoul.”
“No…but there’s no use arguing with you. You wouldn’t listen before.” She lapsed into silence. She had paid with her heart and soul because he hadn’t listened, with her baby’s life and nearly with her own. He was as determined as ever to believe the worst of her. The strangest thing of all was that she could still want him, more than ever, that she could still hope, that maybe someday he would believe in her as he once had.
He touched her cheek tenderly.
She ran her fingers delicately over his shoulders and down to his waist, lingeringly over his sinewy muscles. After a long time he moved against her again, but more gently, kissing her lips long and tenderly, until she was reveling in the hard rhythm of his body moving on hers, until never had she felt such intense, mind-dazzling delight as his sweating muscled body straining with hers.
This was what she had wanted the whole time she’d been in exile.
Only she hadn’t known it, hadn’t dared to admit it even secretly to herself. Not till he’d come into her shop and taken her in his arms.
His hands were closed around her waist, lifting her so that she fitted him even more tightly. His mouth clamped over hers with a tearing groan. Noelle felt a wave of something glorious building, something hot and vital exploding inside her, and she cried out against his mouth.
Her joy brought his, and he buried himself inside her one last time, shuddering as he held on to her.
“I love you,” she whispered. “I don’t want to, but I do. You’re stubborn, blind, macho. Everything is black-and-white with you. You’re always on the defensive because of my family and my money. You’ve never believed in me. I nearly died... But I still love you.”
She felt him tense. “I don’t mind the insults, but for God’s sake, leave the past and the love bit out.” He said nothing more as she drifted into sleep in his arms.
Only vaguely was she aware of him letting her go some time during the night. Of him arising. Of him leaving her abruptly to sleep alone.
*
The rich aroma of gumbo simmering on Garret’s stove filled the house. Cooking was a pain, but it was something a man had to do if he lived alone. His Cajun mama had cooking in her blood. She’d taught him how. Maybe that was why he hated it—because he’d done too damn much of it.
Garret had a headache from the whiskey and a queasy feeling in his gut, but it wasn’t his headache or his stomachache that was bothering him as he scrubbed the floor furiously where he’d tracked in mud.
Dammit to hell! He should have shown more control last night, but the minute Noelle had touched him, he’d lost his head. Dear God, she’d been good, the first good thing in a long time.
I love you, she’d said.
How could she say that now? But those words, her sweet trusting voice had haunted him all night long.
She was still the same damn liar she’d always been. She still clung to her story that he was wrong about Raoul, and for some reason Garret almost believed her. And that only proved one thing—that Garret Cagan was the same gullible fool he’d always been when it came to Noelle Martin.
He wasn’t going to think about it, about her. It was wrong how wonderful she’d felt. A betrayal somehow. Last night was a mistake. Nothing more. She’d come to his house, crawled into his bed. He’d only g
iven her what she’d begged him for. That was all she’d ever wanted from him. He owed her nothing. Nothing. As soon as she woke up, he had to get rid of her, fast, this time for good.
But it seemed he couldn’t keep himself from thinking [JO35]about her. He couldn’t stop remembering how sweet she’d been. How sexy. He remembered how soft and lush her breasts had been when he’d fondled them with his palms. She had the smoothest, warmest flesh—everywhere. Why couldn’t he stop thinking of her lying on the other side of that door, alone in his bed? Why couldn’t he stop thinking about how good it would feel to slide in beside her and take her again?
The seconds ticked by like hours.
How long was she going to sleep anyway?
After she’d seduced him, he’d spent the rest of the night on his couch without blankets. It had been a cold and comfortless bed, with the buttons of the cushions digging into his bare skin, with his thoughts turning constantly to her. But since his sheets, pillows and blankets were all in the bedroom where she’d been sleeping, he hadn’t dared go after them for fear he would succumb to the temptation of getting into bed with her again.
Damn. Two more hours passed. He worked all morning, and still she didn’t get up. He finished making the gumbo. He cleaned up the pirogue and the dock, washed his truck. But the whole time he thought only of her. It was almost noon when he decided to force the issue.
He opened his bedroom door with anger in his heart, but his throat constricted at the sight of her. There she was, her lush body curled innocently into a ball, her knees tucked up to her chest, her tousled hair spread across his pillows like silken flames. It was the childlike position Louis always slept in. She looked young and vulnerable and yet more gloriously beautiful than he had ever imagined.
Noelle naked—all curves, pale skin, and long, slender legs. He could not help but admire the voluptuous swell of her hips, the graceful thighs, the narrow waist, all the charms that only last night had been his. He wanted nothing more than to go to her, to caress the gently curving back, to feel the warmth of her skin, to know the exquisite joy of her melting into him again. And he despised himself for being such a weak bastard.
Why couldn’t she have been poor? Then her family would have looked up to him.
He banged the door shut behind him. She jumped up, startled, fear in her eyes until she recognized him. She smiled drowsily, her eyes lit with a gentle, trusting joy. She didn’t bother to cover her naked body that was completely exposed to his gaze. There were black marks on her neck. Another bruise on her shoulder.
His stomach tightened as he remembered what an animal he’d been.
“Did I hurt—”
Damn stupid question. Of course, he’d hurt her. He’d been so hungry for her, he’d been rough as hell. He felt remorse at that.
“I’m sorry. I never meant for any of it to happen,” he said. Despair made his voice harsh. “It was a mistake.”
Her face whitened. She tried to speak, but no words came out. Enormous golden eyes stared at him with quiet hurt.
He couldn’t stand that look in her eyes, so he went to his closet, ripped one of his work shirts off a hanger, and threw it at her.
“Here, put that on, for God’s sake.”
