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“I haven’t succeeded at all,” he said flatly. The arm at her waist tightened until she was pressed into his body, his hard thighs sliding against her, making his desire firmly obvious. Susan pulled in a wavering breath as her fingers tightened on his shoulder. He dipped his head until his mouth was against her ear, his voice a low rumble. “I want to make love to you. You’re responsible for this, sweetheart, and I’m all yours.”
The words should have frightened her, but she was beyond fright, already oblivious to anything beyond this man. Her senses had narrowed, sharpened, until he was the only person in the room who was in focus. Everyone else was blurred, distant, and she danced with him in an isolated glow. She closed her eyes again at the thrill that electrified her from head to toe.
He swore softly under his breath. “You look as if I’m making love to you right now. You’re driving me out of my mind, sweetheart.”
He was making love to her, with his words, with every brush of his body against hers as they moved in time with the music. And if he was tortured, so was she. She had been utterly chaste since Vance’s death, not even kissing another man, but now she felt as if Cord possessed her in the most basic sense of the word.
“Cheryl came with me, so I’ll take her home,” he said, placing his lips against her temple as he talked. “But we’re going to have to talk. Will you be at home tomorrow afternoon?”
Dazedly, she tried to recall if she had made any plans for the next day; nothing came to mind. It didn’t matter; even if she had, she would cancel them. “Yes, I’ll be there.” Her voice sounded odd, she noted dimly, as if she hadn’t any strength.
“I have some business to take care of tomorrow, so I can’t nail down an exact time when I’ll be there, but I will be there,” he promised.
“Do you know where I live?”
She could feel his lips curving in a smile. “Of course I know where you live. I made a point of finding out the day after I met you.”
The song ended, and she automatically moved away from him, but his arm tightened around her waist. He grinned, his teeth flashing whitely in the darkness of his beard. “You’re going to have to shield me for a few more minutes.”
A delicate rise of color tinted her cheeks. “We shouldn’t dance. That would only…prolong the situation.”
“We’ll find a corner to stand in.” A twinkle danced in the glittering depths of his eyes. “We’ll have to stand; I’m incapable of sitting down right now.”
She felt her blush deepen, and he chuckled as he moved with her to the edge of the room. She was aware deep inside herself that her heightened color wasn’t from embarrassment, but from a primal excitement. She wasn’t shocked that he was aroused; she was proud!
He positioned himself with his back to everyone else, his broad shoulders effectively blocking her view of the room. His eyes roamed slowly, intently over her face, as if he were trying to read something in the serenity of her expression. “Did you come with Preston?” he asked abruptly.
“Yes.” Suddenly she wanted to launch into an explanation of why she was there in Preston’s company, but she left the words unsaid and let her simple reply stand on its own. Preston was her brother-in-law, and she was fond of him; she wouldn’t apologize for being with him.
The magnetic power of Cord’s eyes was frightening; tiny prisms of light seemed caught in them, holding her gaze captive. Her breath caught in her throat and hung there, swelling her lungs, as she waited for him to release her from his spell. “Am I horning in between you and Preston?” he finally asked in not much more than a whisper. “Are you involved with him?”
The breath that she’d been holding was released on her soft answer. “No.”
A smile lifted one corner of his hard mouth. “Good. I just wanted to know if I have any competition. It wouldn’t stop me, but I like to know what I’m up against.”
No, he didn’t have any competition—in any sense. He stood out like a cougar among sheep. The thought of him turning his single-minded attention on her was alarming, but at the same time, she already knew that she wouldn’t say the words necessary to turn him away. She knew that she should run like crazy, but her body refused to obey the dictates of common sense.
A tiny frown flickered across his brow as he stared down at her, as if he had seen something that he hadn’t expected. He couldn’t be wary of her, or alarmed by her femininity; he had known far too many women for there to be any mysteries left for him. Perhaps he was surprised to find himself flirting with her, because she certainly wasn’t his type. Perhaps he was looking at her quiet face, her becoming but unspectacular dress, and wondering if he’d temporarily lost his mind. Then the frown was gone, and he smiled faintly as he brushed her cheek with the tips of his fingers. “Tomorrow, sweetheart.”
