Bargain With The Devil Part 11

"So I see," he observed in response to her announcement. "Still feel like nailing my hide to the greenhouse wall?" he added wryly.

"If I were you," she told him pointedly, tossing her keys down on the table, "I wouldn't bring up the subject." She shot him a slanting glance. "Who owns that green car in the drive?"

"Nice, isn't it?" he inquired, and she saw something flicker in his eyes as he sipped at his drink.

"Well, yes, it is, but whose is it?" she asked, feeling slightly con-fused.

"It's yours." He watched her face with coolly remote interest.

"Mine!" she gasped, stunned.

"A wedding gift," he explained patiently, not moving. "And, as it turns out, a token of my apologies."

"A car?" she squeaked. "You bought me a car?" She stared at him.

"The van is okay for work, but I thought you should have some-thing more amusing to run around in," he explained, reaching behind himself to pick up another gla.s.s and coming toward her with it. "Here," he said, thrusting the wine into her hand. "Let's go take a look at it."

Stacy hesitated, aware of the barely suppressed excitement in him, and knew she couldn't bring herself to throw cold water on it. After all he had done to her today, she still couldn't bring herself to retaliate by throwing his incredible gift in his face. Helplessly she followed him back outside.

"Beautiful, isn't it?" he demanded, unable to keep his enthusiasm in check now. "Look at the instrumentation," he directed, peering into the car's two-seater interior. "And wait until you see what's under the hood!"

Stacy, who had never in her life cared what was under a hood, tried to stifle a totally unexpected grin and couldn't. "Hunter," she said delicately, obeying his injunction and bending down to glance into the c.o.c.kpit, "I have the feeling you're going to be the kind of father who buys toy trains for his two-year-old daughter and then plays with them himself!"

As soon as the words left her mouth Stacy could have bitten out her tongue. What on earth had made her say that! But the damage was done. Hunter was already withdrawing from his examination of the front dash and turning to her with a sober, glittering look. "Yes," he agreed, his eyes never leaving hers. "I probably will be that sort of father."

"The the car is beautiful," Stacy said hastily, forcing her eyes away from the intent expression in his. "There's just one minor com-plication. I don't know how to drive a standard shift."

"What?" He looked a little blank, as if she had just declared she didn't speak English.

She shrugged ruefully. "Sorry, but I've always stuck with auto-matic transmissions. Even the van " Stacy paused. "They're less complicated." She glanced anxiously at his slightly frowning gray gaze. "Perhaps... perhaps you'd like to keep it for yourself?" she suggested.

"Of course not. I bought it for you," he said and then added dis-missingly, "Never mind, I'll teach you how to drive it."

"Over my dead body," Stacy said sweetly, meaning every word.

"You don't like the car?" he demanded, shocked, clearly, to the core.

"The car is beautiful, but I'll find someone else to teach me how to drive it. Maybe John or Neal from work."

"Stacy, I will teach you how to drive it," he grated forcefully. "It's my gift to you, and I'll teach you to use it."

"I can just see that now," she told him with a grim smile. "You'd be yelling at me and scolding and making my life totally miserable. Not a chance. I can't imagine a more horrid situation than having you giving me driving lessons! Unless," she added reflectively, "it's having you waiting for me outside a restaurant?"

"You're going to bring that up? After I've given you a fantastic car like this?" he asked in utter disbelief.

"Did you think the car was going to make me forget the threats you made this afternoon?" she demanded coolly, green eyes slitting a little as she glanced upward into his suddenly forbidding features. "Is that what this is all about? You think you can make up for that piece of humiliation with an expensive gift?" She wasn't certain exactly what was driving her now. Probably the worries she'd had over what she'd decided were his true methods of revenge. She really didn't want to bring up the incident of the restaurant, but it was the only thing she had on hand to use against him.

"Stacy, I'm not in the mood for any more fireworks," he warned gently, too gently. "I've apologized for what happened at the restau-rant. I've told you, Julia thought Bowen had called " He stopped, obviously seeing the flash of guilt Stacy tried to hide. "He did call, didn't he?" Hunter suddenly pounced. He gripped her chin between thumb and forefinger and eyed her narrowly. "Didn't he?"

