Fire And Ice (9 page)

Her fingers touched his mouth hesitantly, feeling the hard warmth of it, tracing it. They touched his square jaw, his cheek, the roughness where his skin was shadowed with a day’s growth of beard. She liked the feel of him. It was the first time since her marriage that she’d wanted to touch a man.

His nose rubbed lightly, sensuously, against hers. “Kiss me, Margie,” he coaxed, his mouth poised just over hers, almost but not quite touching, taunting, tormenting.

Her fingers stilled on his cheek. “You could make me,” she whispered nervously, feeling her ground.

“Isn’t that what’s wrong with you now, honey?” he asked. “Too much `making’? I’m not going to force you. If you want my mouth, take it.”

Her hands moved over his jacket and she looked up at him, dazed, feeling the hard, heavy beat of his heart at her fingertips. Experimentally, she touched her lips to his. Once. Twice. She kissed him with a teasing pressure that left her unsatisfied, and still he didn’t move.

Confident now, she slid her hands up into the thick, cool strands of hair at the back of his head and lifted her body against his. She felt her breasts crushed softly against his shirt front as she put her lips slowly over his mouth; her eyes looked straight into his the whole time. Her mouth opened, coaxing him to do the same, so that she could taste his smoky flavor. His eyes were open too, watching her responses when his tongue flicked sensually at her parted lips, teasing the inner softness with maddening expertise.

She caught her breath at the new sensations he was making her feel.

His lips touched hers when he spoke. “It shocked you that night, didn’t it?” he murmured. “Watching each other while we kissed.”

“I never had,” she confessed breathlessly. Her fingers tangled in his hair; she liked the feel of it.

“Neither had I,” he replied. “I wanted to watch you. I still do. Open your mouth a little.”

Her heart throbbed as she obeyed him, still looking up into his darkening eyes. Then his teeth nipped and his tongue stroked, and she felt his hands moving her, shifting her, catching her hips to press them intimately into the hard contours of his own. His mouth grew hungry, and her body turned traitor, burning with sweet new fires as she felt his need, emphasized by what his mouth was doing to her, and she went under like a drowning swimmer. Her eyes closed, the pleasure greater than she had expected. Unable to sustain the piercing gaze of his blazing dark eyes, she gave in without the whisper of a protest. She moaned, a strange, long, aching sound in the hot darkness. Her legs trembled against his, her knees curving into his thighs, her stomach pressing into his, her breasts aching as she tried to get closer.

She felt a shudder go through his large body, and then his hand was cupping her breast through the fabric, possessing it, and she panicked.

With a tiny cry, she drew back, catching his hand with cold fingers, her eyes revealing shocked confusion.

He took a deep, harsh breath. “I’m a grown man,” he ground out. “What did you expect when you rubbed yourself against me like that?”

She swallowed a harsh retort and eased herself off his lap, back into her own seat, wrapping her arms tightly around herself. “Sorry,” she managed in a shaky tone.

He didn’t speak. He felt for cigarettes and lit another one with fingers that weren’t quite as steady as before. He sat quietly, smoking for a few seconds before he spoke. He looked darkly sensuous, his hair ruffled by her hands, his eyes still black with frustrated passion.

“Presumably, men do touch you from time to time?” he challenged mockingly.

“Not like that, no,” she confessed, shooting him a sheepish glance.

He looked shocked. “No mild petting allowed?” he murmured.

She drew a deep breath. She owed him some kind of explanation, at least. “If you want the truth, I don’t know a great deal about petting.”

“For God’s sake, you were married!”

“Yes,” she threw back, her eyes bitter. “To a man who looked upon a marriage license as justification for legalized rape!”

Six

H
e stared at her for a long time, his face as hard as a statue’s, his eyes narrowed and calculating.

She turned her eyes away, embarrassed at the confession she’d never made to anyone except Jan. “I’m sorry I let it go that far,” she said tightly. “I can’t bear intimacy with a man. I remember all too well what it leads to.”

He blew out a heavy cloud of smoke. “My fault,” he contradicted, shifting in the seat to place his arm along the back of the seat while he studied her. “I’ve been a hell of a lot more interested in mergers than women lately. I didn’t realize I was that hungry.”

