Текст книги "The Reluctunt father"

Автор книги: Diana Palmer

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Текущая страница: 11 (всего у книги 12 страниц)

Chapter 11

Blake wanted to throw things. He searched the stable, every nook and cranny of it, and every one of the outbuildings, with Meredith quiet and worried beside him. The rain was coming down heavier now, and the last bit of light had left the sky, except for the occasional lightning.

“Where can she be?” Meredith groaned as they stood in the doorway of the barn and looked out into the night.

“I don’t know,” Blake said heavily. “God, I could kick myself!”

She slid her hand into his big one and held on tight. “I’m every bit as responsible as you are, Blake,” she said gently. “I was being stubborn and proud, too.” She went close to him, nuzzling her cheek against his broad chest. “I’m sorry for all of it. I never looked at things from your point of view.”

“That goes double for me.” He bent and kissed her forehead. “I wish we’d remembered that Sarah was in the room. She’s had nightmares about arguments her mother and stepfather used to have. Violence upsets her. Any kind of violence. When I yelled at her about getting in the corral with the horse she—” He stopped dead, remembering. He straightened. “No,” he said to himself. “No, she couldn’t be. That would be too easy, wouldn’t it?”

“What would?” Meredith asked as she tried to follow his train of thought.

“Come on!”

He ran toward the house, tugging her along behind him. They were both soaked. Meredith’s blouse was plastered to her skin, and her hair hung in wet tangles over her face. Blake didn’t look much better. His tan shirt was so wet that she could see right through it to the thick tangle of black hair on his chest.

“Did you find her?” Amie asked worriedly from the sink, where she was washing dishes.

“I’m almost sure I have,” Blake said. He dragged Meredith with him and shot up the staircase.

He opened the door to Sarah’s room, went straight to the closet and, with a silent prayer, opened it.

And there was Sarah Jane, sobbing silently in the very far corner of the closet floor, under all her pretty things.

“You…hate each other,” Sarah sobbed, “just like my mommy and Daddy Brad. I’ll have to go away…!” she wailed.

Blake eased into the closet and caught her up in his arms. He held her and hugged her and walked the floor with her while she cried. His shirt was soaked, but Sarah didn’t seem to mind. She held on with all her might.

“I love you, baby girl,” he whispered in her ear. “You’ll never have to go away.”

“But you fought!” Sarah said.

“Not the bad kind of fighting,” Meredith said, smoothing the child’s soft hair as she rested against Blake’s wet shoulder. She smiled. “Sarah Jane, how would you like to have a brother or sister?”

Sarah stopped crying and her eyes widened. “A real live baby brother or sister?”

“A real live one,” Meredith assured her. She looked up into Blake’s soft, quiet eyes. “Because we’re going to have one, aren’t we, Blake?”

“Just as soon as we can,” he agreed huskily, his eyes full of warmth and faint hunger.

“Oh, that would be so nice.” Sarah sighed. “I could help you, Merry. We could make clothes for her. I can sew. I can make anything.”

“Yes, darling,” Meredith said with an indulgent smile.

“And Meredith isn’t going anywhere,” Blake added. “Neither are you, young lady.” He chuckled as he put her down. “I can’t do without my biggest helper. Who’ll go out with me to feed the horses on weekends and help me talk to the men if you leave?”

Sarah nodded. “Yes, Daddy.”

“And who’ll help me eat the vanilla ice cream that Mrs. Jackson has in the freezer?” he added in a whisper.

Sarah’s eyes brightened. “Vanilla?”

“That’s right,” he said. “Left over from your birthday party. Would you like some?”

“Blake, it’s too late…” Meredith began.

“It is not,” he said. “It’s her birthday, and she can have more if she wants it.”

“Thank you, Daddy.” Sarah grinned.

“I guess birthdays do only come once a year,” Meredith said, relenting. “I’ll go and get it. And some cake.”