“Yes.”
Susan both dreaded and longed for the next day to arrive, but with outward calm and practiced self-discipline, she made it through the remainder of the evening with her usual dignity, chatted normally with Preston on the drive back home, and even went through her nightly routine without missing a beat. Once she was in bed, however, lying alone in the darkened room, she couldn’t keep her thoughts from swinging dizzily around Cord, picturing his saturnine face, his incredible lodestone eyes, the black beard that was as soft as a child’s hair.
He had a black magic that went to her head like the finest champagne, but how could she be so foolish as to let herself be drawn into the whirlpool of his masculine charm? She’d be sucked so far under the dark waters that she’d have no control over herself or her life; she’d be his plaything, as other women had been, toys that interested him intensely for a short while before they were discarded in favor of a new and more intriguing amusement. Could she really let herself become one of his toys? She’d known real love with Vance, a love that had endowed their physical union with a deep and satisfying richness. Having known that, how could she settle for anything less?
Her mind, her heart, the very core of her being—all said no. Her body, however, lying warm and quivering, yearning for the touch of his strong, lean hands, rebelled against the commonsense strictures of her mind. She was learning now how primitive and powerful desire could be, how disobedient the flesh could be to the demands of conscience. Her soft, feminine body had instinctively recognized the touch of a master, a man who knew far too many ways to bring pleasure to her.
She lay awake for several long, tormented hours, but at last her quietly indomitable will won out over her fevered, longing body. She was not now, never had been, and never would be, the type to indulge in a shallow affair, no matter how physically attractive a man was. If he wanted her company for something other than sex, then she would be happy to be his friend, but the thought of sex without love was abhorrent to her. Making love with Vance had been spiritual and emotional, as well as physical, and her knowledge of the heights had left her dissatisfied with the lower peaks that could be scaled without love.
Not once, during the dark hours, did she have any doubts about the nature of the relationship that Cord wanted with her. He’d told her bluntly that he wanted to make love to her; she sensed that he was always that honest about his desires. His honesty wasn’t the courageous openness of honor, but merely his lack of concern over what anyone else thought or had to say about him. He was already an outlaw; why worry about ruining his reputation further?
If only the forbidden weren’t always so enticing! Her mind darted and leaped around his image, held so clearly in her memory. He was wickedly attractive; even talking to him gave her the sense of playing with fire. She had to admit that Cord had certainly captured her imagination, but it was nothing more than that, surely, except for his obvious physical charm. The ways of the wicked have always held a fascination for those who walk the bright and narrow path of morality.
But that bright and narrow path was where she belonged, where life had placed her, where she was happy. The shadows where Cord Blackstone stood weren’t for her, no matter how intriguing the weary knowledge in his crystalline eyes.
She slept little, but woke feeling calm and rested. Her inner surety of self often masked such physical weaknesses as tiredness or minor illness; her features might be pale, but there was always a certain calmness that overlay any signs of strain. It was Sunday, so she dressed and drove her eight-year-old blue Audi over to Blackstone House to attend church with Imogene and Preston, as she had always done. To her relief, Preston didn’t mention that Cord had been at the party the night before; he was too interested in relating to Imogene the details of William Gage’s infant political career. Susan commented little, entering the conversation only when she was addressed directly. She sat quietly through the church service, accepted Imogene’s invitation to lunch, and maintained her mood of strong reserve all through the meal. Her in-laws didn’t try to draw her out of her relative quiet; they had learned to accept her occasional silences as they accepted her smiles. Susan didn’t run to a comforting shoulder to unburden herself whenever something troubled her; they might never know what made her deep blue eyes so pensive, and they didn’t ask.