"Well, yes," she admitted huflBly, "but I didn't go out with him. You saw that for yourself!"

"But you thought about it, didn't you?" he growled. "That's why you were so frightened at first at the restaurant. Not because you were guilty, but because you'd almost been guilty!"

"Hunter, that's totally illogical!" Stacy protested.

"Be glad what little common sense you've got came to your aid and made you turn down the date," he told her grimly. "Or you would have been quite right to be thoroughly frightened!"

"Don't threaten me, Hunter," Stacy grated, angered anew. "I've got a right to my friends "

He dropped his hand from her chin and walked past her to open the hood of the car. "Don't be ridiculous," he advised. "Now, come and look at this engine...."

"Hunter!" Stacy blazed, infuriated by his abrupt disinterest in the subject. "I will not let you dictate my friendships or anything else! It was not part of the bargain!"

He looked up at that and there was a long, tension-filled silence while he studied her furious expression. Stacy knew at once she'd gone much too far. She should never have challenged him like that. But one could hardly back down now... could one? d.a.m.n her tem-per!

"You," Hunter finally said with absolute finality, not moving from where he stood at the front of the car, "are my wife. That statement sums up the beginning and the end of our bargain. It also fully describes all the fine print. When are you going to get that through your stubborn, independent, red head?"

Stacy took a deep breath and met his newly chilled eyes. "You can't expect me to cut off my social ties. I want to have some friends left when the time comes that you've had enough of this crazy re-venge!"

"But we're not talking about just any friends, are we? We're talk-ing about boyfriends, and if you think I'm going to let you maintain relationships like that, you're out of your little mind. Now, why don't you stop trying to provoke me and show me how appreciative you are of your wedding present?" he concluded on a note that should have sounded cajoling but didn't.

"Do you think you can buy my loyalty?" she snapped, growing more outraged by the moment. It had been a difficult afternoon thinking of the tales Carla was no doubt spreading around, and Hunter, in spite of his words, didn't seem all that apologetic. "Do you think expensive gifts will make up for the way you're ruining my life?"

"I'm well aware that a man doesn't ensure his wife's faithfulness with presents," Hunter declared with the att.i.tude of a man who is on the point of giving up all attempt at reasoning. He closed the hood of the little car with a delicate slam and stood for a moment, regarding his wife's flushed face and the way she was chewing nervously on her lower Up. Her wide green eyes watched him warily in return.

"He ensures that commodity with far more elemental tactics," Hunter concluded, taking a purposeful step toward her.

Stacy panicked and, swiveling on her heel, turned to run toward the the only place that seemed to offer shelter in that moment. A place that belonged to her: the greenhouse. He was going to beat her, she told herself helplessly as she fled across the desert-style land-scaping. Why had she ever pushed him like that? But she had her pride, hadn't she? She couldn't let him bully her continuously.

Reaching the opaque plastic door of the greenhouse, Stacy yanked it open and went inside, aware that he was following but not at a run. A brief, worried glance over her shoulder showed Hunter coming after his fleeing wife with a steady, determined stride that somehow seemed more menacing than a violent chase would have been. There was a terrible feeling of inevitability about the way he moved, she thought dismally. It was like being patiently stalked. The devil was closing in on his prey and knew there was no rush.

Stacy slammed the greenhouse door, wishing that there were some way to secure it from the inside, and retreated down the rows of beautiful, exotic plants that hung from the ceiling and filled rows of stages. She couldn't go far and turned at bay at the far end of the plant house, surrounded by the brilliant orchids.

Hunter calmly reached the door and stepped inside, his eyes wandering lazily over the lush greenery and incredible colors before coming to rest on his taut-faced wife.

"You know," he remarked, strolling slowly forward. "With that flowery shirt and your green eyes and dark-red hair, you look a little like one of your own orchids. Colorful, temperamental, and in need of someone to take you in hand to keep you from growing wild."

