Her Galahad (22 page)

His voice came to her, soft yet filled with the passion of anger. "I wasn't trying to make you face bleak realities. I wanted you to see your life can be much more than you envision—"

"You know nothing of my dreams and visions—"

"—and damn it, I'm not your friend!"

They stood face-to-face, toe-to-toe, panting. Tessa recovered first. "You're the one who said you wanted to be my friend two hours ago!"

"I was wrong. We were never friends, Tess." He took her hands, holding her with gentle pressure she could easily release. Her heart melted, realizing that even now, hurting and angry, he remembered his promise not to overpower her. "It's all or nothing with us. It always has been, and always will be."

Aching, she stepped back. "Then it's nothing. There can't be anything between us again. You know that as well as I do."

With a gentle movement, he drew her back against him. "Is this nothing? Is this?" His lips touched hers. Unable to stop herself, she leaned into the kiss until they became one entity, wrapped around each other, thinking of heat and sweat and tangled sheets. He muttered hoarsely, his lips roaming her face, her throat, her eyes, "If this is nothing, why do we both
feel
so much, want so much? If we weren't meant to be together—"

"It's just sex," she murmured back, wanting to give him the way out of where he was leading with this; he'd need it later. "That was always pretty amazing between us."

He jerked back as if she'd hit him. She could barely look at him, sick at seeing the disbelief, disgust and betrayal in his eyes. "Sex. That's all you think this is, all we had?"

"Why not?" She hated herself for hurting him, but it was better now than later, before his heart was involved. "Admit it, Jirrah—it was all we could think about. We couldn't keep our hands off each other for longer than thirty seconds."

"No! I
loved
you, damn it," he snarled. "I loved you so much I couldn't see straight!"

"I loved you, too." She couldn't afford to show the aching tears dammed up inside her, not when it meant so much. "But if you couldn't see straight, neither could I. It was like a fever in our blood, a crazy addiction for both of us. We only knew we wanted to be together, and we didn't see or care who we hurt."

"Our families were wrong, Tess."

She shook her head. "No, we were wrong. We were all wrong for each other. We always were. We still are."

"No!" He grabbed her hands. "Can't you see what you're saying? If we were a mistake, it makes Emily a mistake, too!"

"From bushfires new growth comes, strong and pure." She pulled her hands away. "Perfect offshoots from destruction.

Emily is the one good thing to come from our relationship."

He stared at her again, his eyes full of disbelief. "Why are you saying this? You know it's nothing but a crock—" Then he looked into her eyes; and, as if he could see right into the terror lurking inside her soul, he smiled. "Okay, Tess. You want to play a game? I'll play along." He released her, letting
her
feel the cold emptiness outside his arms. "Let's play a better game than these senseless lies. Truth or Dare."

She blinked. "What?"

The smile became an outright grin. "Come on, Tess," he taunted softly. "You want to play games, I'll go along with it. Do you want Truth? Or is it Dare? Or are you chicken?"

She licked her lip, aroused, fascinated, scared spitless. Both choices fraught with danger: danger to her heart, and his.

"Nothing to say?" His grin grew. "Fine, I'll spell it out. Truth—were you lying through your teeth when you said our love was destructive?

"I—I—dare," she croaked.

His laugh was low, rippling, filled with sensuality. "My favorite. Dare—let me prove to you that when we make love, it's not just sex—for either of us."

She stared at him, lost in his earthy masculinity: the warm coffee skin, the strong shoulders, his broad chest, deep, dark eyes and full lips. She wanted to pull out that ponytail, fill her fingers and palms with dark, tangled curls. She wanted to see his warm skin heat and bead with sweat when she touched him. She wanted to lie against him, beneath and above him without the barrier of clothes; his hands and lips and tongue on her body, hers on his skin. Heat and sweat and tangled sheets—and Jirrah. She wanted him so badly she ached, pulsed, throbbed with need.

But she couldn't let him touch her heart. What if—

He watched the yearning flicker over her face, his own expression tender and taunting. "Take your pick, Tess."

She licked her lip again, trapped between a rock and a wonderful place; the devil and a deep blue sea of desire … and she knew this was yet another gift he'd given her.

He asked for nothing in return. If she took neither option, he wouldn't push. By making it a game, he offered her freedom of choice: to make love or not as she willed. He wouldn't push to know why she refused to dignify the love they'd had.

There was no choice to make in this truth or dare. There was no real decision. One choice left her without even pretence of pride; the other made her a woman again. Yes, it would be making love—but she could walk away after, no tears, tantrums, demands or recriminations, with memories to keep forever. It was all she wanted—all she could allow herself to want. Afterward she could let him go free, no tears, strings or regrets. They wanted each other: a time of beauty and joy amid danger.

By making love, they both won—if only she kept her head, and didn't let her heart become involved.

For both our sakes.

"Dare," she whispered, and stepped into his arms.

Chapter 12

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^
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O
h, but this man just didn't play fair…

His kiss was a study in tender seduction—the barest meeting of soft clinging lips. His hand cupped her throat and jaw, the thumb caressing the sensitive flesh beneath her ear.