They had just finished lunch and were moving into the den when Mrs. Robbins, the housekeeper, appeared with a visitor at her elbow. “Someone to see you, ma’am,” she told Imogene, and went about her business. Mrs. Robbins had been with the Blackstones for five years, but she had evidently not heard the rumors and wild tales that had circulated about Cord Blackstone, because there hadn’t been a flicker of recognition in the woman’s features as she admitted him.
Susan’s eyes swept over his face, and she surprised a look of irritation that drew his level brows together in a brief frown when he saw her. Then the frown was gone, and he crossed the room with his easy grace to kiss Imogene, bending down to touch his lips to her cool, ageless cheek. Once again that astonishing color pinkened Imogene’s face, though her voice was as controlled as always when she spoke. “Hello, Cord. We’ve just finished lunch, or I’d invite you to eat with us. Would you like something to drink?”
“Thank you. Whiskey, neat.” His mobile lips quirked at the iron-clad Southern manners that demanded she offer him food and drink, even when he knew that she despised him. Watching him, Susan surprised herself by reading exactly the thoughts that were only hinted at in his expression. She would have thought that Cord would be more difficult to read.
He chose one of the big, brown leather armchairs, and accepted the short, wide glass of amber liquid that Imogene extended to him, murmuring his thanks in a low voice. Totally at ease, he stretched his long legs out before him and sipped the whiskey.
The room was totally silent, except for the rhythmic ticking of the antique clock perched on the massive oak mantel. Cord seemed to be the only one who was comfortable with the silence. Preston was becoming increasingly red in the face, and Imogene fidgeted with her skirt before she caught herself and commanded her hands to lie calmly in her lap. Susan didn’t fidget, but she felt as if her heart were going to bruise itself against the cage of her ribs. How could he have this effect on her by simply walking into the room? It was insane!
He was dressed with fine disregard for the capricious March weather, wearing only impeccable black slacks, creased to a razor’s edge, and a thin blue silk shirt through which she could see his darkly tanned flesh and the curling black hair on his chest. Her eyes drank in the details of him, even as she tried not to look at him. For the first time, she noticed the small gold band that he wore on the little finger of his right hand, and she wondered if it was a woman’s wedding band. The thought jolted her. What woman had been so important to him that he would wear her ring?
Behind her, Preston had evidently reached the end of his patience. “Did you have a reason for coming here?” he asked bluntly.
A level brow rose in mocking query. “Do you have a reason for being so suspicious?”
Preston didn’t even notice the way his words had been turned back on him, but Susan did, and she lifted her head just a fraction of an inch, only a small movement, but one that signaled to people who knew her well that she wasn’t pleased. Preston and Imogene knew, and Preston gave her a look that was abruptly apologetic. He had opened his mouth to apologize aloud, a concession that Susan knew didn’t come easily to him, when Cord cut smoothly across him.
“Of course I have a reason for coming, and I’m glad that you’re smart enough to know that you aren’t going to like hearing it. I wouldn’t enjoy knowing that I have an idiot for a cousin.”
Cord was being deliberately argumentative, Susan realized, and her eyes narrowed just a tiny bit as she stared at him, but she didn’t say anything.
Again silence reigned, as Preston and Imogene seemed to stiffen, waiting. After a moment’s surprise, Susan realized that both of them seemed to know what Cord was getting at, and she looked from her in-laws back to Cord’s faintly amused expression. He let the quietness draw itself out until the room fairly reverberated with tension; then he negligently crossed one booted foot over the other.
With an air of idle musing, he said, “I know you’ve probably thought that I’ve spent the past few years bumming around the world, but I’ve been gainfully employed most of the time since I left Mississippi. I work for an oil company, as a sort of troubleshooter.” His pale eyes gleamed with amusement as he watched the parade of astonishment marching across the features of his cousin and aunt. He didn’t look at Susan at all.
