Hard to Handle (10 page)

“I want to die,” she whispered brokenly. “I’m so…ashamed!”

“Of what?” he asked, frowning. He framed her face in his lean, warm hands and lifted it to his eyes. “Jenny, there’s no shame in being a woman.”

She could hardly see him through her tears. “Let me go…please,” she pleaded, pushing at his chest.

He didn’t like the way she looked. Desperate. Horrified. As if she’d committed some deadly sin. He couldn’t let her leave in this condition.

“Calm down,” he said firmly, taking her by the shoulders to
shake her again. “I’m not letting you out of my sight until you’re rational.”

She bit down on her swollen lower lip, hard, tasting him there. She closed her eyes. She couldn’t bear to see his face.

“What in God’s name is wrong with you?” he asked, leaning closer. “You wanted me, that’s all. I’ve felt that kind of desire before, I know how helpless it can make you.”

Yes, he’d felt it, but not with her. That was what hurt so much, that she felt it and he didn’t. He’d kissed her because she’d begged him to, but she was sure there hadn’t been anything else. Just pity and compassion. If only she knew more about men…

She lifted her cold hands and wiped at her tears. “I need to wash my face,” she whispered. “I can’t go back in there…like this.”

He bent and brushed his lips tenderly against hers, but she jerked away from him, her blue eyes wide and terrified.

His head lifted and he studied her, realization kindling belatedly in his mind. So that was it. The hidden fear. She’d lost control. He’d made her helpless and she was going to fight tooth and nail to keep it from happening again. Was that why she didn’t date anyone? Had she lost control before and was afraid of giving rein to her passionate nature? Or was it just years of denial catching up with her? Her violent desire for him had weakened his resolve painfully.

“Do you want me to do something about this?” he asked, his voice deep and quiet, posing a question he’d never meant to ask.

“What?” she asked numbly.

“A need that violent should be satisifed,” he said matter-of-factly. “I know you want me. I’ve known that for a long time. But now I understand how desperate the need is.”

She couldn’t believe he was saying this. Her face was scarlet, she knew, but she stared up at him helplessly while he offered her the fulfillment of every dream she’d ever dreamed.

“Do you want me to take you back to the hotel and satisfy you, Jenny?” he asked quietly, his expression giving away nothing, although his body was still keeping him on the rack. He wanted her obsessively. He could taste her in his mouth. He wanted to taste all of her the way he’d savored her soft lips. He wanted to strip her and kiss every pink inch of her, from head to toe.

“I…might get pregnant,” she whispered, too shaken to be rational, too hungry to refuse. “You said…”

He didn’t like remembering what he’d said. “I’ll take care of you,” he said firmly. “In every way. There won’t be consequences of any kind. Least of all the risk of a child torn between your culture and mine,” he added bitterly.

She was twenty-seven, almost twenty-eight. She’d never known intimacy with anyone, but she wanted, so much, to know it with this man. She’d loved him forever, it sometimes seemed. He was offering her untold delights. She knew without asking that he was expert. The way he’d kissed her had told her that. He wouldn’t hurt her. With luck, he’d never know that she was a virgin.

“I…want you,” she whispered helplessly.

His chest expanded jerkily while he searched her eyes, curious about the faint fear and melancholy there. But one didn’t question a gift like this. He caught her soft hand in his and led her back into the ballroom.

She remembered very little about the minutes that followed. They left. She said something polite to their host and hostess and to Eugene and Cynthia. There was a cab ride back to the hotel, she was at the door of his room. He put her inside without bothering to turn on the light.

Then she was in his arms. It was heaven. Pure, sweet heaven. He took her hair down and buried his face in it before his mouth slowly,
inevitably, found her lips. She clung to him, tasting him, while he kissed her and kissed her until she couldn’t stand. She felt his mouth and his hands on her bare skin as he removed her dress, her underthings, her hose. Then he lifted her and carried her to the bed.

“I want to look at you,” he said huskily.

“Yes.” She didn’t flinch as the bedside light came on, although her cheeks reddened, even though he’d seen part of her like this before. He looked and she shivered at the bold hunger in his dark eyes as they went over her slowly, with fierce possessiveness.

