It Had to Be You Part 18

"d.a.m.n." The softly uttered word sounded more like a tribute than a curse.

Before she knew what had happened, he had pulled her wrists behind her back and caught them in one hand. The rough movement thrust her b.r.e.a.s.t.s forward and up, and the helplessness she felt in that position produced little flutters of panic in the pit of her stomach. He bent his head. His warm breath touched her skin along with the light abrasion of his whiskers. He flicked one nipple with his tongue. It pebbled. He took it into his mouth and sucked on it.

Her bones began to feel as if they were buckling. The sensations were so exciting that she forgot about her pinioned arms. He moved to her other breast, licking and then sucking. She sagged against him.

When his hand slipped under the hem of her short dress and cupped her bare thigh, her panic returned, and she knew she had to get her arms free before she could let him go any farther. His fingers moved upward.

"Wait," she whispered. She tried to pull away, but his athlete's hands held her fast. "Let me go."

"I don't think so."

"I mean it."

"Sure you do."

"Dan!"

"Whatever the lady wants." He released her, but only long enough to yank her dress down over her hips. Her bra slipped off, leaving her standing there in one sandal, an ankle bracelet, and a pair of waist-high white cotton panties.

"You sure don't believe in spending your money on fancy underwear."

Her confidence dissolved and all the old ghosts were back. She grabbed for her dress to cover herself, but before she could reach it, he had picked her up and carried her into the bedroom. As he dropped her onto the bed, her lone sandal flew.

He loomed over her, and he was no longer a fantasy figure, but a real man stripping off his denim shirt, revealing an alarmingly well-developed chest with bulging pectorals, mountainous biceps, and veins standing out like ropes on his arms. A thick pelt of hair in the middle of his chest tapered into an arrow-straight line that disappeared along a hard, flat stomach into the waistband of his jeans.

She knew that he worked out in the weight room every day, and she'd seen him do laps around the field in the evening, but she still wasn't prepared for his powerfully muscled body. All thoughts of young Elizabeth fled from her mind. She felt like an eighteen-year-old virgin instead of a thirty-three-year-old woman who'd had both too many and too few lovers. She had set herself up to play with a pro when she couldn't even handle the amateurs.

His eyes were on her b.r.e.a.s.t.s as he unsnapped his jeans. She grabbed for the edge of the bedspread.

"Drop it."

"No, I'm not doing this." She drew the corner of the quilted fabric to her chin at the same time she slid to the opposite side of the bed.

"Right on schedule." Reaching down, he snared her ankle and sent her sprawling back against the pillows.

She let out a soft, strangled exclamation. The deadly sense of purpose in those ice green eyes sent fear rushing through her. She remembered his strength when he'd dragged her to the gazebo, and she clutched at the bedspread as her only protection.

"Please, Dan ..." Her voice sounded helpless instead of strong, and she knew she had lost all control.

"You were the one who wanted fun and games."

"I didn't. I-"

"Shut up." He unzipped his jeans. "Now show me those t.i.ts again."

His rough vulgarity galvanized her. She spun away from him toward the opposite side of the bed, thrusting her legs out from under the twisted spread. She was off the bed and running toward the door. Dimly, she heard him grumbling from behind her.

"I'm getting too old for this."

She s.n.a.t.c.hed up a damp towel he'd tossed on a chair after his shower and frantically raced into the living room for the door. Just as she yanked it open, he slapped it shut again with the palm of his hand.

"You're even crazier than Val!" He swung her around by her upper arm. "You don't have any clothes on. Do you want everybody to see you?"

"I don't care!" she cried, her heart pounding. "I told you to stop."

"You also told me not to listen, and that's just what I'm doing."

He whipped her up in his arms as if she weighed nothing, carried her back into the bedroom, and dropped her on the mattress.

"I'm not hitting you, so if that's what you're after, you'll have to find another stud." He knelt beside her, his big hand shackling her upper arm, and spoke almost indifferently. "How do you want it?"

She realized it was going to happen again. The liquor had made her let down her guard, and she was helpless.

That was when she screamed.

He was on her in a second, covering her mouth with his palm while he clamped her wrists above her head with his free hand. "Jesus," he hissed. "Not so loud." The denim of his jeans chafed her thighs as he glowered down at her, looking more disgusted than angry.