“Amie will get it,” Blake said, eyeing Meredith’s clothes. “You and I have to change before we can join the party. We got soaked on your account, young lady,” he told Sarah with a faint smile. “We thought you’d run out into the fields.”

“Oh, I couldn’t have done that, Daddy,” Sarah said matter-of-factly. “I would have gotten my lovely party dress wet.”

Blake laughed with pure delight. “I should have thought of that.”

Mrs. Jackson had followed them upstairs and was sighing with relief. “Sarah, I’m so glad you’re all right,” she said, and smiled. “I was worried.”

“You’re nice, Mrs. Jackson,” Sarah said.

“So are you, pet. Want to come and help me dish up some ice cream and cake while your mommy and daddy change clothes? And we could even make some cookies if you want to. It’s not at all late. If your daddy doesn’t mind,” she added, glancing at Blake.

“Please, Daddy!” Sarah asked.

“All right,” he said, relenting. “Go ahead. Your mommy and I will expect some when we get showered and changed. And they’d better be good,” he added.

Sarah laughed. “Me and Mrs. Jackson will make lots,” she promised. She took Mrs. Jackson’s hand and went with her.

“We are a mess,” Meredith said, looking down at her clothes.

“Speak for yourself,” he returned. “I look great soaking wet.”

She eyed him mischievously, her gaze running possessively over his hard muscles. “I’ll drink to that.”

He took her hand. “Well, come on. We’ll get cleaned up together.”

She went with him, expecting that he’d leave her at the door to the master bedroom, but he didn’t. He pulled her into the bathroom with him and closed the door, locking it as an afterthought.

Meredith’s heart went wild. “What are you doing?” she asked.

“We have to shower, don’t we?” he said softly. His hands went to her blouse. “Don’t panic,” he whispered, bending to touch his mouth gently to hers. “We’ve seen each other before.”

“Yes, but…”

“Hush, sweetheart,” he breathed into her open mouth.

She was hungry for him. It had been so long. Too long. She gave a harsh moan, and the blood went to his head when he heard it.

“Do that again,” he whispered roughly.

“Do…what?”

“Moan like that,” he bit off against her mouth. “It drives me crazy!”

She felt his hands on her breasts when he pushed the blouse out of his way, and she did moan, not because he’d said to, but because the pleasure was so exquisite.

He reached out to turn on the shower and adjust the water, and then, his jaw set, his eyes glittering with desire, he stripped her and then himself and lifted her into the shower.

In between kisses, he soaped her and himself, and it was an adventure in exploration for Meredith, who’d never dreamed of touching and being touched so intimately. The soap made her skin like silk and the feel of his hands against her most secret places was unbearable delight.

He rinsed Meredith off, and himself, then turned off the water and reached for a towel. But he didn’t dry them with it. Holding her eyes, he spread the towel on the tiles of the big bathroom floor, and catching her waist, he lifted her against him and kissed her with probing intimacy.

“We’re going to make love. Here,” he whispered, “on the floor.”

She shuddered at the images that flashed through her mind. “Yes,” she groaned, pressing hard against him so that her soft breasts flattened against the thick pelt of hair on his muscular chest.

He spread her trembling body on the thick towel and himself over her, his mouth demanding and slow, his body making the sweetest kind of contacts as he moved sensually over her.

She felt his hands on her and she shivered, but he kept on, evoking sensations she hadn’t dreamed existed. She opened her eyes and looked at him and cried out, her nails digging into his shoulders as she lifted against his hand.

“I’ve never wanted you this badly,” he whispered as he poised above her. “I don’t want to hold back anything this time.”

“Neither do I.” She lifted her hands to his face. “I love you,” she said, parting her lips as they brushed his with open sensuality. “I love you, Blake.”

His hands contracted on her hips as he moved down, very slowly, his eyes holding hers so that he could see them while his body began to merge with hers. “I love you, too, honey,” he whispered shakenly, jerking a little with each deepening movement. She started to lift up, but his hands held her still. “No,” he murmured breathlessly, his eyes still on hers. “No, don’t…move. Don’t rush it… God!” His eyes closed suddenly and he shuddered.