“Pink satin,” he whispered, his voice deep and slow in the stillness of the room. “I wanted to look at you like this that night you were bathing, at all of you. I wanted to touch you, but I didn’t dare. I couldn’t have stopped.” He reached down and spread her hair on his pillow, his eyes darkening. “Exquisite,” he whispered, his eyes sliding down her.

She shivered. She hadn’t expected him to say things like that.

He sat down beside her, still fully clothed, not touching her. His eyes searched hers. “This is the first time,” he said.

Her heart jumped. He knew!

“The first time,” he continued, “that I’ve been with a white woman in years. This is something I never meant to happen.”

She couldn’t help the relief she felt that he hadn’t guessed about her innocence. But what he was saying finally got through to her and she realized what it meant.

“You don’t have to,” she said uncertainly, because now that it was about to happen, she was nervous.

He reached out and traced one soft, firm breast, watching her body react helplessly and instantly to his touch. “I’m Apache,” he said, studying her face. “There are places inside me that you can’t see, can’t touch. Different beliefs, different customs, different
lifestyles. I live in your world, but I prefer the stark simplicity of mine.” He traced around one dusky erect nipple, hearing her soft gasp. “I’ve spent years trying not to see you, Jennifer,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “Years of dreams that kept my body in anguish…” He bent to her breasts, his mouth slow and ardent.

She couldn’t believe he’d said that. She shivered and arched toward his lips, holding his face to her. “You mean…you want me, too?” she asked, fascinated.

He lifted his head and looked down into her eyes. “Yes,” he said simply. “But only this once,” he added, his voice stern. “Only tonight. Never again.”

She swallowed. She wanted so much more than that, but it would have to do. She could live on this for the rest of her life. “All right,” she whispered.

He stood with a long sigh and began to remove his own clothes. He did it with lazy grace, with a complete lack of inhibition that told her too well how familiar this was to him. She hated the other women in his life because they’d given him that expertise.

His keen eyes caught her expression and he lifted an eyebrow as he bent to remove the final barrier. “What was that hard look about?” he asked.

He turned back to her and the hard look was utterly forgotten as she stared blatantly at his nudity. He was all bronzed muscle and powerful etched lines and curves, so beautiful that she sat up and caught her breath at the perfection of his body.

“What is it?” he asked, frowning curiously.

“There was a statue in the Louvre,” she stammered. “I saw photographs of it…Greek, I think. I remember being awed by the power and beauty of it and thinking that, well, that no mortal man could come close to that kind of perfection.” She averted her eyes
to the bed. “I didn’t mean to stare. I guess you’ve been told ad nauseum how…beautifully masculine you are.”

He felt the impact of that breathless adoration in her voice. He’d never heard himself described that way by anyone. His conquests had been sporadic, and even then more animal than sensual. He’d given in to his needs only when he couldn’t bear them any longer, and in his later years, it hadn’t been that often. With Jennifer, it was different. He was touched by her headlong, helpless need of him. He’d thought that it was purely physical, but her eyes were telling him otherwise. A woman didn’t look at a man like this when her only concern was fulfillment, and her shy blushing face made him uneasy.

He slid onto the bed beside her, turning her so that she was lying against him. He felt her flinch at the first touch of his aroused body, and he tilted her face so that he could see it.

“It’s frightening for a woman with every new man, isn’t it?” he asked absently. “Not knowing if he’ll be gentle or cruel, demanding or brutal?”

“Yes. Of course,” she lied. She could feel the heat of him, the threatening masculinity in a way she’d never dreamed of feeling it. She had to be careful. If she gave herself away, he’d never touch her. She wanted this with him so badly, refusing to admit even to herself that pregnancy was a very big part of the wanting, that her need of him included that faint possibility.

“I’m not cruel,” he said, moving her so that she was completely against him. He felt the soft little tremors in her body as she stiffened in reaction before she relaxed and let him hold her closer. “I’m not brutal.” He slid one lean hand along her side, over the curve of breast and waist and hip down to her smooth, soft thigh. He eased his leg between both of hers and brought her into intimacy. “And for your sake, I’ll try not to be too demanding.”

She gasped at the sudden stark contact.

“Shhhh,” he whispered, smoothing the hair at her nape. “Lie still. It’s better like this, lying on our sides. It’s more intimate. Lift your leg over mine.”

