Chapter 11
She fought him. She refused to be taken in anger, no matter how deep her love. The bed sank beneath their combined weights, molding to them like a cocoon. The music drifted, calm and beautiful. His hands were rough as they dragged at the buttons of her shirt.
She didn’t speak. It never occurred to her to beg him to stop, or to give in to the tears that would surely have snapped him back to his senses.
Instead she struggled, trying to roll away from his ruthlessly seeking hands.
She fought, furiously bucking, pushing against him, waging a private war against the traitorous response of her body, which would betray her heart.
She would hate him for this. The knowledge nearly broke her. If he succeeded in what he set out to do, it would wash away other memories and leave this one, this violent, distorted one, dominant. Unable to bear it, she fought now for both of them.
He knew her too well. Every curve, every dip, every pulse.
On a wave of fury, he locked her wrists in one hand and dragged her arms over her head.
His mouth savaged her neck while his free hand slid down, unerringly, to find one of those secret, vulnerable places.
He heard her moan as the unwanted, unavoidable pleasure tore into her.
Her body tensed, a wire ready to snap. It arched, a bow pulled taut.
He felt the burst of release as it shuddered through her, heard her choked-off cry.
He saw her lips quiver before she pressed them hard together.
Regret burned through him. He had no right, no one did, to take something beautiful and use it as a weapon. He’d wanted to hurt her for something beyond her control. And he had. No more, he realized, than he had hurt himself.
“Libby.”
She only shook her head, her eyes tightly closed. Wishing for words that weren’t there, Cal rolled over and stared at the ceiling.
“I have no excuse . . . there is no excuse for treating you that way.”
She managed to swallow the tears. It relieved her, made it possible for her to steady her breathing and open her eyes. “Maybe not, but there’s usually a reason. I’d like to hear it.”
He didn’t answer for a long time. They lay close and tense, not quite touching.
There were dozens of reasons he could give her—lack of sleep, overwork, the anxiety over the possible failure of his flight.
They would all be accurate, to a point. But they wouldn’t be the truth.
Libby, he knew, set great store by honesty.
“I care for you,” he said slowly. “It isn’t easy knowing I won’t see you again. I realize we both have our own lives,” he added before she could speak. “Our own place. Maybe we’re both doing what has to be done, but I don’t like the idea that it’s easy for you.”
“It isn’t.”
He knew it was selfish, but it relieved him to hear it. Reaching over, he linked his hand with hers. “I’m jealous.”
“Of what?”
“Of the men you’ll meet, the ones you’ll love. The one’s who’ll love you.”
“But—”
“No, don’t say anything. Let me get it all out and over with.
It doesn’t seem to matter that I know it’s wrong, intellectually.
It’s a gut reaction, Libby, and I’m used to going with them.
Every time I imagine another man touching you the way I’ve touched you, seeing you the way I’ve seen you, I go a little crazy. ”
“And that’s why you’ve been angry with me?” She turned her head to study his profile. “Over my imagined future affairs?”
“I guess you’ve got a right to make me sound like an idiot.”
“I’m not trying to.”
He moved his shoulders in what might have been a shrug. “I can even see him. He’s about six-four and built like one of those Greek gods.”
“Adonis,” she suggested, smiling. “He gets my vote.”
“Shut up.” But she noted that his lips curved slightly. “He’s got blond hair, streaked, kind of windswept, and this strong, rock-hard jaw with one of those clefts in it.”
“Like Kirk Douglas?”
He shot her a suspicious look. “You know a guy like this?”
“Only by reputation.” Because she sensed that the storm was over, she kissed Cal’s shoulder.
“Anyway, he’s got brains, too, which is another reason I really hate him. He’s a doctor, not medical but philosophy. He can discuss the traditional mating habits of obscure tribes with you for hours. And he plays piano.”
“Wow. I’m impressed.”
“He’s rich,” Cal went on, almost viciously. “A 9.2 credit rating. He takes you to Paris and makes love to you in a room overlooking the Seine. Then he gives you a diamond as big as a fist.”
“Well, well.” She gave it some thought. “Can he quote poetry?”
“He even writes it.”
“Oh, my God.” She put a hand to her heart. “I don’t suppose you could tell me where I’m going to meet him? I want to be ready.”