Then he loosened her braid; the wind took the released strands, floating around them as he kissed her in gentle, persuasive tenderness.

And yet he must have felt her reserve, her reluctance to give in even to this giving kiss, his undemanding touch. "No, mulgu. This is for you," he whispered. "Free your heart and soul of the blackness and pain of the past. You're free tonight, my wild swan. Let you spirit fly to the sky."

He murmured other words, words she didn't understand, but she knew: her dark knight was paying his damaged lady the ultimate chivalry … power and control to take this loving where she wiled.

If he'd knelt at her feet, offering her his sword, he could not have paid her greater homage.

"Yes," she whispered, her spirit soaring at his gift. "I want to fly again,
ngaya jirrah,
my wild-dolphin lover. Make me fly." She took his hand, and ran back to the van with him.

But once in the car, in the quiet, shadowy street with few nightlights, he groaned and reached for her. "Come here, mulgu. One more kiss. I can't wait five minutes to touch you again."

She all but jumped into his arms, meeting his lips with an openmouthed hot kiss that sent shudders through them both, losing time and place. "Touch me," she whispered, guiding his hand to her breast. "Oh, yes—I've dreamed of this since I saw you in a towel that first night. You make me so crazy with wanting you all I can think of is making love with you again."

His hand moved beneath her knitted shirt, giving a growl of satisfaction when he cupped her breast beneath the satin bra, rubbing his thumb over the rigid nipple. "You still use front clips?" He felt the center of her bra for a catch.

"I bought this one today while you bought lunch."

He chuckled. "Lady, were you planning to seduce me?"

She gave a low, rippling laugh. "Take it any way you like, my dark knight … so long as you take."

His eyes warm and full of sensual laughter, he kissed her again, and flicked the bra open with one expert movement.

Then, just as her whole body tensed in the anticipation of his eyes, his hands and his mouth—especially his hot mouth on her bared breasts—he gently put her aside. "No!" she cried, and scrambled back on his lap. "Not this time. I need you!"

"Not in an inner-city street, Tess." His voice was rough with desire. "What we do when we make love—what we are together—is for our eyes only."

"Please—please. I can't wait…" She pushed his hand on her heated flesh, thrusting her hips against his. "Touch me, just touch me!"

His eyes aflame, he lowered her body across the bench seat. She lay back, watching, waiting. He lifted her shirt, laying her breast with a gentle tongue, grazing a nipple with tender teeth.

A rippling wave built up in her—hot, intense, volcanic. "Don't play," she cried, arching into him. He suckled harder, teasing the other peak with tender fingers; his free hand slid beneath her jeans and cotton panties to caress her wet flesh. Soft, circular motions that sent the wave crashing over and through her. She cried his name in a strangled gasp, shuddering from head to foot, holding him hard against her as she came.

He let her return to earth before he moved. "Let's go, mulgu. I don't want our first time in six years to be in a car." He kissed her, lifted her to sit up, and started the engine.

They burst through the hotel door minutes later, laughing, kissing, completely undressed just after he kicked the door shut and locked it, pulling the chain over and the curtains shut. He picked her up in his arms and laid her down on the bed—and stood still, taking in the sight of her lying on the coverlet.

"What is it?" she whispered, shaken, unsure even after their frantic passion in the car.

"I'm speechless," he said quietly.

She felt the flush of pride fill her whole body, knowing he still found her beautiful. "I've put on weight."

He grinned. "And in all the right places."

"I—have stretch marks."

The laughter in his eyes softened, taking in the small white marks on her belly. "The marks my child made on your body—do you think they could be anything but beautiful to me?"

Moved beyond words, she took his hand to pull him down. "Make love to me, Jirrah."

He lay beside her, taking her face in his hands. "I never understood why you chose me. You're so amazing—like an Aztec goddess—and he's like some sort of god. You must've made a stunning couple."

"No," she answered softly, appreciating that he didn't bring up the name she most wanted to forget tonight. "I did have a crush on him at first—what girl wouldn't?—but something about him made me nervous. He scared me with his intensity from the start. The way he looked at my body when he thought I couldn't see him—hot and hungry, like he wanted to consume me." She shuddered. "The crush died long before he touched me. I was cold to him, inside and out. Even my veins froze when he came near me. He couldn't touch my heart, my soul. There was no life, no fire, no passion. It's only there for you, my wild-dolphin heart, my dark knight." She moved against him. "For you, I burn. With you, I fly. Make me a woman again. Make me fly!"

He groaned with the power of her words and kissed her, sweet, hot, passionate, one hand sliding down her body to mould her against him. Tessa moaned, running her fingers and palms over his heated skin, over smooth, muscled darkness. Sweat headed wherever she touched. He was tense, tight, so hard and hot, his superb body filled with raging fire.

She touched the fire and caught alight. The feel of his lips on her throat, her breast, only fed the scorching flames. His hands moved with intimate knowledge over her secret places. A slow, teasing walk down her spine, and she quivered from head to toe. A soft finger trailing along the underside of her breast to rib, and she cried aloud, bucking against him. And his mouth … oh, the slow, tender nipping kisses on her belly, her hips, her inner thighs, the aching peaks of her breasts…