She blushed scarlet, praying that she wouldn’t blow her cover. She did as he told her, but her hands were gripping his shoulders for dear life, biting in, and her stiffness was making him curious.

“Haven’t you ever done it like this?” he whispered at her ear as his hands began to touch her intimately.

“No,” she choked. It was true. But she’d never done it any way at all, including like this.

“Look at me.”

She had to force her shocked, frightened eyes to meet his, and then she saw the curiosity narrowing them. He touched her where she was most a woman and she clenched her teeth to keep from crying out.

His firm lips parted as he probed delicately, holding her eyes. He scowled, because something was different here. Very different.

“Are you…are you going to use something,” she managed, trying to divert him.

But it didn’t work. He was experienced enough to recognize what was different, because this particular difference was so blatant that he didn’t have to be a doctor to know what it was.

“My God,” he whispered explosively. His hand stilled, but it didn’t withdraw.

“Hunter…” she began, passion growing cold at the look on his face.

He searched her eyes and his hand moved. She bit her lip and tears threatened.

“Does this hurt, little one?” he whispered softly, and did it again. She tried not to flinch, but the intimacy and faint discomfort defeated her. “Yes,” he answered his own question. His face
mirrored his shock. He looked at her as if he’d never seen her before, and still that maddening hand didn’t move away. He couldn’t believe it. A woman with her beauty, at her age. A virgin.

“I didn’t think you’d know,” she stammered. “The books say that even a doctor can’t tell…”

“That’s true,” he replied gently. “But you’re intact, little one. Do you understand? Almost completely intact.”

She swallowed, lowering her embarrassed eyes to the jerky rise and fall of his bronzed chest. “The doctors said that it would be uncomfortable, but that I wouldn’t have to have surgery when the time came,” she said finally. “It’s mine to give,” she added, lifting her face back to his.

“And you want to give it to me?” he asked gently.

“Yes.”

He eased her over onto her back, his eyes soft and quiet and very dark. “Then give it to me this way, for now,” he whispered. His mouth touched hers so tenderly that her heart ached, and his hand began to move very slowly, expertly, on her.

She tensed at the sudden shock of pleasure and tried to get away, but he threw a long, powerful leg across both of hers.

“No,” he whispered into her mouth. “I’m going to take you up to the stars. Don’t fight me,” he said softly.

She trembled as the pleasure bit into her body. It came again, and again. And all the while he kissed her, his lips tender on her face while he made magic in her body. He saw the fear and smiled reassuringly, his voice coaxing, softly praising. He felt the urgency, felt when it reached breaking point. He knew exactly what to do, and when. Her back arched and she gasped, weeping as the pleasure took her, convulsing her under his delighted, fascinated
gaze. Heat washed over him, blinding fire exploding, racking him even as he heard her cry out. Then, ages later, she relaxed, her tears hot and salty in his mouth as he kissed them away. He relaxed, too, because in the midst of her own explosive fulfillment, her movements had triggered his. He kissed her closed eyelids, thinking that never in his life had he experienced anything quite so perfect. And from such relatively innocent love play.

He lifted his head, turning hers toward him to search her drowned, shamed eyes.

“Is sex a sin for you?” he said softly. “Is that why you’re a virgin?”

“There was never anyone I wanted enough,” she whispered, sobbing. “I wanted you so badly. So much that I would have died to have you…”

He brushed her mouth with his, feeling humble. “Virginity is a rare gift,” he whispered. “Yours to give, certainly. But not outside marriage. I have my own kind of honor, Jennifer. Taking your innocence without a commitment would violate everything I believe in.” He lifted his lips from hers and searched her eyes quietly. “I won’t take you. And, yes, I want to. I always have.”

She swallowed the tears, wiping them away with the back of her hand. “I’m sorry if I hurt you,” she said, avoiding his bold gaze.

“Hurt me how?”

She flushed.

He laughed gently. “Oh. That. No. I had as much pleasure from it as you did.” He rolled over onto his back lazily and stretched, feeling years younger and full of life. He sprawled, aware of her fascinated eyes on his body, drinking in that feminine appreciation. “God, that was good,” he said huskily. “Good! Like the first sip of water after the desert.”