She peeked at him out of the corner of her eyes. “If it’s any consolation,” she told him dryly, “it’s been a very long time since I wanted to kiss anyone that much.”

One corner of his sensuous mouth curved. “That works both ways,” he murmured.

She smiled, lowering her gaze to her wrinkled skirt. “Now I understand why they line up trying to get close to you.” She laughed. “And you’re crazy if you think it’s just because you’re rich.”

He reached across and untangled one of her hands from her skirt, linking it with his in a slow, exciting caress. “Can you talk about your marriage?” he asked.

She shook her head. “Hurts too much,” she confessed. “I went into it with bright eyes and came out crying. It destroyed every illusion I ever had about the pleasures of the boudoir.”

He sighed. “He must have hurt you one hell of a lot.”

She shrugged. “I was a virgin. I didn’t know anything, except what little I had learned from books and listening to other girls talk. I suppose my ignorance made him mad, and things just got worse.”

His fingers tightened. “Most men care enough to be gentle the first time.”

She laughed bitterly. “Not Larry,” she recalled. “It was my fault. Always my fault.” She shifted restlessly. “Can we talk about something else, please?”

“In a minute.” He turned her face around so that she had to look at him. “Did you ever enjoy it?”

She searched his eyes and smiled faintly. “No,” she admitted. “I found it painful at first, and then just…terribly unpleasant.”

“One more question, and I’ll leave it alone. Did you ever feel with him what you just felt with me?” he asked gently.

She raised her eyebrows. “If you think I’m going to answer that, you’re crazy,” she told him.

“Afraid?” he asked silkily.

Her lower lip pouted at him. “Just sensible. You’ve got a big enough ego as it is.”

“Not ego,” he said, shaking his head. “Just confidence. In some things,” he clarified, smiling. “I’m having to feel my way with you.”

She lifted an eyebrow. “Literally?” she murmured.

He laughed softly. “I usually do have more finesse than I’ve shown tonight. God, woman, you were burning me alive already. All it took to push me over the edge was the feel of you grinding into me that way.”

She actually blushed. Her eyes fell to their entangled fingers. She studied his hand, so much darker than her own, enormous, flat-nailed and strong. “I like your hands,” she said softly.

His fingers contracted. “I like yours, too, honey,” he said. He leaned back against the seat and smoked his cigarette quietly. It was a good silence, secure and comforting and deliciously intimate. She let her head slide sideways onto his arm, and, without a word, he drew her to his side so that she could pillow her cheek on his chest.

“I don’t want to,” he said after a minute, “but I suppose we’d better go home.”

She opened her eyes and looked out the window across his broad chest. “I like being with you,” she said quietly.

His arm contracted gently and she felt his breath against her hair. “I like being with you,” he murmured. “Very much.”

It was like being a girl all over again, on a first date with a special boy. She nuzzled her cheek against him with a sigh.

He crushed out the cigarette and reached for the ignition. She started to move away, but he wouldn’t let her.

“No,” he said in a strange, soft tone, his eyes holding hers for an instant. “No, stay where you are. I like the feel of you like this.”

He started the car and put it into drive, easing it back to the highway. They went all the way to the beach house with his arm holding her like some sweet, fragile treasure.

He came around to open the door for her when they reached the dark house. He caught her hand in his, holding it firmly as they walked to the porch.

“Looks like they’ve all gone to bed,” he observed with a smile.

She looked up at him. “Do you think Jan and Andy are lovers?” she asked.

He glanced down at her. “I don’t know,” he said quietly. “For both their sakes, I hope it hasn’t gone that far. I don’t want them forced into marriage by an unwanted pregnancy.”

“How do you know that it wouldn’t be wanted?” she asked him.

He looked deep into her eyes, his jaw clenching. “Did you want children?” he asked.

She nodded sadly. “More than anything. He didn’t.”

“It was just as well, under the circumstances,” he remarked, and she nodded.

“Did you?” she asked, feeling comfortable enough with him to ask.

For a moment his own mask slipped and she saw the lonely man inside the shell. He nodded.

“And she didn’t?” she probed softly.

He laughed bitterly. “She decided that having a baby would ruin her waistline. It wasn’t worth the sacrifice.”

“Oh, Cal, I’m sorry,” she whispered, hurting for him.