“I…smooth things out for them,” he continued silkily. “I don’t have a title; I have contacts, and methods. I’m surprisingly good at my job, because I don’t take no for an answer.”
Imogene was the first to recover, and she favored Cord with a polite smile. “I appreciate that you’re very well suited for your job, but why are you telling us about it?”
“I just wanted you to understand my position. Look at it as honor among thieves, if you prefer. Now, let’s get down to business.”
“We don’t have any business with you,” Preston interjected.
Cord flicked an impatient glance over him. “The Blackstones own a lot of land in Alabama, southern Mississippi, and Louisiana. I inherited my share of it, so I should know. But the land that I’m interested in isn’t part of my inheritance; if it was, I wouldn’t be here now. I know that several oil companies have approached you in the last ten years for permission to drill in the ridges, but you’ve turned them all down. Newer surveys have indicated that the reserves of oil or gas in the ridges could be much larger than originally projected. I want to lease the ridges for my company.”
“No,” said Preston without hesitation. “Mother and Vance and I talked it over when we were first approached years ago. We don’t want any drilling on Blackstone property.”
“For what reason, other than a vague idea that it’s too money-grubbing for a blue-blooded old Southern family like the Blackstones?”
Susan sat very still, nothing in the room escaping her attention. A cold chill was lacing itself around her body, freezing her in place. The ridges weren’t exactly ridges; they were only ripples in the earth, clothed in thick stands of pine. She liked the ridges, liked the peacefulness of them, the sweet smell of pure earth and pine. But why was Cord asking Imogene and Preston about them? Didn’t he know?
“It was nothing as silly as that,” Imogene explained calmly. “We simply didn’t feel that the chances of a significant oil find were great enough to justify disturbing the ridges. There aren’t any roads into them except for that one Jeep track; trees would have to be cut, roads made. I’ve seen the messes that drilling sites make.”
“Things have changed in the last ten years,” Cord replied, carrying the glass of whiskey to his lips. “A lot more care is taken not to disturb any area, and, as I said, it looks as if there’s a lot more oil in the ridges than anyone thought at first.”
Preston laughed. “Thank you for the information. We’ll think about it; we might decide to allow drilling in the ridges after all. But I don’t think we’ll use your company.”
A slow, satisfied smile began to move Cord’s lips. “I think you will, cousin. Or you can face criminal charges.”
Susan didn’t know what he was talking about, but she knew that he had led Preston to exactly that point. He had played the scene as he had wanted it, knowing what Preston’s reaction would be, and knowing all the time that he held all the aces. Cord Blackstone had a streak of ruthlessness in him, and her chill deepened.
Preston had gone pale. Of course, she thought absently. Cord wouldn’t have made a statement like that without being very sure of himself. She noted that Imogene was also as white and still as a china doll, so Imogene also knew what was going on.
“What are you saying?” Preston asked hoarsely.
“My inheritance.” Cord smiled lazily. “I’m a Blackstone, remember? I own stock in all the Blackstone companies. The funny thing is, I haven’t been receiving my share of any of the profits. Nothing has been deposited into my accounts at any of the banks we use. I didn’t have to dig very deep before I found some papers that had my signature forged on them.” He took another sip of whiskey, slowly tightening the screws. He knew he had them. “I believe forgery and theft are still against the law. And we aren’t talking about pin money, either, are we? You didn’t think I’d ever come back, so you and Aunt Imogene have been steadily lining your own pockets with my money. Not exactly an honorable thing to do, is it?”
Imogene looked as if she would faint. Preston had been turned into stone. Cord looked at them, totally satisfied with the effect he’d had. He smiled again. “Now, about those leases.”
