Heart Of The Tiger. Lindsay McKenna
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brows drew into a slight frown.
She was pale beneath her tan; her skin pulled tautly across her cheekbones. And her lips…he groaned inwardly. Her full mouth could curve into a sunlit smile or tighten as it did now, with agony. Tears slid down to her soft lips, and she licked them away.
Matt opened his arms to her, drawing her forward until she rested against him. “Go ahead,” he whispered thickly against her hair. “Cry. Get it out of your system.”
The shock of seeing Chuck Lowell again had dredged up the shattered past Layne had tried desperately to forget. The instant Matt’s hands had framed her face, she’d begun to cry. His touch was so male and yet so gentle, and his firm, strong body supporting her brought forth deep, wrenching sobs—sobs she’d suppressed for months. But the arms now cradling her against him had released her from her self-made prison of pain.
Matt closed his eyes, resting his head against her ebony hair. He inhaled deeply. She smelled good—like lilac—her body warm and yielding against his hard frame. He murmured endearments to ease her heart, feeling her tremble within his arms. Layne Hamilton was a woman of great sensitivity, he thought as he stroked her hair, burying his face in the fragrant mass and longing…longing…
Layne became aware of the deep, steady beat of Matt’s heart in his taut chest. She gripped his shirtfront, her nails digging into it as her tears dampened the material to a darker shade of burgundy. His male scent was a heady aphrodisiac, awakening her dormant senses. He was, she realized, an intensely sensual man. She buried her head deeper in the hollow between his shoulder and chin as each stroke of his hand upon her hair released a little more of the old hurt from the five years of Brad’s deception.
Another feeling was woven into the remnants of her grief: Matt Talbot cared. She could almost feel an imperceptible trembling of his long, expressive fingers as they grazed the crown of her head. He was still a stranger—one whose appearance had reminded her of five years she’d fought to forget. Yet he had remained behind, somehow realizing that she needed to be held.
“It’s all right, kitten,” he whispered huskily, “you’re going to be all right now…”
A hunger for more than emotional support spread heatedly through her. The touch of his hands, his intoxicating scent and the hard planes of his body against hers unleashed a raw, aching need for closeness, for intimate contact. Unintentionally Layne nuzzled against his jaw, and she heard him draw in a deep, ragged breath. Then, trapping her face between his callused hands, he carefully lifted her mouth upward.
Matt groaned as he guided Layne’s face to meet his descending mouth. God, he shouldn’t be doing this! He knew better. But she was so warm and feminine, drawing him out as effortlessly as spring rain drew forth the first shoots from the cold, freezing earth. Her black lashes, thick with tears, were a sharp contrast to her golden skin. Her lips glistened, parting for his as he leaned down…down to claim them.
Layne uttered a small moan of protest as she felt his mouth settle firmly upon hers. But she knew it was hopeless. All common sense fled, and she folded against him as he molded his mouth hotly to her own, building a fire of longing that sent an aching need through her hungry body. Slowly she began to respond to his gentle exploration of her lips with his tongue. His breath was warm and moist against hers, his fingers imprisoning her face, tipping it to meld his mouth completely to her yielding lips.
“Let me taste you,” he commanded hoarsely.
With a sigh, Layne acquiesced, her arms lifting, sliding about his broad, capable shoulders and drawing him to her. As her breasts brushed the wall of his chest a slight gasp broke from within her. Matt’s tongue coaxed her further, cajoling her into heated participation as he stroked every moist crevice of her mouth.
Gradually Matt made himself draw back. He traced her swollen lips gently with his tongue to soothe any bruises he might have caused. Did she realize how much of an impact she’d had upon him? Her golden eyes were hazy with invitation, and Matt inhaled deeply, trying to get a grip on himself. He eased Layne back onto the chair, and in that heart-stealing moment, she seemed as innocent as a child. She reached her slender fingers up unbelievingly to touch her well-kissed lips.
“I didn’t mean to hurt you,” Matt said, his rough voice laden with desire. She looked so helpless. He could take her to bed; he knew she would come willingly. His body was screaming deep within for her warmth, her humanity, and he was hungry for her touch. But one look into those golden eyes, now filled with confusion, and he knew: He had to do the right thing for both of them.
“We have an old saying in the Air Force for women like you,” he said huskily. A slight smile broke the planes of his lean face. “You’re heady stuff, lady. The kind that dreams are woven from.”
Chapter 2
Blood raced through Layne’s veins, pounding in unison with her heart. Matt was so close, so incredibly virile that she was slightly dizzy. Raising her hand, she touched her brow. Even as she felt him rise away from her, she mourned the loss of contact with him.
“Stay here,” he ordered gruffly, moving toward the bathroom.
Layne lay back against the chair, her eyes closed, experiencing a wild gamut of emotions. She didn’t realize Matt had returned until she felt him press a cool washcloth against her hot, tearstained face.
“Here…let me do that,” she whispered, forcing her eyes to open and taking the cloth from his hand.
Matt rested easily on the back of his heels, watching her in the comfortable silence. “Your mascara ran.”
Layne grimaced, pressing the cold, damp cloth against her aching eyes. “I probably look a sight.”
“No,” he answered softly. “Just the opposite.”
Her black hair tumbled across her shoulders and lay against her breasts as she leaned forward, burying her face in the washcloth. She tried to wipe away the mascara that had run from her unexpected tears, then she straightened, looking uncertainly at Matt.
“You didn’t have to stay.”
A wry smile pulled at one corner of his mouth. “I know.”
“Why did you?”
He shrugged. “I’m a sucker for women with tears in their eyes who refuse to cry.”
Layne knew he was referring to the meeting with Lowell. “I see….”
“I’m sorry we upset you.”
She searched his lean face with penetrating thoroughness, seeking the truth behind his words. Brad had been a consummate liar.
“That would be a first—an operative sorry for his actions.” She leaned back, pushing several rebellious strands of hair out of her face. And then Layne realized how harsh her sentence sounded after he’d been so kind to her. “I didn’t mean to sound callous. I’m a casualty of the Company’s attitude toward spouses. Wives are the last to know, if at all.”
Matt rose slowly to his feet, unwinding from his coiled position. “There’s some truth in that, I suppose.”
Layne sat up, her eyes wide. “I’m sure I appear temperamental, but you don’t understand why.”
His eyes grew hooded as he looked down at her. “Just because I held you doesn’t mean you owe me an explanation.”
She felt chilled by his sudden withdrawal. “You might have had something to gain by your display of humanity,” she pointed out.
Matt smiled calmly, watching the golden fire of anger igniting within her luminous eyes. “Is that your experience? Did your husband premeditate everything he did, including intimacy with you?”
Layne gasped, crumpling the washcloth in her right hand. “You have no right to information about my personal life!”
Matt suddenly looked weary, exhaustion shadowing his azure eyes. “That’s