He studied her for a long minute, searching her eyes. His chest rose and fell heavily and his eyes darkened. Catching her arm, he drew her back into the shadows beside the door, and pulled her slowly against the length of his body.

“Tell me if I frighten you,” he breathed roughly, and bent his head. His mouth opened as it touched hers, parting the soft, trembling line of her lips, his tongue tasting her in a silence that blazed with new sensation, new emotion. She slid her arms hesitantly around his waist, under his unbut-toned jacket, and savored the warmth of his body beneath the thin silk shirt. She melted into him, loving the feel of his powerful legs, the protective warmth of his arms gathering her even closer. Her tongue touched the long, broad line of his upper lip and traced its inner moistness with a totally new sensuality.

He drew back, his breath coming hard. “Don’t do that,” he whispered roughly.

She searched his dark eyes with a breathless new abandon. “I like the way you taste,” she whispered back. Then she smiled up at him, her eyes full of wonder. “You taste smoky.”

Involuntarily his mouth tugged into a smile. “You taste like honey. Sweet and smooth and tempting. Much too tempting for this hour of the night,” he added. “Unless you’d like to lie in my arms in bed…?”

She tingled from head to toe and her breath caught in her throat as she imagined the picture they’d make—his dark, hair-roughened body poised above her paleness in the dim room, her arms uplifted, welcoming….

“You’re blushing,” he murmured.

She dropped her eyes and moved away. What she was feeling was too new. “I think I’d better call it a night, Mr. Van Dyne, before I get myself in too deep.”

“I was Cal a minute ago,” he murmured as he unlocked the door and opened it for her.

She glanced up at him as she went in. “You make me feel like a threatened species.” She laughed.

“And I’ve barely begun,” he murmured wickedly. “Come swimming with me in the morning.”

She hesitated. “I’d sort of planned to drop a line off the pier and see what I could catch,” she admitted.

Both heavy eyebrows arched. “You like to
fish?
” he burst out.

She laughed self-consciously. “Well, surely you’ve heard that some women do?”

“It wasn’t that,” he said. “I love it. But I prefer deep-sea fishing.”

Her eyes brightened. “Really?”

“I’ll hire a boat,” he told her. “We’ll go for blue marlin, how about that?”

“You’ll go for blue marlin,” she protested, “and I’ll watch. I’m not nearly strong enough for that kind of battle.”

“If you’d rather fish from the pier—”

“No,” she protested quickly. “Please, I’ve never been deep-sea fishing.”

He laughed softly. “All right. You’ll have to get up early.”

“Is four o’clock all right?” she asked eagerly.

He touched her cheek lightly, sending delicious shivers down her spine. “Four o’clock is fine,” he said softly.

She smiled, and moved reluctantly away from him toward the staircase.

“Margie?”

She turned with her hand on the banister, searching his dark face.

“Wear your hair long tomorrow,” he said gently.

She smiled shyly and nodded. Then she went slowly up the steps, dragging her feet, not wanting to leave him. And he watched her every step of the way until she was out of sight.

* * *

She was up at three-thirty, despite the few hours’ sleep she’d had. She paced the floor restlessly, wanting the hands on the clock to move so that she could see him again.

The sudden knock on her door made her jump. She ran to open it and found Cal standing there, wearing jeans and a red pullover emphasizing his darkness. A light jacket was hooked over his shoulder.

“Ready to go?” he asked, smiling, his eyes moving over her slender body. She had dressed in jeans, a pale green knit shirt and a green sweater with the sleeves pushed up to her elbows.

“Oh yes,” she said. “I didn’t know if you’d be awake.”

“I couldn’t sleep,” he confessed, the smile fading. “Not one damned minute.”

She looked up at him for a long time. “Neither could I,” she said gently, watching him.

His fingers tangled in her loosened hair, bringing her face up so that he could touch her mouth with his. It was like touching a flame to dry grass. She caught her breath at the feel of his lips, and her hands gripped his hair-roughened forearms so tightly that they went white under the pressure.

“Oh, God…” he groaned, reaching for her.

His foot caught the door, closing it, and he lifted her, with his mouth still covering her own, and carried her to the bed.

“No,” she whispered, pleading, as he laid her down on the spotless coverlet that she’d pulled over the neatly made-up sheets.