Men Made in America Mega-Bundle

by Gayle Wilson, Marie Ferrarella, Jennifer Greene, Annette Broadrick, Judith Arnold, Rita Herron, Anne Stuart, Diana Palmer, Elizabeth Bevarly, Patricia Rosemoor, Emilie Richards

  She matched him, move for move, her eyes wide, her body taut and fit, measuring itself to his, withdrawing, advancing, in a duel that made him laugh deep in his throat, that made him feel suddenly savagely male.

  He caught her wrists and slammed them down beside her head, and watched her smile, too, as he set the rhythm and slowly increased it. He could see the fierce pleasure he was giving her in the thrashing of her head, the tenseness of her face, the tiny cries that tore out of her.

  He’d meant to be gentle, but it was asking too much. With a sound much like a growl, he closed his eyes and lost himself in her, feeling the ripple, the sudden terrifying tension that built in waves until it suddenly snapped and the world went black around him as he arched up and his voice broke.

  She was crying. He caught his breath and looked at her face, his body tense, still shuddering in the aftermath.

  His body relaxed heavily on hers, and then he saw his hands gripping her wrists and was afraid that he’d hurt her. He released her, and gentle fingers turned her face back to his.

  “Amy,” he whispered softly.

  Her eyes opened, wide and as blue as heaven.

  “Did I hurt you, little one?” He frowned, touching her swollen lips gently. “I didn’t mean to be so rough.”

  “Hurt me?” she managed breathlessly. “I…Worth,” she said hesitantly, “was I…is it normal to feel it, like that, the first time?”

  He felt as if the breath had been knocked out of him. “Did it happen?” he asked gently, and she averted her eyes, coloring delicately, and he laughed. “My God. The first time…”

  “Maybe it’s because I went so long without a man,” she faltered, glancing up at him.

  “Don’t start thinking there’s something wrong with you,” he said gently. He brushed the damp hair away from her eyes, feeling lazy with pleasure as he felt her warm, soft body completely under him, silky skin against his own. “I took a long time, Amy. I made you half crazy before I took you, that’s all. And you were lucky,” he added dryly.

  “It was only for a second,” she said softly, searching his eyes. “But it was like dying, and so exquisite.”

  “The little death,” he said. “Yes. For me, too. Sweet madness. Oblivion.” He bent and kissed her softly. “Sleep with me.”

  “I thought I already had,” she mused.

  “That was loving,” he whispered. “Sleep in my arms. And when I’m rested, and you’re rested, we’ll make love again.”

  Odd that he should call it that, she thought drowsily, when she was sure it was only a physical release for him, only sex. It had been everything for her. A wild kind of union, a joining of souls, a spiritual fusion. She watched him move beside her and the cover was gone, the bed rumpled. She sat up and looked at him, blatantly, watching him grin at her fascination.

  “And you said you couldn’t do it in the light,” he reminded her with a dry smile.

  “I didn’t realize what we were doing,” she confessed. “I never imagined it would feel like that. And you watched me….” She blushed.

  “I had to,” he told her. “I needed to know at the beginning if I was hurting you. I was afraid you might not tell me.”

  “Oh.” Her eyes fell to his chest. “I’ve been afraid of that all my life, afraid that it would be so painful….” She laughed softly. “And I didn’t even realize it was happening until it was all over.”

  “Yes, I noticed,” he teased. “My God, I’ve never had anyone like you,” he whispered, the smile fading as he looked at her. “I did things with you and to you that I’ve never done before. And you laughed, and your eyes were as wild as a storm, and when I held you down you matched me, took me as surely as I took you.” His breath caught in his throat as he looked at her, let his eyes feed on her exquisite nudity. “I expected you to cringe and then grin and bear it. And instead, you devoured me, bewitched me. I don’t think I’ll live long enough to forget tonight.”

  “I’m glad,” she whispered. Her eyes adored him. “Because I’ll never forget it, either.”

  “No regrets?” he asked seriously.

  She shook her head. “No regrets.”

