Fire Brand. Diana Palmer
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tucked his shirt into his jeans, and his black eyes held hers. “I’ve never made love to a woman, except in the dark.”
“Oh.” She shifted restlessly. Now that she’d seen him, all sorts of thoughts were flailing about in her brain—shocking things. She turned away while he got into his socks and boots.
“How did Aggie take your arrival?”
“Fine—until Montoya told her you were here,” she told him, glancing back with a nervous but mischievous smile.
“She’s livid. I think we’re both going to be on the lunch menu as entrées.”
“Think so?” He got up, pausing to run his comb through his thick, straight hair in the mirror. It looked like burnished gold, and he kept it conventionally short and neatly trimmed. She loved the very way he moved, with such elegance and grace.
“I offered to go back to Phoenix, but she wouldn’t hear of it,” she said, searching for something to break the silence.
“You can’t go back to Phoenix and leave me here to deal with this,” he said shortly. He pocketed the comb and turned, looming over her. “Aggie’s obviously in the throes of infatuation, and God knows what kind of man he is.”
“You might give him the benefit of the doubt,” she suggested, brushing back an irritating strand of black hair.
“Not before I size him up.” He looked down at her for a long, tense moment, until her knees felt rubbery all over again. “Don’t start avoiding me now,” he said unexpectedly. “I’m not embarrassed, and there’s no reason for you to be. Okay?”
She nibbled her lower lip. “Okay.” Her eyes fell to his polished boots. “You have this way of making the most extraordinary things seem perfectly natural.”
“I don’t think I’ve ever been called extraordinary before.”
She glanced up, laughing, because his tone had been droll and dry. His eyes were twinkling with humor. All the tension left her. “Pity,” she murmured and turned away quickly.
He chuckled, moving to open the door for her. “Next time, go swimming when I ask you to,” he said at her temple when she passed him, “and you’ll know when I’m in the shower.”
She met his eyes briefly. “I haven’t been swimming in years, you know,” she said abruptly, without even meaning to. “I don’t own a bathing suit.”
His eyes lost their amused glow and narrowed, searching hers in a silence that took fire. “Don’t you think it’s time you stopped hiding your body and took a woman’s natural pride in it, little one?” he asked quietly. “Wearing a sexy outfit isn’t going to put you in danger with me. And I’ll fight off the rest of the male population for you, if that’s what frightens you.”
For once she was without her customary defenses. “You would?” she asked hesitantly, her olive eyes wide and unblinking.
That gaze knocked him in the stomach. She had eyes that seduced. She probably didn’t even know it, but she was working on him in ways he hadn’t expected.
“Yes,” he said, answering her at last. “I would. I might take you out to dinner and dancing one night.”
Her breath stilled and then became quick and sharp. “You might?”
His lips parted. He was talking to her, but the words were superfluous. The real communication was between his black eyes and her olive ones, and the tension was beginning to build in a feverish way.
“Why not?” he asked, his voice becoming deep and slow, like dark velvet. “Do you dance?”
“Not really. Don’t you remember? At that dance in college, I stumbled all over you and finally gave up.”
He did remember, all too well.
“You might try teaching me again,” she ventured.
He felt his body going taut. The effect of the words was visible and he thanked his lucky stars that she was too green to see it. “Yes. I could teach you.” It wasn’t dancing he was thinking about. His eyes dropped to her soft mouth and lingered there. He could teach her passion. It was there, inside her, he knew it. All it would take was a little tenderness...
“Bowie?” she whispered.
His eyes lifted slowly to hold hers. He was close enough that she felt the warmth of his body striking into her, and she could feel the coiled strength in him as his hand came up very slowly to her upper arm. His fingers spread over it, encompassing it, testing its silky warmth.
“I want your mouth,” he whispered. His hand pulled her gently toward him, moving her inches closer, so that they were almost touching.
She let him. The sensations she was feeling were new and overwhelming. It was like being drugged, she thought, and the dragging sensation in her stomach and upper thighs was oddly crippling. She was trembling inside, in a way she’d never expected. Her breasts ached. It was as if just the feel of those black eyes on her mouth had made some basic change in her chemistry. She felt the threat of his great strength at the same time she wanted to feel his body against the length of hers. She wanted to put her arms around him and be hugged until her breasts ached, kissed until her mouth was swollen and sore. She went pale. Was she going to be able to face the past at last and move into womanhood?
It almost seemed so. Her lips parted on a shaky breath, and her eyes searched Bowie’s fierce ones.
“Do you want my mouth on yours, Gaby?” he asked huskily, and his head started to bend. His gaze fell to her parted lips. “Do you want to feel me kissing you?”
“Oh... God,” she groaned, her legs going weak as the passionate need snapped in her. “Bowie...!”
She was reaching up to him, shaking with anticipation. And that was when the voice, stark and bleak, shattered the fever that was building in the pool house.
“Sẽnor Bowie!”
Bowie’s hands contracted sharply on Gaby’s arms, almost bruising. His eyes met hers, black with frustration and shocked fury. Then she was free and he was striding out into the hall.
“What is it, Montoya?” he asked in a steely but perfectly normal tone.
“Lunch is served, sẽnor,” Montoya called, grinning at the end of the hall. “Is Gaby with you?”
“She’s around somewhere. I’ll go hunt her up.” He paused, waiting until Montoya disappeared back into the dining room before he turned and motioned to Gaby.
She walked out into the hall on shaky legs, avoiding his eyes. But he didn’t move and she cannoned into him.
“It’s only a reprieve,” he said quietly, holding her wide eyes. His face was hard and his expression dogged. “I’m going to have that kiss. I’m going to take the breath out of your body and the strength out of your arms, and you’re going to want me like hell. That’s a promise.”
He slid his hand into hers and pulled her along with him toward the dining room, his profile intimidating. His fingers contracted and he glanced down. “Don’t start looking for excuses, either,” he added. “You and I aren’t related in any way. We can hold hands, we can go on dates. We can even make love. There aren’t any barriers.”
Her breath felt shaky. “That’s what you think,” she said under her breath.
“I’ll get past those hangups, honey,” he mused. “I’m not a rounder by any stretch of the imagination, but I know very well what to do with a woman. I won’t hurt you—not ever.”
She wanted to argue, to tell him that she couldn’t, she wouldn’t. There were so many secrets from the past, so much hidden pain and fear and guilt. But she couldn’t pour all that out. She couldn’t let Bowie know what had happened—she couldn’t let him get close to her at all. That knowledge was like a thorn in her heart. She