She went wild when she realized he actually expected her to keep quiet while he did this to her. Tears stung her eyes as she began to buck beneath him, twisting her hips and trying to free her legs. She bit hard into his hand and he released her with an angry exclamation.

"That's it!" He rolled off her, shaking his hand. "I've tried to be liberated and understanding, but I'm not doing this anymore!"

She was so startled she quit struggling.

He shot to his feet "I'm hard as h.e.l.l right now, but I'd rather disappear into that bathroom with a copy of Penthouse Penthouse than keep on playing these caveman games. I don't care that you told me not to stop, because I'm stopping! I'm sick and tired of feeling like some slug who can only get laid if he beats up women." He loomed over her. "If you ask me, you've got enough notches on your bedpost to have a little more sensitivity when it comes to men." Bracing his hands on his hips, he glowered down at her. "From now on, when a woman tells me to stop, I'm stopping, even if she's already told me not to pay any attention when she tells me to stop." than keep on playing these caveman games. I don't care that you told me not to stop, because I'm stopping! I'm sick and tired of feeling like some slug who can only get laid if he beats up women." He loomed over her. "If you ask me, you've got enough notches on your bedpost to have a little more sensitivity when it comes to men." Bracing his hands on his hips, he glowered down at her. "From now on, when a woman tells me to stop, I'm stopping, even if she's already told me not to pay any attention when she tells me to stop."

Bewildered, she stared at him.

"Maybe I'd like to get strong-armed for a change!" he exclaimed. "Maybe I'd like to be so irresistibly s.e.xy that I I got tied to the bed for once! Would that be too much to ask?" got tied to the bed for once! Would that be too much to ask?"

Understanding came slowly. She remembered what she had whispered to him, how she had told him not to stop no matter what she said. She remembered his twisted relationship with Valerie, and as it all came back to her, her relief was so sharp a bubble of hysteria rose in her throat.

He sank down on the corner of the bed, propped his forearms on his splayed knees, and gazed glumly out toward the living room. "Maybe it's divine justice. When I was in my twenties, I took part in so much kinky stuff with all those groupies that now I can't seem to manage something simple and uncomplicated."

She drew the spread to her chin. "Dan-uh- Could I say something?"

"Not if it involves whips and dog collars." He paused. "Or more than two people."

The bubble rose higher in throat She gave a choked sound. "It doesn't."

"All right, then."

She spoke to his back, picking her words carefully. "I didn't mean what you thought I meant. When I told you not to stop no matter what I said, I was talking about kissing. You're really an-uh-an excellent kisser." She took a deep breath, pressing on even though she knew she was making a muddle of it. "I get- Well, I have a couple of hang-ups. Not hang-ups, really; hang-ups is too strong a word. More like-like an allergy. Anyway, sometimes when I'm kissing a man, I have this sort of reaction."

She knew she was babbling from the way he turned his head to stare at her. His chest distracted her. Cast in bronze and sitting in the front window at her old gallery, it would have made them a fortune.

She swallowed hard. "I was just trying to tell you that if I had it-this reaction-you could sort of ..."

"Ignore it?"

"Right. But the other- When we weren't kissing. When you were touching me." The bubble dissolved. "When I said stop, I meant stop."

His eyes darkened with regret. "Phoebe ..."

"If I ever say stop to you, I mean stop. Always." She drew a deep breath. "No questions. No second-guessing. I'm not your ex-wife, and s.e.xual violence isn't a game I play. With me, stop means stop."

"I understand, and I'm sorry."

She knew she would burst into tears if she had to listen to another basket load of regrets from him that would only make her feel even more inept.

"About this kissing allergy." He rubbed his chin, and she thought she detected amus.e.m.e.nt in his eyes. "What if the two of us decide to kiss each other again. And you have this allergic reaction, and you say stop. Am I supposed to stop then?"

She looked down at the bedspread. "Even then, I guess. I'm not going to send out any more mixed signals."

Reaching forward, he brushed her cheek with the back of his knuckles. "Promise?"

"Promise."

She had intended to get up and put on her clothes, but now as he touched her so gently, she couldn't move. She felt his warmth as he came closer and knew he was going to kiss her again. She was no longer afraid. Instead, the slow heat of desire rekindled inside her-not a raging fire, but a small, cozy flame.

"You don't like my underwear," she whispered against his mouth.