"Hunter, don't touch me!" Stacy warned bravely, putting out a placating hand in a vague attempt to ward him off.

"But I am going to touch you, Stacy," he murmured softly, al-most within reach. "I'm going to show you that I don't use presents to buy my wife's loyalty...." The foggy mist of his eyes flowed over her slender, tense figure and there was a tiny, satisfied twist at one corner of his hard mouth.

"If you think you can beat me and get away with it...!" Stacy be-gan furiously.

"Is that what you're expecting? A beating? You still don't know me very well, do you, little witch? But I have a plan to remedy that...." With a suddenness that startled her Hunter took the final step that brought him within reach, lowered his shoulder, and, in an instant, swept her across it.

"Hunter!" Stacy yelped, finding herself unexpectedly gazing down at the bottom of the greenhouse floor, her hair falling forward in a tangled ma.s.s. "What the h.e.l.l do you think you're doing!" Auto-matically she curled one hand into a small fist and pummeled his back.

Hunter put a stop to the brief attack with a sharp, warning slap on her vulnerable rear.

"Ouch!" she gasped, infuriated at the indignity. "Put me down this instant!"

- "You'll have to forgive me," Hunter said calmly, turning care-fully so that the wriggling burden over his shoulder wouldn't acci-dentally be swept against any plants. "There's something about this hothouse environment that brings out the primitive in me!" He began making his way out of the orchid house.

Stacy, realizing he wasn't about to set her back on her feet, re-signed herself with gritted teeth to being carried across the backyard over her husband's broad shoulder. She could only be grateful for the fact that none of the neighbors were close enough to have a view of the humiliating scene.

"Hunter, I swear I will never forgive you for whatever you're go-ing to do!" Stacy vowed as he opened the back door of the house and carried her inside.

"Don't go making rash statements, honey," he advised, starting down the hall to the bedroom. A moment later he tossed her down in the center of the bed, where she fell in a tangled heap, her face red from the upside-down position in which she had been carried and from her indignation.

"Of all the arrogant, high-handed, overbearing..." she began fu-riously, sweeping the hair out of her eyes with a violent gesture. The action gave her a clear view of what he was doing. "Don't you dare get undressed!"

"It's easier that way." He grinned laconically, unclasping his belt.

"Hunter!" Stacy sought for some argument to stop him. "We ha-ven't even had dinner! And if you think I'm going to let you make love to me after the way you behaved today..."

"Some tilings are more important than dinner," he informed her coolly, his shirt falling to the floor.

"Well, I won't be treated like this!" Stacy made a leap for the far edge of the bed, but Hunter moved even more quickly, launching himself across the short distance and dragging her back as they both fell into the center of the spread.

Stacy squirmed violently for a few moments while Hunter gently worked at securing her. In a brief span of time she lay helplessly pinned beneath him, glaring up into his determined face.

"What do you think this is going to prove?" she managed as she panted from her struggles. Her red-brown brows came together in a fierce line.

"I'm going to show you how I intend to ensure your loyalty," he growled huskily, his hands already at work stripping off her clothes. "And then I'm going to make you tell me how pleased you are with your wedding gift!"

"d.a.m.n it! I will not be ^manipulated!" Stacy swore, trying des-perately to free a hand or a leg but finding his greater weight an impossible barrier to freedom. Nowhere was he hurting her, but she couldn't seem to move an inch in any direction. Her wrists were clamped in one of his hands, his legs trapped hers, and his other hand was methodically-going about the task of removing her clothes. In a surprisingly short time Hunter had both of them naked and his warm, hard body stretched along her softness, making every part of her aware of his intent.

She would not give him the satisfaction of any response, Stacy promised herself grimly, waiting for the sensuous a.s.sault she knew was coming. It was there in his eyes; the determination to reduce iier once again to that creature who trembled with fierce longing in his arms. But she would not react to the excitement he was capable of generating. Not this time! Stacy closed her eyes as if to shut out the reality of her situation, stiffening her whole body in an effort to resist the onslaught.

