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her body.
He looked down when he felt it and caught her eyes, held them, and searched them with an intensity
that made her heart race.
He drew a deep, harsh breath and kept walking. He carried her into her room and laid her on the bed
as quickly as if she'd been an armload of burning straw.
"This time, stay put," he growled, and his eyes were blazing as they looked down into hers.
She glared up at him. Her breath came in irregular gasps, from the proximity she'd endured, from the
hunger of loving him. "Must you always growl at me?" she whispered.
"Do you have to be told what I'd rather do?'' he asked flatly, and his eyes slid over her like a warm
caress, from her lovely flushed face in its wild tangle of dark, wavy long hair down to her slender
body. "I want you to the point where it's like having an arm cut off, does that make you feel better,
hellcat?" he asked harshly.
The admission stunned her. He'd said something like that before, but she always thought it was part of
the humiliation he'd thrown at her. She lay there quietly, staring up at him like a curious young cat, her
eyes asking questions as they met his.
"That's all you know anything about— wanting," she said quietly, her eyes accusing.
"What should I believe in?" he asked. "Love? It's a myth, little girl. An illusion that doesn't last past
the marriage vows."
"How do you know?"
He studied her mouth with a mocking smile. "How do you?" He bent forward, leaning on the arms that
pinioned her on either side. "I've always been able to read you like a book," he murmured, holding
her eyes. "No, I'm not guilt-ridden, and don't you believe that I am. There are a thousand reasons why
I came to Miami after you, but guilt wasn't one of them."
She stared up at him, curious but afraid to voice the question.
"You know one of them," he whispered deeply, studying her mouth. "But I'm not going to offer you
marriage, Maggie. Not now, not ever."
She swallowed nervously. "I won't be your mistress," she said unsteadily. "I won't, Clint."
"Could you feel with another man what you feel with me?" he challenged roughly.
She shifted restlessly on the pillow. "There are other things."
"Name one."
"Children!" she shot at him, feeling vulnerable under those cutting green eyes.
Something came and went in his face. He studied her for a long time before he spoke, weighing what
she'd said with the soft light in her eyes.
"You want children?" he said.
"Of course."
"There's not any 'of course' about it, little girl," he said solemnly. "Lida couldn't bear the thought of
them. I can't remember another woman I've been around who even considered them as part of a
relationship."
"That doesn't come as any surprise to me," she said flatly.
He ignored the sarcasm. "Do you know, Maggie," he told her gently, "I've never thought about
children?"
She toyed with the pillowcase. "Why should you?" she murmured. "You don't need anybody. You
never have."
His fingers tugged hers away from the pillowcase to swallow them gently, firmly. "I'm human," he
said, his face solemn. "We all need someone from time to time, Maggie."
"I can't picture you being lonely," she murmured. "What with all the women following you around
like..." She was going to say pet dogs, but with the memory came pain and her face went white.
"Don't, for God's sake!" he growled huskily. He slid his hands under her and lifted her up against his
hard, warm chest, rocking her gently, his face buried in her dark hair, his hand tangling in the smoky
tresses so hard it hurt.
"Clint, I want to go home," she whispered shakily, her eyes closing as she yielded against him,
glorying in the feel of him, the tangy scent of his cologne mingling with the spicy soap he used.
"Why?" he asked at her ear.
"Because I've got to find a job," she said weakly. "I can't stay here..." It was hard to think this close to
him. She remembered too well the feel of his hard mouth against her own, and she wanted it so... Her
nails bit into his shoulders involuntarily as she fought to keep that hunger from being betrayed by her
own body.
"Stay with me," he whispered softly, and she felt his lips moving in her hair, against her cheek, the
corner of her mouth. His hands came up to cup her face and hold it up to his narrow, glittering eyes.
"Be my woman, Maggie."
Her lips trembled as they formed an answer, but his mouth whispered across them, his tongue tracing
gently the soft curve of her upper lip. “I like the way you taste, Margaretta Leigh," he murmured
sensuously.
"You...you just like women," she whispered unsteadily, and tried to draw back.
"Honey, I don't want anybody else," he said matter-of-factly. "I haven't for a long time."
She couldn't find a way to answer him, and that seemed to amuse him. He watched her with eyes that
were as patient as they were calculating.
"Caught in my own web," he mused, and mischief danced in his dark green eyes. "Doomed to a
lifetime of frustrated desire for the one woman I can't have. My God, I wonder if I'm too old for the
French Foreign Legion?"
Her eyes lit up. She laughed, her eyes glowing like liquid emeralds, her face flushed and soft and
radiant with laughter, her hair like a dark halo framing her face.
Clint caught his breath at the picture she made, at the color and animation in that sad little face.
"Think it's funny, do you?" he growled in mock anger, roughly cradling her against him. He bent and
kissed her savagely, his mouth demanding and getting a response from her lips. He drew back just far
enough to see the eagerness in her eyes. "Now laugh, hellcat," he murmured
deeply.
She reached up and touched his mouth with slender, cool fingers. "Barbarian," she whispered.
He smiled. "Did you like it?" he taunted.
She dragged her eyes down to his brown neck. "A lady never admits such things." [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]