Fit for a King (21 page)

164

Diana
Palmer

Fit for a
King

165

evidence of his
need. And for long, exquisite mo
ments, they enjoyed the touch and taste and
feel for each other.

Then, when
it was almost too much, he groaned
and rolled onto his back. Not since
his teens had he
felt so damned helpless to control himself. And she
could see how much she aroused
him.

She sat
up, her eyes like saucers, and he held her
rapt gaze.

"This
never happens to me," he whispered, his voice deep and husky and gruff.
"Never this quick
or this completely with any woman but you,
damn
it."

Her lips
parted on a smile as she looked at him,
not with triumph but
with love. "Do you mind if that
makes me proud?" she asked
softly.

He drew in an unsteady breath.
"I guess not." He
sat up, bending
over his upraised knees. "I can't imagine how I've lasted this long."

She touched
his hand where it rested on his knee.
"I'm sorry," she said
softly, searching the dark, tor
mented eyes that met hers. "But it
pleases me that
even if you don't love me, at least you want me."

He
brought her hand to his mouth. "Do you want
me to love you?"
he asked quietly. "Because that
may come in time. Marry me,
Elissa."

She
lowered her eyes to his hand. "I'll have to
think about it,"
she said finally, biting her tongue to
keep from screaming yes. She had to be
reasonable.

She couldn't let her
love for him influence her; she
had to think of what was best for him, too, since
obviously he wasn't thinking at all.

His
fingers tightened. He started to speak and then
seemed to decide
against it. "All right."

She looked up. "Does Bobby know we're here?"

"Yes,"
he said finally. "I called him a few hours
ago. Bess is in
Oklahoma City until tomorrow morn
ing. He invited us to go riding with
them."

"When?"

"Tomorrow
afternoon." He tilted her face up.
"Don't decide
now. You've got one hell of a big decision to work up to by bedtime,"

Her lips trembled. "I...I
care for you," she whis
pered.

His hand
touched her cheek, and he wished he
could read her mind. He felt guilty
and uncertain, but
he cared for her, too, in his way. "Then marry
me,"
he said, feeling oddly certain that it would be the
right
thing for them both. "Say yes."

She
managed a quiet sigh.
Logic
went out the win
dow. "Yes."

He stared into her eyes for a
long time, feeling
electricity arc between
them. He wanted her. He was
fond of her. She cared for him. It would be
enough. And it would be a final, permanent barrier between him and Bess.

He bent
to her mouth and kissed her very gently
before he helped her
to her feet and back into the
saddle. He didn't say another word all the
way home.

Elissa spent the
afternoon helping Margaret in the
kitchen. King had gone out again,
presumably to fin
ish his ranch work. Margaret kept throwing the
younger
woman speaking glances, and Elissa knew she must look troubled.

"Out
with it," Margaret said finally. "What's
wrong?"

"He
wants to marry me," Elissa replied, scouring
a pan they'd used to
fry steak for lunch.

"Halleluja!"

"It
isn't that simple," she said with a rueful smile.
She turned back to
the pan. "He doesn't love me."

"Men
don't know what love is until they're in too deep to climb out," Margaret
observed, chuckling. "I've seen how he looks at you. There's enough there
to build
on—you mark my words."

Fit for a
King
                     
167

Elissa
tingled. Yes, he did look at her as if she were
a sumptuous dessert.
But there was still Bess to con
sider. She sighed.

"Don't worry about
it," the older woman coaxed.
"Just
say yes, and I'll take care of everything. Let's
see, invitations and the reception, and champagne and
hors d'oeuvres," she murmured.

Elissa didn't say anything
else. She was too wor
ried.

They sat
down to supper alone, and after cleaning up, Margaret finally went home,
bubbling with hap
piness.
Elissa arranged a plate for King and covered
it,
and she was just wiping up a spill on the floor
when King walked in the back door.

He looked
at little dusty and very tired. He studied
her from under the
wide brim of his Stetson, taking
in the picture she made in a loose
gold-and-white caf
tan, kneeling there against the spotless cream lino
leum.

"You're
a picture, do you know it?" he mused.
"All that long,
sexy hair and big blue eyes, and your
tan looks pretty good with white and
gold."

She stood
up, smiling. "You look like a cowboy,"
she replied.

His
eyebrows arched. "Is that a compliment or a

criticism?"

She lowered her eyes shyly. "I like cowboys."
"Where's
Margaret?"

168

Diana
Palmer

Fit for a
King

169

"Gone
home. I've fixed you a plate, if you're hun
gry."