But the a.s.sault, when- it came, was not the aggressive, arousing thing she had been expecting. Indeed, she barely felt the first deli-cate, sensitive caress as Hunter trailed light fingers across the small, firm shape of her breast. Still Stacy waited, eyes squeezed shut, for the gentle touch to turn demanding.

"You are a delight to hold in my arms, sweet witch," Hunter whispered against the skin of her throat as he barely touched it with his lips. "Warm and soft and strong enough to hold a man the way I want to be held."

The tip of his finger rested ever so tenderly on one nipple, seek-ing a response but not commanding it. Stacy held herself rigidly, wondering what trick he would play on her. The finger at the peak of her breast began a lazy, circular motion that gently teased.

"Hunter..." Stacy groaned softly, her head turning from side to side on the pillow. "I won't let you do this to me! Not this time!" But she could feel her own response and knew a sense of despair.

"It's all right, little flower witch," he soothed, his lips moving with incredible lightness down to her nipple, which had been care-fully, temptingly aroused. "You can give yourself to me. I know how to take care of you. And I need you, honey. Doesn't that mean any-thing to you? I need you just as your flowers need you...." It was his tongue that now circled her nipple. His hand was gliding down to the curve of her stomach, seeking a slow, gentle path to the softness of her thighs.

"You don't need me, Hunter," Stacy protested pleadingly, aware of how her body was eagerly responding to his slow, sensuous, gen-tle touch. Perhaps if he had used a more forceful approach, she would have been able to resist longer, but the methods he used now were undermining, subtle, and curiously overwhelming.

"I need you, flower lady," he a.s.sured her. "You're so sensitive to the needs of an orchid, can't you feel the heat in me? The fire that only you can quench?" He arched himself carefully against her, and Stacy was made totally aware of the masculine desire that he was keeping tightly leashed. He was playing the role of supplicant to-night, pleading, coaxing, begging pa.s.sionately for her surrender but not demanding it.

Half distrustfully, not quite knowing what to make of Hunter's restraint and gentleness, Stacy turned her face into his shoulder, seeking shelter. His hand, which had been on the verge of touching the soft skin of her inner thigh, lifted instead to stroke her hair with fingers that, to her surprise, trembled.

"Would you touch me with your sweet pa.s.sion if I free your hands, flower lady?" he whispered. "I long to feel your fingers on me. Give me that much and I will force nothing from you that you don't wish to surrender."

Stacy shivered at the husky male pleading in his voice. How could she resist this unexpected gentleness? She didn't answer his question, but her body must have communicated its own response because she suddenly found her hands free and instead of using the opportunity to escape, Stacy wound her arms around his neck with a soft, yielding sigh. After this, she thought sadly, he would know how weak she truly was.

But somehow the knowledge didn't seem terribly important at the moment as he held her more closely, urging her in hoa.r.s.e, longing whispers to touch him, feel him, learn his need of her. She re-sponded, her nails gliding down the hard, muscled back and around to thrust eagerly through the dark hair of his chest. As if they had a life of their own now that they had been freed, her fingers sought the flat male nipples and began to toy with them until Hunter moaned thickly in answer.

The husky sounds of his need, which seemed to spring from deep in his chest, worked a magic on Stacy, calling on something deeply, primordially feminine. Her legs shifted languidly, unconsciously parting for his touch. When his fingers almost hesitantly traced a light pattern on the sensitive inner thigh, her hips arched in response, seeking more of him.

Slowly, helplessly, Stacy felt herself become the supplicant. There was no thought of teasing him tonight. Instead her body began to offer itself boldly, demandtngly, pleadingly. She reacted to his delicate lovemaking as if each new, gentle touch were a hint of rain striking the parched desert floor. Each stroke of his fingers was to be savored, consumed, fought over, and when it ended she could only beg for more.

"I want you so much," Hunter breathed heavily. "But I would take nothing more tonight than you would willingly give...."