Susan stood, her movements slow and graceful, drawing all attention to her. She felt curiously removed from them, as if she were swathed in protective layers of cotton. Somehow she wasn’t surprised, or even shocked, to learn that Preston and Imogene had been taking profits that were legally Cord’s. It was a stupid thing to do, as well as illegal, but they had a different view of things. To them, what belonged to one Blackstone belonged to all of them. It was a feudal outlook, but there it was. The most trouble she’d ever had with Imogene had been when Vance died and it became known that he’d left everything to Susan, instead of returning it to the family coffers. That was the one mistake Cord had made, in assuming that Vance had left his mother and brother in control of his share. It was an uncharacteristic mistake, and one that he had made because he was a Blackstone himself, with all of their inborn arrogance.
“You’re bullying the wrong people,” she told Cord remotely, her low voice cutting through the layers of tension and hostility. She felt the lash of his suddenly narrowed gaze, but she didn’t flinch under it. “If Preston and Imogene are guilty, then so am I, by association if not actual knowledge. But they can’t get you the leases to the ridges. The ridges belong to me.”
Chapter Three
She didn’t remember driving home. She’d walked out, not even pausing to get her coat, but hadn’t felt the cold in her detachment. The house was empty, when she got home, without any welcoming smells emanating from the kitchen, because Sunday was Emily’s day off. Susan knew that she’d find something in the refrigerator already prepared, if she was hungry, but she didn’t think she’d be able to eat again that day.
She changed clothes, carefully hanging the garments in the closet, then immediately took off the casual clothing she’d just put on. She needed a hot bath, something to take away the coldness that had nothing to do with her skin, but was rather a great lump inside her chest. She threw some sweet herbs into the hot water and eased into the tub, feeling the heat begin to soothe away her stress.
Why did she feel so stunned? Preston had warned her that Cord was ruthless; why hadn’t she believed him? It wasn’t even what he had done, as much as the way he had done it. He had a right to punish Preston and Imogene for taking what was, essentially, his birthright. If he had wanted to trade that for the leases to the ridges, that was also his right. But he had played with them, leading them step-by-step to the point where they would feel the shock the worst, and he had enjoyed the effect his words had had on them. There was obviously no love lost between them, but Susan didn’t believe in inflicting unnecessary pain. Cord had wanted them to squirm.
When the water had cooled, she let it out and dried herself, sighing as she dressed again in the dark brown slacks and white shirt she’d chosen. The bath had helped, but she still felt that inner chill. She checked the thermostat and found that it was set at a comfortable level, but she didn’t feel comfortable. She lit a fire under the logs that had already been placed in the fireplace in the den, then wandered into the kitchen to put on a pot of coffee.
The fire was catching when she went back into the den, and she sat for long, increasingly peaceful moments, staring at the licking blue and orange flames. There was nothing as calming as a fire on a cold day. She thought about the needlepoint she was doing, but discarded the idea of working on it. She didn’t want to sew; sewing left her mind free to wander, and she wanted to wipe the day from her mind, occupy her thoughts with something else. She got up and went over to the bookshelves, then began to run her finger across the spines of the books, considering and rejecting as she read the titles. Before she could choose a book, the doorbell chimed, then was followed promptly by a hard knock that rattled the door.
She knew instinctively who it was, but her steps didn’t falter as she went to the door and opened it.
He was leaning against the door frame, his breath misting in the cold air. His blue eyes were leaping with a strange anger. “I didn’t want you involved in this,” he snapped.
Susan stepped back and waved him into the house. He had made some concession to the weather, after all, she noted, as he shrugged out of the lightweight jacket he wore. She took it from him and hung it neatly in the coat closet. She was calm, as if the shock of seeing his cruelty had freed her from the dizzying spell of his sensuality. Her heartbeat was slow and steady, her breathing regular.
“I’ve just put on a pot of coffee. Would you like some?”
His mouth thinned into a hard line. “Aren’t you going to offer me whiskey, try to get me drunk so it’ll be easier to handle me?”
Did he think that was why Imogene had offered him something to drink? She started to ask him, then shut her mouth, because it was possible that he was right. Imogene could have offered coffee, because there was always a fresh pot made after every meal. And neither Imogene nor Preston drank very much, beyond what was required socially.