She felt him, breathed him, tasted him. Her body shook with what he was doing to it, with the exquisite slowness of his movements, the depth… She clenched her teeth and cried out in protest, her hips twisting helplessly.

“Blake…if you don’t…hurry!” she wailed in anguish.

“Ride it out,” he whispered at her ear. His body flowed against hers like the tide, lazy and deliberate, despite the sudden hot urgency that was burning them both. “It’s going to be good,” he groaned. “Good…so good… Meredith!” His body clenched. “Merry, now!”

She felt his control slip and she let go of her own, yielding totally, trusting him. And the tension all but tore her to pieces before she felt the heat blinding her, burning her, and she fell into it headfirst with tears streaming down her cheeks.

His hands were in her hair, soothing her, smoothing the wet strands away from her rosy cheeks. He was kissing her, sipping the tears from her eyes, kissing away the faint sorrow, the fatigue, the trembling muscles.

She opened her eyes and his face came into focus. She couldn’t breathe properly. Her body felt as if it had fallen from a great height. His eyes held hers, and there was adoration in them now, openly.

“The bed would have been better,” he said, brushing her mouth lazily with his. “But this was safer.”

“She’s making cookies,” she told him wearily.

“She’s unpredictable.” He nuzzled her nose with his. “I love you,” he breathed, his eyes mirroring the statement. “I couldn’t admit it until today, but, oh, God, I feel it, Meredith,” he said huskily, his face taut with emotion that made her heart jump with excitement. “I feel it when I look at you, when I’m with you. I didn’t know what it was to love, but now I do.”

“I’ve always felt that way about you,” she whispered, smiling adoringly. “Since I was eighteen. Maybe even longer. You were the moon, and I wanted you so much.”

“I wanted you, too. But I didn’t understand why I wanted you so badly.” He kissed her again. “You complete me,” he breathed. “You make me whole.”

Her arms linked around his neck, she buried her face in his throat. “I feel like that, too. Was it necessary to torture me to death?” She laughed shyly.

“It was good, though, wasn’t it?” he said. “So intense that I thought I might pass out just at the last. I like losing control with you. I fly up into the sun and explode.”

“Yes, so do I.” She cuddled closer. “The floor is hard.”

“The bed is unprotected.”

She sighed. “Well, there’s always tonight.” She drew back a little. “Are you going to sleep with me?”

“No, I thought I’d sack out with one of the horses—oof!”

She withdrew her fist from his stomach. “Sarah Jane wants a brother or sister.”

“At the rate we’re going, that won’t take long. There’s nothing wrong with you,” he added, emphasizing it. “And meanwhile, Sarah’s going to have time to adjust to us and feel secure. Okay?”

“Okay. I’ll stop worrying,” she promised.

“Good. Now let’s go get some ice cream,” he said, moving away to get to his feet and pull her up with him. “I’m starving!”

She wanted to make a comment about men and their strange appetites, but she was too hungry to argue. Her eyes adored him. So much had come out of such a stormy, terrible night, she thought as he wrapped a towel around his lean hips and tossed an extra one to her. He loved her. He actually loved her. She smiled, tingling all over with the newness of hearing the words, of having the freedom to say them. It was like a dream come true. Or it would be, she thought, if she could ever give him a child. She had to force herself not to think about it. Anyway, Blake had said there was plenty of time.

Epilogue

Eight months later, little Carson Anthony Blake Donavan was born in Jack’s Corner Hospital. Looking down at the small head with its thick crown of black hair, Meredith could have jumped for joy. A son, she thought, and so much like his father.

Sitting by her bed, Blake was quiet and fascinated as his first son gripped his thumb. He smiled down at the tiny child. “He’s a miracle,” he said softly. “Part of us. The best of us.”