Though it was the hardest thing he had ever done, he forced his eyes back to her tortured face. He watched her as she fumbled to cover herself with his shirt. Half-dressed, with her tumbled hair and immense eyes, she seemed even sexier than before. She kept brushing her tangled hair off her face with her hand, but the thick, unruly waves kept falling back.
His pulse began beating abruptly in his throat.
“Noelle...”
She looked up at him and then flushed crimson, seeming breathless, flustered, suddenly embarrassed.
As embarrassed as he was. Why couldn’t he stop thinking about what they’d shared?
“About last night,” he began awkwardly.
“Don’t,” she whispered.
“What?”
“Don’t ruin it,” she began in a faint, whispery voice. “You don’t have to tell me to go. I know you didn’t want me. Not really. There’s no need to despise yourself for what happened. It wasn’t your fault. I—I never meant for it to happen, either. I just came out here because I was worried about you.”
“You told me that last night.”
“I don’t blame you if you don’t believe me,” she said.
“It was my fault,” he muttered angrily, feeling responsible, not wanting to.
She lifted her chin. “And I won’t come back. You don’t need to worry about me throwing myself at you again.”
Odd, how her pride, how her putting it like that, how her acceptance made everything so much more difficult.
“Okay.”
She stood, looking rumpled and unbelievably sexy in his shirt, which fell only halfway to her knees. If only she’d stop blushing every time he glanced at her.
He felt a surge of wild excitement.
She picked up her torn dress.
All he saw was white silk flowing against scarlet fingernails. She had beautiful hands. It was impossible not to remember how soft they were when she caressed him.
“Hey, you can’t go home in that.”
At the sound of his voice, she jumped. The dress slid through her fingers.
She leaned down to pick it up. He bolted to retrieve it at the same time.
“Your father would kill me if...”
Their hands touched.
They both froze.
Their faces lifted and Garret found himself once more staring into her marvelous golden eyes, this time at close range. They were deep and clear, luminous, nervously elegant eyes, dramatically dark centered and black-lashed, fiery with some unfathomable emotion. The memories of last night, of other nights, were provocatively vivid in his mind. Remembering her passion, her extraordinary sensuality, and his manhood stirred with new life.
For two years he’d told himself he’d rather be dead than ever get involved with her again.
Well, she was here, and he was involved. For the first time in two years, being alive felt almost good.
There was a long moment of silence.
Dammit! If he didn’t get rid of her, and quickly, it was going to happen all over again.
Ruthlessly he shoved her away from him. “You got what you wanted last night, chere. Get something out of my closet. Anything. Just get dressed and get out of my life! I don’t want you here. Last night didn’t change anything!”
But he was wrong, and deep in his bones he knew it.
She gulped in a long, shuddering swallow of air. “For your information I’m sorry about last night, too! Sorrier than I’ve ever been about anything!” Then she ran blindly into the bathroom and slammed the door.
He was in his den feeling like the worst and most loathsome heel ever when she came out of his bedroom nearly an hour later. He pretended to read a newspaper, but the printed words were a meaningless blur.
She was wearing a pair of his jeans, rolled up at the cuffs and his oversized shirt. He didn’t look up, so he didn’t see her go over to his stove until it was too late. She grabbed his hot pads.
“Not my gumbo!” he cried, leaping out of his chair, knocking it over, and then stumbling over it. Newspaper pages went flying.
She took the lid off the pot and splashed the gumbo into the sink just as he limped into the kitchen.
“Damn your gumbo!”
She dropped the pot into the sink with a clunk. Then she turned, lifted her chin and stared straight into the blaze of his black eyes, daring him to do something about her outrageous behavior.
He hated cooking. It was so much trouble. He’d fished all night for those crabs and fish. He’d burned the roux once and had to start over. She was so rich and spoiled she was used to sleeping until noon. She’d probably never cooked a damn thing in her life. All of his frustrations became centered on that pot of gumbo gurgling down the sink. He had an overpowering impulse to hurt her, t
o punish her as if she were a child.
“I ought to beat the hell out of you for that!” he yelled.
She glared back at him. “Why don’t you, then?”
His eyes darkened as they took in the flaming disarray of her hair, the satiny texture of her skin. His gaze trailed down the length of her throat. Too much skin. He could see the shadowy place between her breasts. She wasn’t wearing a bra. And why the hell hadn’t she buttoned her shirt all the way up?
Dammit. He didn’t dare touch her.
Because if he did, he wasn’t sure he could stop. He felt a treacherous, unforgivable excitement rising in him. His entire body was shaking. Why did she arouse such uncontrollable passions in him? Hate? Desire? Other unwanted emotions, too.
He knew that what he wanted more than anything was to seize her, to slam her against the kitchen counter and make love to her.
“Just get out,” he muttered in a voice that sounded hard and filled with hate.
“I’m going as fast as I can, you ungrateful snake. I wish I’d never known you. All you’ve ever been to me is heartache. Because of you, I hurt my family. I wish I’d never come out last night to try to help you. Never crawled into your bed again, as you so nastily put it. I hope they take away your gun.I hope they take away your badge...and...”
“I get the picture.”
“But as much as I hate you,” Noelle whispered, “I am sorry about Louis. I never meant to hurt him.”
She turned away.
“You think saying that makes it okay, don’t you?” His pulse was pounding with anger and with some other emotion he didn’t want to put a name to.
He heard the door bang. He heard her footsteps, light and swift, as she raced across his porch. A car door slammed. And suddenly he didn’t want her to go.
A minute later he ran out of his house yelling her name. “Come back here, damn you!”
She was already in her car, with her tinted windows rolled up and all her doors locked.
For one instant their eyes met. His face was a dark mask of anger. Her eyelids fell. He saw a single tear glistening on her cheek. She seemed to be taking a great interest in her dashboard.
