Untamed. Diana Palmer
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“Do you have one of those permits, too? So you can shoot people...?”
“I never shoot people.” He hesitated. “Almost never.”
She was recalling Miguel and the feel of the knife at her breast. Involuntarily, her fingers went to her bodice.
His arm tightened around her. “He’ll never hurt another woman.”
“He was scary,” she recalled with a tiny shiver. “A big man, very muscular...”
He pursed his lips. “So am I, Tat.”
“Yes, but he had sloppy muscles. You’re...” She recalled how he looked under his clothes and she blushed. “I can’t believe I let you talk me into that.”
He laughed. “I can’t believe it, either. I’ll carry that memory around with me for the rest of my life.”
“Why?”
“Because of the way you looked at me,” he said. He averted his gaze. “I’m touchy about my disability, Tat,” he said. “When you looked at me, you weren’t seeing it.”
“I never see it,” she said. “Stanton, there are men missing arms and legs, in all sorts of conditions, coming home from wars and conflicts. Many of them are married or in relationships. People cope, you know?”
“I had a woman tell me once that it would be creepy to go to bed with a one-eyed man,” he said, trying to make a joke of it.
She stopped dancing and winced.
“I didn’t,” he said at once, because he knew why she winced.
“Because she wouldn’t?” she asked.
“No. Because I...couldn’t,” he said. He drew her close again and danced.
She didn’t understand.
His big hand grew caressing on her back. “While you were under the influence of those anxiety meds, you thought you wanted Grange. But would you have slept with him?”
“No,” she said at once.
“Why?”
She drew in a shaky breath. “I can’t... I don’t...” She closed her eyes.
“Because you only want me, that way,” he whispered for her.
“Yes,” she said miserably, her pride gone.
He tilted up her chin and searched her blue eyes. He wasn’t smiling. “And I only want you, that way.”
“Pull the other one,” she laughed. “That was a gorgeous blonde you were dancing with at the awards ceremony when I left the room...”
“She’s married to the presenter,” he said quietly.
“Oh.”
“Why in the hell do you think I went out and got drunk?” he asked at her ear.
“Because I wouldn’t go to bed with you,” she bit off.
He lifted his head. He sighed. “We’ve got a long way to go,” he said after a minute. “But, then, I knew it wouldn’t be easy.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Dance,” he said, smiling. “There’s only tonight.”
“Really?”
“Well, not really. I thought I’d take you on a tour of Manaus tomorrow,” he added. “We’ll go look at the opera house and see some of the street performances. We might take in a show. I’ll see what’s in town.”
“You’re not going right back to Africa, then?”
“No.”
She followed his steps so easily, as if she could read his mind and knew exactly what he was going to do next. But it wasn’t that way except for dancing. “When?” she asked.
“How long is your fiancé going to be out of town?” he asked.
“Three weeks, he said.”
He lifted his head and looked into her eyes. “I’m going to be here for three weeks,” he said.
“Stanton...”
“When I take you home tonight, I’m going to leave you at your front door,” he said quietly. “But I’m going to kiss you in such a way that you’ll lie awake all night wanting me.”
Her lips parted on a husky breath.
“Of course, I’ll also lie awake all night wanting you,” he mused, and laughed to break the tension.
The music ended. He took her back to their table and ordered champagne.
“Are we celebrating something?” she asked when the waiter poured it into flutes.
“Yes,” Rourke replied, smiling tenderly. “To beginnings.”
Well, that was innocuous enough, she supposed. He didn’t really look threatening. She smiled and raised her glass to touch to his.
* * *
Domingo waited in the car while Rourke walked Clarisse to her door.
He paused just in front of her, producing her house key. She unlocked the door, leaving the key in it.
“I had a lovely time,” she said. “Really lovely. Thank you.”
“I did, too. I don’t get out much these days,” he confessed. “Never dancing. I’m usually up to my neck in some project overseas.”
That brought back to mind what he did for a living, and she felt uneasy. “You’re always at risk.”
He shrugged. “I can’t live without it, sweetheart,” he said softly, smiling when she flushed a little at the unaccustomed endearment. He never used them to her. Not in the past. “I have to have those adrenaline rushes.”
“I suppose it’s like men who play sports or go into law enforcement work.”
“Something like that.”
She searched his face with quiet, resigned eyes. “Try not to get killed. I hate funerals.”
He chuckled. “I’m sure I’d hate my own. But you’d look gorgeous in black lace, Tat. I used to dream about you in a long, lacy see-through black gown. I’d wake up sweating.”
That was surprising. “You dreamed about me?”
“Just as you dream about me,” he said, as if he knew.
“It was eight years ago,” she began.
“No. It was yesterday.” He looked down at her. “This may get a little rough,” he said apologetically as he drew her slowly to him. “I don’t mean it to, okay?”
“I don’t understand,” she faltered, already on fire from just the contact with his powerful body.
“I’ve kept to myself...for a while,” he whispered as he bent to her mouth. His hands slid to her hips and drew her against him. He shivered as his body reacted immediately, explicitly, to just the touch of her. “Sorry,” he added unsteadily.
“It’s all right,” she said. She stood very still as his head bent, his mouth coming to brush hers very softly. He nudged her top lip away from the lower one and teased it with brief, soft little kisses that made her body go tense.
He felt that. He felt her nails biting into his upper arms as she held him.
“I’ll bet—” he breathed into her mouth “—that your nipples are like little stones right now, Tat...”
She opened her mouth, shocked, and his went down against it with furious hunger. His hands on her hips were hurting but he didn’t move them, he didn’t try to bring her closer. He just