Instead she treated his question literally. “I don’t have any whiskey in the house, because I don’t drink it. If you want something alcoholic, you’ll have to settle for wine. Not only that, I think it would be difficult to get you drunk, and that being drunk would make you harder to handle, rather than easier.”
“You’re right about that; I make a mean drunk. Coffee will do fine,” he said tersely, and followed her as she went into the kitchen. Without looking, she knew that he was examining her home, seeing the warmth and comfort of it, so different from the formal perfection of Blackstone House. Her rooms were large and airy, with a lot of windows; the floors were natural wood, polished to a high gloss. A profusion of plants, happy in the warmth and light, gave the rooms both color and coziness.
He watched as she took two brown earthenware mugs from the cabinet and poured the strong, hot coffee into them. “Cream or sugar?” she asked, and he shook his head, taking the cup from her.
“There’s a fire lit in the den; let’s go in there. I was cold when I got home,” she said by way of explanation, leading the way into the other room.
She curled up in her favorite position, in a corner of the love seat that sat directly before the fire, but he propped himself against the mantel as he drank his coffee. Again he looked at his surroundings, taking in her books, the needlepoint she’d been working on, the television and stereo system perched in place on the built-in shelves. He didn’t say anything, and she wondered if he used silence as a weapon, forcing others to make the first move. But she wasn’t uncomfortable, and she felt safe in her own home. She drank her coffee and watched the fire, content to wait.
He placed the mug on the mantel with a thud, and Susan looked up. “Would you like more coffee?” she offered.
“No.”
The flat refusal, untempered by the added “thank you” that politeness demanded, signaled that he was ready for the silence to end. Susan mentally braced herself, then set her cup aside and said evenly, “I suppose you want to talk about leasing the ridges.”
He uttered an explicit Anglo-Saxon phrase that brought her to her feet, her cheeks flaming, ready to show him the door. He reached out and caught her arm, swinging her around and hauling her up against his body in a single movement that stunned her with its swiftness. He wrapped his left arm around her waist, anchoring her to him, while he cupped her chin in his right hand. He turned her face up, and she saw the male intent in his eyes, making her shiver.
She wasn’t afraid of him, yet the excitement that was racing along her body was very like fear. The false calm she’d been enjoying had shattered at the first move he’d made, and now her heart was shifting into double time, reacting immediately to his touch. He wouldn’t hurt her; she wasn’t afraid of that. It was her own unwilling but powerful attraction to him that made her uneasy, that brought her hands up to press against his chest as he bent closer to her.
“Stop,” she whispered, turning her head aside just in time, making his lips graze her soft cheek. His grip on her chin tightened, and he brought her mouth back around, holding her firmly, but instead of taking her lips he let his mouth wander to her ear, where his teeth nibbled sharply on the lobe. Susan caught her breath, then forgot to let it out as the warm slide of his lips went down the column of her throat and nuzzled her open collar aside, to find and press the soft, tender hollow just below her collarbone. She felt his tongue lick out and taste her flesh, and her breath rushed from her lungs.
“Cord, no,” she protested frantically, alarmed by the tingling warmth that coursed through her body, spreading like wildfire from the touch of his mouth on her. Her pushing hands couldn’t budge him. All she succeeded in doing was making herself deeply aware of the powerful muscles that layered his chest and shoulders, of the wild animal strength of him.
“Susan, honey, don’t tell me no,” he murmured insistently into the fragrant softness of her shoulder, before licking and kissing his way up her throat. Her fingers dug into his shoulder as every tiny flick of his tongue sent her nerves into twitching ecstasy. He finally lifted his head and hovered over her, their lips barely separated, their breaths mingling. “Kiss me,” he demanded, his voice harsh, his eyes narrowed and intent.