She smiled up at him tiredly and her hand touched the finger that was caught in the baby’s grasp. “He’s going to look like you,” she said.

“I hope so, considering that he’s a boy,” he replied dryly.

She laughed. Her eyes made soft, slow love to his. “I’m so happy, Blake,” she whispered. “He’s the end of the rainbow. And I was so afraid that I couldn’t give you a child.”

“I knew you could,” he said simply. “We love each other too much not to have a child together.” He bent and kissed her soft mouth. “Sarah wanted to come, too. I explained that they wouldn’t let her in here, but you’re getting out tomorrow and she can see her brother all she wants to. She’s coloring a pretty picture for him.”

“She’s been almost as excited as we have,” Meredith said. “She’ll love not being an only child. And it will give her some security. She still doesn’t quite believe that she’s safe and loved.”

“It will take time,” he said. “But she’s coming around nicely.”

“Yes.” She smoothed her fingers lovingly over the baby’s downy soft hair. “Isn’t he just perfect, Blake?”

“Just perfect,” he said, smiling. “Like his mother.”

She searched his eyes. “No regrets?”

He shook his head. “Nobody ever loved me until you and Sarah Jane came along,” he said quietly. “I can’t quite get over it. I’m like Sarah—happiness takes some adjusting to. You’ve given me the world, Meredith.”

“Only my heart, darling,” she said softly. “But maybe it was enough.”

He bent to kiss her again. “It was more than enough,” he replied. The light in his eyes was so full of love for Meredith and his child that it was almost blinding. He smiled suddenly. “I meant to tell you—I met Elissa and Danielle in town just before I came here. They’re bringing over a surprise for you.” His eyes twinkled. “The store was a little crowded, full of people. I walked in, and do you know what Danielle said?”

Meredith smiled lazily. “No, what?”

“She pointed to me and said, ‘Look, Mama, there’s Sarah Jane’s daddy!’” He grinned. “And do you know what, Merry? I think I’d rather be Daddy than president.”

Meredith reached up and touched his mouth lovingly. “I’m sure Sarah Jane and little Carson will agree with that.” She took his hand in hers and held it. “And so do I.”

He looked down at his son, and foresaw long days ahead of playing baseball in the backyard and board games at the kitchen table. Of drying Sarah’s tears and helping Meredith patch up Carson’s cuts and bruises. Together, he and Meredith would raise their children and make memories to share in the autumn days. He brought Meredith’s hand to his mouth and lifted his gaze to her quiet face. There, in her gray eyes, was the beginning and end of his whole world.

* * * * *

Read on for an excerpt from

UNTAMED

by New York Times and USA TODAY bestselling author Diana Palmer

New York Times Bestselling Author

Stanton Rourke lives life on the edge—and his ruthless mercenary ways make him the most dangerous kind of man—and the only one Clarisse Carrington wants…

Purchase UNTAMED now!

“Palmer knows how to make the sparks fly.”

— Publishers Weekly

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New York Times bestselling author

brings you to the rugged wilderness of Montana for her gripping new Montana Hamiltons series.

Wild Horses

Lone Rider

Lucky Shot

“Daniels has succeeded in joining the ranks of mystery masters.”

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UNTAMED by Diana Palmer

Excerpt

Copyright © 2015 by Diana Palmer

Clarisse walked into the building where the awards were being held, and several pair of male eyes went immediately to her slender, beautiful figure in the clinging white dress she wore. Her blond hair curled toward her face like feathers, emphasizing her exquisite bone structure, her perfect skin and teeth, her wide blue eyes. She was a beauty. In the gown, she looked like some Grecian goddess come down to earth to taunt mortals.

She didn’t even notice the attention she was getting. Her eyes were on the podium where the General would speak. There was an orchestra. It was playing soft, easy-listening sort of music while people gathered in small groups to converse. Most of the conversation was in Spanish here, not Portuguese, because Spanish was Barrera’s official language.