"No." He nibbled at her bottom lip. "But I like what's inside it a whole lot." His fingertips trailed along the b.u.mps of her spine as his mouth settled over hers.

The kiss was both gentle and pa.s.sionate, full of sizzle and sweetness. At that moment she wanted to make love with him more than she'd ever wanted anything. His tongue invaded her mouth. Her hands slipped to his arms, but then she wished she hadn't touched him there because she didn't want to be reminded of his strength, only his gentleness. How did she know he would stay gentle?

"Dan?"

"I know you said you didn't want any-you know-any kinky stuff."

She could feel him stiffen, and she almost lost courage as he drew away. Sinking back against the pillows that bunched at the headboard, the spread still clutched to her chest, she spoke in a rush. "This isn't all that kinky. Really, it's not."

"Maybe I'd better be the judge of that. And I'm warning you-I'm getting more conservative every day."

Her courage left her. "Forget it."

"We've gone this far; you might as well get it off your chest."

"I was just- Never mind."

"Phoebe, if things keep progressing at their current rate, it's about eighty percent guaranteed we're going to be intimate before this night's over, so you'd better tell me what's on your mind. Otherwise, the whole time we're going at it, I'll be waiting for you to bark like a dog or tell me to call you Howard."

She gave him an unsteady smile. "I'm not that imaginative. I wanted to ask-I mean, would you mind very much if we-" She got stuck and tried again. "If we pretend I'm a-"

"Lion tamer? Prison guard?"

"A virgin," she whispered and felt her cheeks flush with embarra.s.sment.

He gazed at her. "A virgin?"

She dropped her eyes, mortified at what she'd revealed. "Forget it. Forget I said anything. Let's just do it."

"Phoebe, darlin', what's going on here?" He brushed his index finger over her lips.

"There's nothing going on."

"You can tell me. I'm sort of like a bedroom priest; I've pretty much heard it all. Have you ground out so many miles between the bedposts that you want to turn back the odometer a little?"

"Something like that," she murmured.

"I don't have a whole lot of experience with virgins to draw on. Matter of fact, I don't recall that I have any. Still, I s'pose I could use my imagination." And then his eyes narrowed. "I don't have to pretend that you're sixteen or anything, do I, because that kiddie stuff turns me off."

"Thirty-three," she whispered.

"That old?"

He was teasing her, and she knew it, so she tried to sound offhand. "Why not? Maybe one of those dried-up women who's secretly afraid of men. Somebody like that."

"Now this is getting kinda interesting." His thumb brushed along the very top of her b.r.e.a.s.t.s, just above the edge of the bedspread. "I don't suppose a woman like you would let me have another look at what you've got hidden under here?"

"As long as you don't say anything nasty about them."

"I wouldn't do that."

"You did. You told me to show you my-"

He pressed his finger over her lips. "That wasn't me. Only a real jerk would talk like that."

She loosened her grip on the spread. Slowly, he lowered it, letting the cover fall to her waist.

"Now a man like me me would appreciate a sight like this." Despite his words, he didn't even look. Instead, he was studying her face. would appreciate a sight like this." Despite his words, he didn't even look. Instead, he was studying her face.

Before she knew it, she was the one touching him. She ran her palms over his arms and along his shoulders. She was entranced with the contrast between his iron-hard muscles and the gentle way he nuzzled her neck. He trailed kisses along her jaw, nibbled her chin, the corner of her mouth. Finally he drew back and looked down at her b.r.e.a.s.t.s.

They had been painted by Flores and viewed by mult.i.tudes, but she felt as if they were being seen for the first time. He touched her. Just the pads of his thumbs on the very tips of her nipples, and the feeling was so exquisite that she sighed, an expression of desire and pleasure that spread all the way to her toes.

"Lean back," he whispered.

She sank into the pillows. He continued to touch her like that, just the very tips of her nipples, until she didn't think she could bear it any longer. She had never experienced desire like this, so warm and liquid with no place for fear. He slipped his hand farther into her panties.

"Stop."

He immediately withdrew.

She smiled. "I want to see you." Going up on her knees, she reached for his zipper, then found the courage to slide it down over the heavy bulge that strained the denim.

"Hold on a minute, darlin'." He stilled her hands before she could go further and got up from the bed to disappear into the bathroom. He reappeared a moment later.

Her lips curved as he tossed a handful of foil-wrapped condoms on the table at the side of the bed. "What an ego."