Her body was quaking in his arms, her flesh fevered and aching for greater closeness with him, but her alarm equaled her physical need. The look in his pale eyes was somehow both cold and fiery, as if his body were responding to her but his actions were deliberately planned. Horrified, she realized that he knew exactly what his touch did to her, and if she didn’t stop him soon, she would be beyond stopping him. He’d actually done so little, only kissing her shoulder, but she could feel the hardened readiness of his body and the tension that coiled in his muscles. He was a fire waiting to consume her, and she was afraid that she didn’t know how to fight him.
“No, I can’t—” she began, and that was all the chance he needed. His mouth closed on hers, and Susan melted almost instantaneously, her body telegraphing its need for him even though her mind rebelled. Her lips and teeth parted to allow the intrusion of his tongue; her hands slid up to lock around his neck, her fingers clenching in the thickness of his hair. As a first kiss, it was devastating. She was already at such a high level of awareness of him that the growing heat of the kiss was inevitable. She gave in without protest to the increasing pressure of his arms as he gathered her even closer to the heated need of his body.
The warning voice of caution was fragmented into a thousand helpless little pieces, useless against the overwhelming maleness of him. Too many sensations were attacking a body that had been innocent of sensuality for five long years, turning her thoughts into chaos, her body into a dizzying maelstrom of need.
She’d never before been so aware of a man’s kiss as a forerunner to and an imitation of the act of sexual possession, but the slow penetration and withdrawal of his tongue sent shudders of pure desire reverberating through her. Mindlessly she rose on tiptoe, and he reacted to the provocation of her movement, his hands sliding down her back to curve over and cup the roundness of her buttocks, his fingers kneading her soft flesh as he lifted her still more, molding her to him so precisely that they might as well have been naked for all the protection their clothing afforded her from the secrets of his body. A moan, so low that it was almost a vibration rather than a sound, trembled in the air, and after a moment Susan realized with shock that it was coming from her throat.
No.
The denial was, at first, only a forlorn whisper in her own mind, without force, but some portion of her brain heard and understood, accepted that she couldn’t allow herself to sample the lustful delights this man offered her. With the age-old wisdom of women, she knew that she couldn’t offer herself casually, though he would take her casually. It would be nothing to him; a moment of pleasure, good but unimportant and swiftly forgotten. Susan, being the woman she was, would have to offer her heart before she could offer her body, and though she was dangerously attracted to him, she was still heart whole.
No! The word echoed in her mind again, stronger this time, and she tensed in his arms, oblivious now to the seduction of his mouth. The protest still hadn’t been voiced aloud, she realized, and with an effort she pulled her mouth free of his. She was suspended in his arms, her toes dangling above the floor while he cupped her hips to his in a position of intimacy, but her stiffened arms held her head and shoulders slightly away from him. She met his glittering diamond eyes evenly. “No.”
His lips were red and sensuously swollen from their kiss, and she knew that hers must look the same. His dark beard had been so soft that she hadn’t been aware of any prickles, and a rebellious tingle of desire made her want to nuzzle her face against that softness. To deny herself, she said again, “No.”
His mouth quirked, amusement shining like a ray of sunshine across his face. “If people learn through repetition, then I have that word engraved on my brain.”
Under any other circumstances she would have laughed, but her nerves were too raw to permit humor. She increased the pressure of her hands against his heavy shoulders, desperately trying to ignore the heat of his flesh searing her through the thin silk of his shirt. “Put me down. Please.”
He obeyed, slowly, and his obedience was almost as provocative as his sensual attack. He let her slide with excruciating slowness down the hard length of his body, turning her release into an extended caress that touched her from her knees to her shoulders. She almost faltered, almost let her hands leave his shoulders to slide up and clasp around his neck again. Alarmed, determined, she stepped back as soon as her feet touched the floor, and with a wry smile, he let her go.
“You weren’t so wary of me last night,” he teased, but he watched sharply as she carefully placed herself out of his reach.
That was nothing less than the truth, so she agreed. “No, I wasn’t.”
“Do I look more dangerous in daylight?”
