Unlikely Lover. Diana Palmer
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experience you had, I thought…”
“What experience?” she asked politely.
“The man at the shopping center,” he said, his green eyes level and frankly puzzled as he closed the door behind him.
“Are you afraid of me because of that?” she burst out. “I do realize you may be a little weak, Mr. Jessup, but I promise I won’t hurt you!”
He gaped at her. “What?”
“You don’t have to be afraid of me,” she assured him. “I’m not really as bad as Aunt Lillian made me sound, I’m sure. And it’s only a red belt, after all, not a black one. I only sat on him until the police came. I hardly even bruised him—”
“Whoa,” he said curtly. He cocked his dark head and peered at her. “You sat on him?”
“Sure,” she agreed, pushing her hair out of her eyes. “Didn’t she tell you that Beth and I ran the little weasel down to get my purse back and beat the stuffing out of him? Overweight little juvenile delinquent, he was lucky I didn’t skin him alive.”
“You weren’t attacked?” he persisted.
“Well, sort of.” She shrugged. “He stole my purse. He couldn’t have known I was a karate student.”
“Oh, my God,” he burst out. His eyes narrowed, his jaw tautened. “That lying old turkey!”
“How dare you call my aunt a turkey!” she returned hotly. “After all she’s doing for you?”
“What, exactly, is she doing for me?”
“Well, bringing me here, to help you write your memoirs before…the end,” she faltered. “She told me all about your incurable illness—”
“Incurable illness?” he bellowed.
“You’re dying,” she told him.
“Like hell I am,” he said fiercely.
“You don’t have to act brave and deny it,” she replied hesitantly. “She told me that you wanted young people around to cheer you up. And somebody to help you write your memoirs. I’m going to be a novelist one day,” she added. “I want to be a writer.”
“Good. You can practice with your aunt’s obituary,” he muttered, glaring toward the door.
“You can’t do that to a helpless old lady,” she began.
“Watch me.” He was heading for the door, his very stride frightening.
“Oh, no! You can’t!” She ran after him, got in front of him and plastered herself against the door. “You’ll have to go through me.”
“Suits me, Joan of Arc,” he grumbled, catching her by the waist. He lifted her clear off the floor until she was unnervingly at eye level with him. “You sweet little angel of mercy, you.”
“Put me down or I’ll…I’ll put you down,” she threatened.
He stared amusedly into her blue eyes under impossibly thick lashes. “Will you? Go ahead. Show me how you earned that red belt.”
She tried. She used every trick her instructor had taught her, and all it accomplished was to leave her dangling from his powerful hands, panting into his mocking smile.
“Had enough?” she huffed.
“Not at all. Aren’t you finished yet?” he asked politely.
She aimed one more kick, which he blocked effortlessly. She sagged in his powerful hold. Lord, he was strong! “Okay,” she said, sighing wearily. “Now I’m finished.”
“Next time,” he told her as he put her back on her feet, leaving his hands tightly around her waist, “make sure your intended victim didn’t take the same course of study. My belt is black. Tenth degree.”
“Damn you!” she cursed sharply.
“And we’ll have no more of that in this house,” he said shortly, emphasizing the angry remark with a reproachful slap to her bottom, nodding as she gasped in outrage. “You’ve been working in that garage for too long already, if that’s any example of what you’re being taught.”
“I’m not a child!” she retorted. “I’m an adult!”
“No, you aren’t,” he replied, jerking her against him with a mocking smile. “But maybe I can help you grow up a little.”
He bent his head and found her lips with a single smooth motion, pressing her neck back against his muscular shoulder with the fierce possessiveness of his hard mouth.
Mari thought that in all her life nothing so unexpected had ever happened to her. His lips were warm and hard and insistent, forcing hers open so that he could put the tip of his tongue just under them, his breath tasting of coffee and mint, the strength of his big body overwhelming her with its hard warmth.
For an instant she tried to struggle, only to find herself enveloped in his arms, wrapped up against him so tightly that she could hardly breathe. And everywhere her face turned, his was there, his mouth provocative, sensuous, biting at hers, doing the most intimate things to it.
Her legs felt funny. They began to tremble as they came into sudden and shocking contact with his. Her heart raced. Her body began to ache with heat and odd longings. Her breath caught somewhere in her chest, and her breasts felt swollen. Because these new sensations frightened her, she tried to struggle. But he only held her tighter, not brutally but firmly, and went on kissing her.
His fingers were in her hair, tugging gently, strong and warm at her nape as they turned her face where he wanted it. His mouth pressed roughly against hers and opened softly, teaching hers. Eventually the drugging sweetness of it took the fight out of her. With a tiny sigh she began to relax.
“Open your mouth, Mari,” he murmured in a deep, rough whisper, punctuating the command with a sensual brushing of his open lips against hers.
She obeyed him without hearing him, her body with a new heat, her hands searching over his arms to find hard muscle and warm strength through the fabric. She wanted to touch his skin, to experience every hard line of him. She wanted to open his shirt and touch his chest and see if the wiry softness she could feel through it was thick hair….
Her abandon shocked her back to reality. Her eyes opened and she tugged at his arms, only vaguely aware of the sudden, fierce hunger in his mouth just before he felt her resistance. He lifted his head, taking quick, short breaths, and by the time her eyes opened, he was back in control.
He was watching her, half amused, half mocking. He lifted his mouth, breathing through his nose, and let her move away.
“You little virgin,” he accused in a tone that she didn’t recognize. “You don’t even know how to make love.”
Her swollen lips could barely form words. She had to swallow and try twice to make herself heard. “That wasn’t fair,” she said finally.
“Why not?” he asked. “You tried to kick me, didn’t you?”
“That isn’t the way…a gentleman gets even,” she said, still panting.
“I’m no gentleman,” he assured her, smiling even with those cold green eyes. The smile grew colder as he realized how close he’d come to letting her knock him off balance physically. She was dangerous. Part of him wanted her off the property. But another part was hungry for more of that innocently ardent response he’d won from her. His own emotions confused him. “Haven’t you realized yet why you’re here, Georgia peach?” he asked mockingly. And when she shook her head, he continued, half amused. “Aunt Lillian is matchmaking. She wants you to marry me.”
Mari’s pupils dilated. “Marry you!”
His back stiffened. She didn’t have to make it sound like the rack, did she? He glared down at her. “Well, plenty