She smiled sadly at the little cliques. To Clarisse, who was always alone, it seemed like just one more gathering where she’d stand by herself while men tried to entice her. Sometimes she hated the way she looked. She didn’t want male attention.

She paused by a table where drinks were being served when her arm was taken by a tall man she recognized as one of General Machado’s advisers. He smiled at her. “We were hoping that you would come, Miss Carrington,” he said in softly accented English. “We have the other honorees backstage. The awards ceremony will be first, followed by dancing and drinking and utter pandemonium,” he chuckled.

She smiled up at him. “The pandemonium sounds nice. They shouldn’t have done this for me,” she added. “I didn’t really do anything except get shot and captured.”

He turned and smiled down at her. “You did a great deal more than that. All of us who live here are grateful to you and the others, for giving us back our country.”

“Are Peg and Winslow here?” she asked hopefully.

“Alas, no,” he replied solemnly. “Her father had to have surgery, just a minor thing, but they were both uncomfortable with the idea of not going to sit with him.”

“That’s like Peg,” she said softly, and smiled. “She’s such a sweet person.”

“She thinks quite highly of you, as well, as does her husband. And El General, of course,” he added with a chuckle.

“Where is the general?” she wondered.

He nodded his head toward where a tall, distinguished Latin man in a dinner jacket towered over a tall brunette in a striking blue gown.

“It’s Maddie!” she exclaimed. “She treated Eduardo Boas, who was shot before I was kidnapped.”

“Yes. She and the general are, I believe, getting married soon,” he whispered, laughing at her delighted smile. “But you must not mention this. I am not supposed to know.”

She smiled up at him. “I know absolutely nothing. I swear,” she added facetiously.

“Not true, Tat. You’re plenty smart enough,” came a deep, husky voice from behind her.

Her blood froze. Her heart started doing the tango. She didn’t want to turn around. She hadn’t dreamed that he’d show up.

“Señor Rourke will escort you to where the others are gathered backstage,” he said, nodding and bowing. Then he deserted her.

“Aren’t you going to turn around, Tat?” he asked very softly.

She took a deep breath and faced him. He looked different. She couldn’t understand why at first. Then she realized it was because his hair was short. He’d cut his hair. She wondered why. It had been in that long ponytail for years.

“Hello, Stanton,” she said quietly. “I didn’t expect you to be here.”

He looked down at her intently, his one eye narrowed and piercing as he drank in the sight of her, the memory of her in his arms making his heart race. There were no more barriers. He could have her. He could hold her and kiss her. He could make love to her…

He shook himself mentally. He had to go slow. “I was at a loose end,” he said carelessly.

“I see.” She was uneasy. She kept looking around, as if she wanted to be rescued. In fact, she did.

He looked around, too. “Did you come alone?” he asked suddenly, and there was a bite in his voice.

She swallowed. “I’d asked Ruy to come with me, but he had to fly to Argentina to treat an old friend.”

“Ruy…Carvajal, your doctor friend.”

“That’s right.”

He scowled. “You aren’t dating him, for God’s sake?” he asked curtly. “My God, Tat, he’s twenty years your senior!”

She couldn’t meet his eyes. “He’s older than I am, yes.”

He felt his muscles tighten from head to toe. She couldn’t be getting involved with the doctor. Surely not!

His silence coaxed her into looking up. His expression confounded her. In another man, it would look like jealousy. But Rourke would never be jealous of her. He hated her.

She moved restlessly. “We should go backstage.”

“Are you going to be here overnight?” he asked as they walked.

“I fly back to Manaus in the morning,” she replied.

“I’m here overnight, as well.”

She didn’t say anything. She knew that he was going to avoid her like the plague, as usual.

“Which hotel are you staying in?” he asked abruptly.

“Why? Do you want to make sure you can get one at least half the city away from it?” she burst out.

He stopped dead. “I’ve got a lot to make up to you,” he said solemnly. “I don’t even know where to start. I’ve done so much damage, Tat,” he added in a husky tone. “Far too much.”