  “Thank God. If I’m drunk, Amy, I don’t want to be sober again.” His hands caressed her, fascinated with her softness. he breathed slowly, but it wasn’t helping. Already, it was happening again.

  Her eyes brightened with a new knowledge, a new confidence. She eased down, shifting so that her body was over his. “Teach me how,” she whispered, and put her mouth over his.

  He made a rough, harsh sound in his throat and his hands reached for her hips.

  The morning came suddenly and too soon, and Amy opened her eyes feeling a new stiffness, an odd new kind of discomfort. Her eyes went instantly to the pillow beside her and her lips parted. There was only a dent in the pillow, but Worth was gone. Worth. She caught her breath. Worth!

  She sat up, and as the covers fell away, she saw her body, with new marks on it, unmistakable marks, and she realized instantly what had happened. She’d slept with him. Not just once, either. Her face went red and she bit her lip. Now what? Everything had changed, and as he’d said himself, there was no going back. She glanced at the clock and was shocked to find that it was already ten o’clock. The surgery would still be going on. She leaped out of bed, grabbed her discarded clothing, dragged it on and hurried to her own room, careful to scout the hall first.

  She showered and dressed in a simple white shirtwaist dress and high heels, left her hair long because she didn’t want to waste time putting it up and ran out the front door without stopping for coffee or even a slice of toast.

  The servants would know where she’d slept. She didn’t know how she was going to face them. Or Worth. Or his grandmother, if Jeanette lived. Jeanette had to live, she prayed. She had to, for Worth’s sake. Did he regret what had happened? She hoped not. Whatever happened now, at least she had the memory of him. She’d cherish it, right or wrong, for the rest of her life.

  Eight

  Worth was alone in one of the waiting rooms in the cardiac intensive care unit. He was smoking like a furnace, and Amelia’s eyes went over him like loving hands, lingering on the broad chest in an expensive mauve knit shirt and his muscular thighs in tailored tan slacks. He looked more handsome than ever, and she knew now what was under his clothing. Her face colored at the memories.

  He looked up and saw her. She expected that he might smile at her, or hold out his hand. He did neither. His eyes were haunted as they looked at her, and all she saw in them was regret.

  She went to him slowly, trying not to look too crushed by what she saw. She sat down beside him, tucking the skirt of her white dress close around her. Not for the world would she let him know how she’d hoped that the night before had been a beginning. Now she knew it had only been a momentary weakness, caused by too much liquor, too much worry, and by her own eager abandon. She wouldn’t think about that, she told herself. It wasn’t the time.

  “Has there been any news?” she asked softly.

  He shook his head and took another draw from the cigarette. “It’s a long operation. Several hours.” He glanced down at her searchingly. He started to say something and then shrugged. “I got here just in time to see Grandmother off.” He smiled faintly. “She was awake and alert and anxious to get on with it. She said to tell you not to go looking for work elsewhere. She’s not about to die and leave you jobless.”

  She laughed and then felt tears sting her eyes. That sounded like her indomitable employer. She lowered her gaze to her clasped hands.

  He muttered something under his breath. “Amy, I suppose I should apologize for seducing you.”

  She glanced up at him and back down again. “I offered,” she reminded him. “There had to be a first time, didn’t there?” she asked evasively. “I’m twenty-eight, after all. It might be my first and last time, you know. I…don’t feel that way with most men.”

  Her eyes searched his, sad eyes, because it had been only one
night and she had hundreds ahead of her that wouldn’t begin and end with him.

  He didn’t look convinced, though, and there was a dark scowl on his face.

  “It’s done,” she said, crossing her legs. “Regrets won’t help now.”

  His face hardened when she said that, but she was staring toward the hall and didn’t see that he’d misunderstood what she said.

  She had to get her mind off it. She stared at the doorway but it only reminded her why they were sitting there, and she frowned. Bypass surgery wasn’t so dangerous these days, but Jeanette was old. And for a long time, it would be touch and go. She wormed her hand closer into his with a sigh. He was smoking madly, and she knew it was nerves. She hadn’t expected that he could be nervous, but perhaps it was a mask, like the one she donned when she was afraid or worried. He seemed invincible, but Jeanette was his Achilles’ heel. What would happen to him if she died?