"Love me, Hunter," Stacy cried hoa.r.s.ely. "I want you...!"

"Do you want your devil of a husband tonight, little one?" he asked, making no move to complete the embrace.

"Not a devil," she heard herself protesting breathlessly, pulling him to her and pleading with her body for him to take her. "You're a man, not a devil!" Her eyes opened to flame with the heat of fine emeralds as she met his glittering gray eyes. In that moment she was determined beyond all else to make her statement a reality. She would see the devil in him destroyed, leaving behind a man.

"If you really don't believe you've married the devil himself, would you be willing to create a child with your husband?" he asked wonderingly. "A little red-headed girl with green eyes to whom I shall give toy trains...."

Stacy watched him through her lashes, feeling more helpless than she ever had in her whole life. He asked that she take the ultimate risk for him, and he asked it at a time when he had deliberately made her most vulnerable. Her father's words in the night letter came back to her: "He'll never be able to love a Rylan." And suddenly Stacy knew that before she could answer Hunter's question, she must seek another pact with the devil.

"Would you " She halted and moistened her lips, feeling the in-tensity of his waiting gaze as if it were a living thing. "Would you love a little girl with Rylan blood in her?" she whispered.

"I would love my daughter," he said with such pa.s.sion that Stacy believed him. Hunter did not lie. She had the devil's promise. Had she somehow reached into the future and salvaged a little girl's whole life? She felt a vast, overpowering relief, and her fingers lifted to touch the hard plane of his cheek while she smiled tremulously.

"I think," he murmured, bending his head to take her lips, "that I have my answer." For a long, sensuous moment he explored the sweetness of her mouth, drawing forth her response with the exper-tise of a fine musician tuning an instrument. But Stacy was already at a pitch of excitement, and she longed for nothing more now than to have him moving fully on her, sweeping her into that marvelous rhythm that gave her the short-lived but powerful sensation of being one with her husband.

"Please, Hunter," she whispered invitingly, her hips curving de-liberately, hopefully against him. "Please."

"Do you want me enough, little wife, to forgive me for the hu-miliation I caused you today?" His fingers curled lightly into the warmth between her legs, and Stacy thought she would faint with desire.

"Oh, yes, Hunter, yes, of course I forgive you," she wailed softly, pitiously, clinging to him.

"And my poor wedding gift?" he urged, his voice dropping to an even lower, huskier note while his lips played delicately with her breast.

"Your gift is beautiful. I love it," Stacy cried, growing desperate. "Thank you so much, but please won't you love me now?"

"Like this?" he queried softly, sliding gently, completely between her legs while showering tiny, fragile kisses over her b.r.e.a.s.t.s.

"Yes!" The single word came out in a long drawn hiss of pleas-ure as Hunter moved with the erotic grace of the devil to satisfy his wife.

The style was different this time, slow and agonizingly suspense-ful, driving Stacy to new heights of wonder and abandon. Inner ur-gency and need for the man who had enveloped her with his mascu-line power, Stacy could do nothing but give herself completely. And Hunter made no secret of his pleasure in the gift.

A long time later Stacy slowly uncurled herself from the warmth of her husband's side and glanced at the clock. Dinner would be late tonight, she decided ruefully, the recent memories still generating enough heat to bring a blush to her face. But the delay in her meal-time was a small price to pay for what she had learned in her hus-band's arms this evening. He might not love her, she realized with a pang, but he would love his child and perhaps with that a bond could be forged....

"There's just one other thing," Hunter murmured, fog-shrouded eyes watching his wife from where he lay on the pillow.

"What's that?" She half-smiled, thinking of the concessions he had already wrung from her so sweetly tonight. The man had no scruples at all!

"If I ever did catch you out with an ex-boyfriend," he drawled lazily, "I really would beat you!" The gray eyes glittered with male promise.

"Then I shall have to make certain that the person I hire to teach me how to drive my new car isn't an ex-boyfriend, won't I?" she shot back pertly, scurrying for the bath. She closed the door quickly on his muttered oath.