He looked
faintly sheepish for a minute, steadying
his dusty boots.
"Well, Jim was up at the cow camp
with us," he
began. "Jim's the cook when we're
working. He rustled
up a pot of chili and some tor
tillas and a pudding that I expect to dream
about for
days."
He cocked his head at her. "Don't tell Mar
garet, will you? I'll get burned biscuits for a week if she finds out.
Could you dispose of that plateful of
stuff without her knowing?"

She laughed delightfully. "Of course."

"I'll
be down directly, once I clean up, and I'll thank you properly," he
murmured, lowering his
voice an octave.

She felt
her heart skip at the look in his dark eyes
as he went by her. He
winked on his way into the
hall, and she watched him go, feeling
strangely quiet
and contented yet delirious with anticipation.

He paused
on the middle step and looked down at
her. "How about making some
coffee?" he asked.
"I'll come back down and we'll share a
pot while we
talk."

His eyes
fell to her body and lingered. She felt weak in the knees. He wanted more than
just talk,
and she knew it. They were so much on the same wavelength
that she could almost feel him breathing.

"I'll do that," she said, her voice husky.

He
nodded. His eyes smiled. "And I could do with
a piece of cake, if
there's any left," he added.

"There's
enough. I'll slice it. Don't drown in the
shower," she
teased.

"I
can swim." He grinned and continued up the
stairs.

Elissa
made coffee and carried the silver service
into the living room,
curling up on the sofa to wait
for him. Minutes later he joined her, dressed
in clean
denims
and a half-unbuttoned blue-check shirt. His hair was damp, and he smelled of
soap and spicy
cologne. Elissa could hardly
take her eyes off him as
he eased his tall, powerful frame down on the
sofa
beside her.

"I'll pour," she
said. She sounded, and was, flustered. To disguise it, she moved to the floor
in front
of the coffee table so that she was
just in front of
him. It was all she
could do to get the coffee out of the heavy silver pot into the white china
cups.

"You're nervous. Why?" he asked quietly.

She laughed. "I don't know."

He reached
down, turning her so that she was kneeling between his legs. His fingers traced
her
flushed cheeks, and his eyes were steady on hers. Ev
erything
she felt was in her face—it was like reading a book—and his reaction to that
blatant adoration
shocked
him. He felt a surge of possession strong
enough
to knock the breath out of him, and his body
was suddenly, achingly hungry for hers. Not for sex

170

Diana Palmer

Fit for a
King

171

alone but for
something more. He frowned. He'd
never felt that need before, not with any
woman. He
wanted to...to join with Elissa. To know her in every
way there
was.

He felt
oddly young as he bent toward her, and the first touch of his mouth against her
soft one was tentative. He drank in the floral scent of her, drowned in
her shy, eager
response. It was always like this with
her, like flying,
like bubbles in champagne. She was
his from the moment he touched her.
But now it felt
as if he belonged to her, as well.

With a
long, aching sigh, he brought her up against
him, easing her onto
his lap as he deepened the slow,
tender kiss. She felt his kiss with wonder,
because it
had never been like this before. She relaxed into him,
looping
her arms around his neck, her mouth parting,
opening under the
sweet ardor of his.

She felt
his hands at her waist, tracing her rib cage,
then delicately
touching the soft contours of her
breasts. Under the caftan she wore
only pale-yellow
briefs, and when he felt her skin so close, his breath
caught.

Her body
began to tremble as he stroked it, his
fingers deft and sure
and faintly insistent. His mouth
hardened on hers, and her ears were filled
with the harsh quickness of his breathing and her own faint
gasps when
he touched her more intimately.

Her soft blue eyes looked up into his when he lifted

his head, and she
saw a strange expression there.
"What is it?" she whispered
unsteadily.

He
watched his fingers tracing her breasts, watched
the involuntarily
movement of her body at the plea
sure he gave her. "I want you," he
breathed. "But not...like I've ever wanted anyone else." His dark
eyes went
back to hers. "I want to join your body to
mine. I want
oneness...."

Her lips
parted. "Yes." Even as she thought the
word, she said it,
because this might be the only time.
She might lose him, but this once she
could belong
to him. He knew she was a virgin. It would be special.
It would
be everything.

She slid
the zipper of the caftan down to her waist,
and his chest rose
sharply. He searched her eyes for
a long moment before he eased the
fabric out of the
way and looked at her. After a moment, he bent, and his
lips began to touch her in reverent adoration. Her
breasts, her belly and her hips burned
under his
mouth. She moved helplessly as he
touched her in
ways he never had,
and long before he eased her out
of
her caftan and briefs, she was lost.

She
moaned when he moved away long enough to
strip off his own
clothing, his eyes dark and sensual and full of desire. There was a faint
tremor in his
powerful body as he sat back down on the sofa and
eased her
gently over him, so that she was sitting
facing him. She gasped
at the first touch of skin