  Two hours passed, and finally a Red Cross volunteer came in, smiling.

  “Mr. Carson?” she said as Worth stood up. “I thought you’d like to know your grandmother came through the surgery beautifully. She’s off the respirator and breathing nicely on her own. They’ll be moving her into the recovery room shortly. If you watch, you’ll see her go by.”

  Worth laughed softly. “Well, well, and I was sitting here worrying myself prematurely gray.”

  “She’ll be fine,” the volunteer added, and winked.

  “Thanks,” he said.

  “You’re welcome.” She breezed out and Worth sighed heavily. Amy grinned at him, tears in her eyes.

  “She really is tough as old combat boots,” she said on a watery laugh.

  “I’m ready to believe it,” he said.

  Minutes later, Jeanette was wheeled past them on a stretcher, with an IV tube in her arm and a bottle of solution on a pole rolling right along beside her. She looked white as a sheet and she wasn’t moving, but at least, thank God, she was alive.

  The doctor was just behind her. He came in, called Worth to one side and explained what had been done and what Worth could expect. They shook hands, and Worth stretched hugely.

  “He says it will be about seventy-two hours before we can be sure that everything’s going okay,” he told Amelia, reaching down a big hand to help her to her feet. “But the procedure went well and she’s responding exactly as she should. He’s cautiously optimistic.”

  “Now she’ll take up tennis,” she told him with a dry smile. “She was muttering something about it the other day, and complaining because of her age.”

  He burst out laughing. “My God, just don’t encourage her!”

  “Spoilsport,” she chided. “I’ll buy her a tennis racket!”

  “How about something to eat?” he asked. “I think I could manage a sandwich if you could.”

  “Yes, of course.”

  But if she’d hoped they might talk, she was doomed to disappointment. He kept the subjects general. Politics, current affairs, even the South American project he was going to start on. He wouldn’t let the conversation get personal. And then she knew that last night had been something he was uncomfortable about. Perhaps he was afraid she might want commitment, but she was going to show him that he was wrong. Just because she’d made a fool of herself once, she wasn’t going to do it twice. She could be as indifferent about it as he was. So she smiled and talked, and her heart cracked open inside, where he couldn’t see it.

  Later, after Jeanette was moved from recovery into the cardiac intensive care unit, they were both allowed in to see her. She didn’t say anything, and she seemed part of the tangle of machinery that filled the tiny cubicle. All around, there were other unconscious patients with nurses and doctors and orderlies breezing past, doing tests, taking vitals.

  Worth took his grandmother’s frail hand and stared down at her pasty face, with the breathing tube making something foreign of her mouth. “You’re doing great, old girl,” he murmured. “Hang on. Just hang on.”

  There was no response, but Amelia had a feeling that Jeanette had heard him and understood.

  It was after dark before they left the hospital, when he was finally convinced that he couldn’t do much in the waiting room and that he could be reached quickly if anything happened.

  He let Amelia fix him a ham sandwich and then he went into his den to work.

  “It will give me something to do,” he said quietly. He searched her eyes. “You won’t have to lock your door, if you’d been worrying about that.”

  Her eyes flickered as they met his. “Last night was a one-shot deal,” she said curtly. “You needed something and so did I. We’re even.”

  “As you say,” he returned mockingly. “But I appreciate the gift of yourself, regardless of intent. It got me through a rough night.” He took his hands out of his pockets and lit another cigarette. “Tonight, I’ll stick to whiskey. It’s safer.”

  She wanted to hit him, but under the circumstances, that would have been all too cruel. She turned. “Then I’ll turn in. You’ll wake me, if you hear anything?” she asked, remembering vividly the way his grandmother had looked.

  “Of course. Good night, Amy.”

  “Good night.”