She looked up at him, shocked.

He reached out toward her face, only to have her jerk back from him and avert her eyes.

It hurt more than he’d ever dreamed anything could.

“Tat,” he whispered roughly, wounded.

“Don’t you remember?” she bit off. “You told me…never to touch you. You said that I was repulsive…” Her voice broke. She walked around him and moved blindly to the back, where a man in a suit was motioning to them to get with the other honorees. She didn’t look to see if Rourke was coming behind her. She didn’t want to see him.

He followed her, his heart torn out of his body at her words. Yes, he’d told her that; he’d been brutal with her. How could he have forgotten? He’d hurt her so badly. Now, after years of tormenting her and himself, he finally had a chance to start over with her. But judging by what she’d just said, it was going to be a very hard road back.

* * *

The award ceremony was lengthy. General Machado made a speech. His director of the interior made a longer one. The presenter made an even longer one. By the end of it, Clarisse’s feet hurt. She was glad she was wearing low-heeled shoes.

One by one, the honorees went out to receive their awards, made a short speech and shook hands with the General. Clarisse did the same, smiling up at him as he bent to kiss her cheek, the medal in its velvet case held tightly in one hand.

“Thank you for coming,” he whispered in her ear.

“Thank you for inviting me,” she whispered back.

She shook hands with him and carried her award off the stage.

She waited while the others received their medals. Rourke joined her, somber and quiet. He hadn’t liked the General kissing her. He was fuming inside.

Clarisse saw his expression and felt her heart sink. He was angry at her again. It was familiar, though. Nothing really changed, least of all Rourke’s bad opinion.

* * *

She left her award with her coat in the cloakroom and nursed a rum drink. She’d already refused half a dozen requests to dance. She bristled at the thought of strange hands on her skin, and the dress was low cut in back. So she stood by herself, watching other people enjoy the music on the dance floor.

She felt heat at her back and stiffened. She always knew when Rourke was close. She wasn’t sure how. It was rather uncanny. She turned, her whole posture defensive.

“You’ve never danced with me, Tat,” he said, his voice deep and velvety as he drank in the exquisite sight of her.

She sipped the rum, for something to do. “Have you had all your shots?” she asked with quiet sarcasm.

There was a pause. He drew in a breath. “How about a truce, just for tonight?”

She studied him with apprehension, her face wary, her eyes wide and worried.

“I won’t hurt you,” he said. His face was taut, and not with revulsion. He looked as if he was hanging in midair, waiting for her to answer. At his side, his big hands were curled into fists. “Just for tonight,” he repeated in a voice so soft that she had to strain to hear it.

He’d tormented her for so long. The pain, the memories, were in her wide blue eyes, in her sadness. She bit her lower lip, hard, and twisted her small evening bag into an unrecognizable shape in her cold hands.

He moved a step closer, so that he was almost right up against her. His breath caught as he breathed in the floral perfume she wore, just a hint of it. His hands came up, very slowly, and went to her waist. He was hesitant.

“Trust me,” he said at her forehead. “Just this once.”

“You don’t like me to touch you,” she managed in a choked tone.

His eye closed on a wave of pain. “I lied.” He looked down into her shocked face. “I lied, Tat,” he whispered. “I want your hands on me. I want you close, as close as I can get you.” He drew in an unsteady breath. “Humor me.”

She hesitated. It would start the addiction off, all over again, just when she was thinking that she could finally get over him.

“Come on.” He took the drink from her cold hands and put it on the table. Then he caught the other small hand in his, linking his fingers into hers, and led her into the large room where the orchestra was playing. Couples were moving slowly to a bluesy tune.

He turned and curved one long arm around her waist. He slid his fingers in between hers and rested them over his spotless white shirt. He moved closer and led her, to the rhythm of the music. He could hear her breath catch, feel the tenseness in her young body slowly give way to the seduction of the slow movements.

“That’s more like it,” he said roughly at her temple.

She thought she felt his mouth there. Surely he wouldn’t do that, though, she reminded herself. She should pull away. She should run. He was going to hurt her. This was the way it always was. He was kind, or seemed to be. Then he pushed her away, taunted her, tormented her…

She pulled back and looked up at him with anguish in her face.

“No,” he whispered, wincing as he read the apprehension there. “I meant it. I swear to God, I won’t hurt you, Tat. Not with words, not any other way. I give you my word.”

That was serious business with him. If he made a promise, you could bet money on his keeping it. She searched his hard face. “Why?”

He let out a breath from between chiseled, very masculine lips. His gaze went over her head to the wall beyond. “I…heard some gossip, years ago. Malicious gossip. Long story short, I thought we were related by blood.”

She stopped dancing. She gaped at him. “Wh…what?” she asked, and started to jerk away from him.

His arm curled her into his tall, muscular body and held her there. “It wasn’t true,” he said. “I had it checked out. Your mother’s blood type was O positive,” he said through his teeth. “And your father’s blood type was B positive. I’m AB negative, like K.C. You’re B positive.” He hesitated. “I had a covert DNA scan done from a sample of your blood. Don’t ask how I got it,” he said when she opened her mouth. “I’m a spy. I have ways. I spoke to a geneticist. There is no way in hell we could be related. Not even in the most distant way. “

She was standing very still. All of a sudden the past eight years made absolute sense. He’d behaved sometimes as if it was tormenting him to be near her, as if he wanted her but he wouldn’t permit himself to touch her, or her to touch him.

The realization made her face change, made her expression change.

His jaw tautened as he looked down at her. “Oh, God, don’t you think I wanted you, too?” he whispered in anguish. “Wanted you, ached for you, for years! And I couldn’t…I didn’t dare even touch you…!”

Tears welled up in her eyes. It was like dreams coming true. She couldn’t believe it.

“Oh, baby,” he whispered, and suddenly dragged her body against his, holding her. He started shivering, from the force of desire, so long denied.

She pulled back abruptly, her eyes horrified. “Are you all right, Stanton?” she asked at once. “You’re shivering! It isn’t the malaria recurring?” He’d had it years ago. She’d nursed him through one bout of it when she was a child, in Africa. She reached up hesitantly to touch his face. “You do feel a little warm…”

He was almost in shock. He was shivering with desire and she didn’t know it. But she was experienced. She’d had men. How could she be ignorant of something so basic?

He scowled. Impulsively, his hand slid down to the base of her spine and pulled her very close, letting her feel the sharp, immediate arousal of his body.

She went scarlet and tried to get away from him, struggling to escape the intimate contact, which she’d only ever felt once, the Christmas Eve that she’d almost given in to his ardor. No man had been allowed to touch her that way since. It was still embarrassing.

Rourke felt as if Christmas had come. He let her move away, but his one good eye was brimming with joy, with exultation.

He bent his head a little, so that he was looking right into both of her eyes. “You’re still a virgin, aren’t you, Tat?” he asked in a rough whisper.

“Stan…ton!” she choked, and averted her eyes.

He slid his cheek against hers. He shivered again. “I don’t have malaria,” he whispered. “That part of me is looking for a soft, warm, dark place to hide in.”

It took her a minute to work that out. When she did she colored even more. She hit his chest. “Stanton!”

He laughed softly, with utter delight, nuzzling his face against hers. “You couldn’t do it with anyone else, could you, Tat?” he teased.

And there it was. Assumptions. Arrogance. He knew how she felt. He’d said it would be a truce, but it really wasn’t. He was moving in for the kill. Now that he knew what she really was, he’d never relent. He’d stalk her until he seduced her. He might sound pleasant; he might even sound as if he cared about her. But at the end of the day, he just wanted sex. He’d desired her for years, but thought he couldn’t have her. Now he knew that he could. And it was true. She had no defense. Except one.