  Amelia got out her cotton gown and slid into it, then climbed between the covers with a long sigh. She turned out the lights, remembering how it had been the night before, the wildness of passion making her body burn. Potato chips, she thought miserably, you can’t stop after eating just one. She tossed and turned for what seemed hours.

  She tried counting sheep and forcing her mind to relax, but nothing worked. Glancing at the clock beside the bed, she saw that it was two in the morning. With a long sigh, she stared toward the window, where moonlight was streaming in. She wondered how Jeanette was, and if the morning would bring joy or sorrow. The big house seemed empty without its mistress. Lonely. It would be harder than this on Worth. Perhaps he was able to keep his mind on business, and would be diverted. He was right; sleeping together was a risk, and she should be grateful for his consideration. If only her body wasn’t so tormented. Up until now, it had never known passion. But apparently passion was an addictive thing, because it was almost dawn when she slept.

  The next morning, Worth left her at the house and went to sit in the intensive care waiting room until he could see his grandmother.

  “And you’d better move back to your own place,” he said over breakfast, his eyes dark and wary. “I can handle things now.”

  “God forbid that people might gossip,” she tossed at him haughtily.

  “It isn’t my reputation I’m worried about,” he countered. His dark eyes cut into hers. “Your generosity is going to get you into hot water one of these days. You give too much.”

  “That’s the first time I’ve ever been accused of that,” she laughed mirthlessly. She stirred her coffee aimlessly.

  “You did mean what you told me?” he asked suddenly, his eyes speculative. “There’s no chance that I might have made you pregnant?”

  “Of course not,” she lied smoothly. And felt sick, because the thought had already occurred to her. She’d taken no precautions and neither had he. She’d thought the risk was worth it, but now it didn’t seem that way anymore. Now she felt guilty and ashamed and empty. And she didn’t know how she was going to live.

  “If…when Grandmother gets better, and comes home,” he said then, “how would you feel about nursing her?”

  “I’m not a nurse,” she began hesitantly.

  “I know that. But you were a nurse’s aide. You could look after her. She likes you very much.”

  “Let me think about it, please.”

  “Of course.” He checked his watch. “I’d better go. See you.”

  “I hope everything goes well,” she said quietly.

  “So do I,” he said wearily, and all the apprehension he felt flickered instantly in his eyes and was quickly removed. He left without another word.

  Amelia moved back into her apartment. But she s
tarted going to the hospital every day, to be there while Worth took care of urgent business that cropped up inevitably at his office. Within two days, Jeanette had her eyes open and was sitting up in bed. The breathing tube was removed. By the third day, she was ready to be moved into a private room on the cardiac ward.

  “You are one more tough lady,” Amelia said with a grin as she helped her employer sip some juice while Worth stopped in at his office.

  “I told you so, didn’t I?” Jeanette asked smugly. She tried to laugh, and caught her chest. A thin line was the only evidence of the surgery, because they hadn’t used stitches at all. There was a wide, clear strip of tape over the incision. But the breastbone had been severed, and the doctor had told Jeanette it would be a good six weeks before it healed, possibly longer. She’d be able to go home Friday if she kept improving, but it would be weeks before she could move around very much.

  “Thank God, I’ve got you, dear,” Jeanette told Amelia fervently.

  Amelia tried to smile, thinking how desperately she’d like to get away from the house and its bittersweet memories and having to see Worth every day after what had happened. But now she was trapped. How could she leave Jeanette?

  “Was Worth very worried?” the elderly lady asked, her pale eyes solemn, her face still drawn and pale.

  “Yes,” Amelia said. “I’d thought at first that he was invincible, you know. But it crushed him, seeing you that way. He was afraid he might lose you. All of us were,” she added on a smile. “Especially Baxter. We had to call him every night. Carolyn’s been keeping everything spic and span, and Mrs. Reed,” she added, “has been told that she is not to allow you any fatty, fried foods no matter how sweetly you plead.”

  Jeanette imitated a bulldog, glaring up at her secretary. “That’s dirty pool!”

  “That’s survival,” came the reply. “Doctor’s orders. You want to live forever, don’t you?” she added, teasing.