He rolled over just enough to look at her. Her eyes were bright, but with amusement, not tears. “You’re getting a real charge out of this, aren’t you?”
“Yes.” She lifted a hand to his face. “I suppose it might make you feel better if I promised I’d join a convent.”
“Okay.” He took her wrist to bring her palm against his mouth. “Can I get it in writing?”
“I’ll think about it.” His eyes were clear again, deep and clear. He was Cal now, the man she could love and understand. “Are we finished fighting?”
“Looks like it. I’m sorry, Libby. I’ve been acting like a lupz.”
“I’m not sure what that means, but you’re probably right.”
“Friends?” He bent down to brush her lips with his.
“Friends.” Before he could draw back, she cupped his head in her hand and held him against her for a longer, deeper and much less friendly kiss. “Cal?”
“Hmm?” He traced her lips with his tongue, memorizing their shape and texture.
“Did this guy have a name? Ouch!” Torn between laughter and pain, she jerked back. “You bit me.”
“Damn right.”
“It was your fantasy,” she reminded him primly, “not mine.”
“And let’s keep it that way.” But he was grinning as he ran his hand up the smooth skin where her shirt had parted. “I can give you others, if you’re willing to settle.”
“Yes.” His palm rounded over her breast, working magic. “Oh, yes.”
“If I took you to Paris, we’d spend the first three days in that hotel suite and never get out of bed.
” He continued to tease, nipping here, stroking there, stopping just short of possession.
“We’d drink champagne, bottle after bottle, and eat small dishes with exotic names and tastes.
I’d know every inch of your body, every pore of your skin.
We’d stay in that big, soft bed and go places no one else had ever been. ”
“Cal.” She trembled as he circled her breasts with slow, openmouthed kisses.
“Then we’d get dressed. I can see you in something thin and white, something that skims off your shoulders, dips down your back. Something that makes every man who sees you want to murder me.”
“I don’t even see them.” With a sigh, she traced her hands down him, lingering over every plane and angle. “I only see you.”
“The stars are out. Millions of them. You can smell Paris. It’s rich .
. . water and flowers. We’d walk for miles so you could see all those incredible lights and wonderful ancient buildings.
We’d stop and drink wine in a café at a table with an umbrella.
Then we’d go back and make love again, for hours and hours. ”
His lips came back to hers, drugging her. “We don’t need Paris for that.”
“No.” He braced himself over her, bracketing her head between his hands. Her face was already glowing, her eyes were half closed, that soft smile was on her lips. He wanted to remember this, this one instant when there was nothing and no one but her.
“Oh, God, Libby, I need you.”
It was all she needed to hear, all she would ever ask to hear. She reached up to enfold him.
There was urgency here. She could taste it as his tongue plunged deep into her mouth, demanding.
Impatient, his hands molded her body. Because his feelings mirrored her own, her response was explosive.
Her blood was molten, throbbing as it flowed close under her skin.
The heat was unbearable. Delicious. It grew only more intense as he stripped her.
A primitive sound hummed deep in her throat.
With a speed and fury that rocked him, she was yanking off his shirt, dragging his jeans over his hips.
Desperate, she rolled, reversing their positions, making a fast, hot journey over him.
She heard his breath catch, and the sound sent her excitement soaring to new heights.
Power. It was indeed the ultimate aphrodisiac. She could make him tremble and ache and whisper her name. She’d never known that with such little effort she could make him helpless.
And he was beautiful. The feel of him under her hands, the taste of him that lingered on her tongue. And strong. There were ridges of muscles, firm, tight. But they trembled under the delicate dance of her fingertips.
He’d wanted to make her remember. Cal groaned under the weight of the sensations she was bringing to him. It was he who would remember, always. The music that he had always loved, the simple eloquence of it, filled his head. He knew it would remind him of her from now to forever.
He could feel the heat radiate from her as she moved her body up his, searching, finding his mouth. Her kiss was slow, sultry, something he could drown in. Then she was laughing, evading his questing hands as she drove him toward madness again.
He couldn’t bear it. His heart was pounding against his ribs, echoed by dozens of frantic pulses throughout his body. The rhythm seemed to call out her name, again and again, until he was filled with it.
“Libby.” The word was hoarse, as raw as his need. “For God’s sake.”
Then she closed over him like hot velvet. The sound she made was hardly more than a moan, but it vibrated with triumph. Lost in her own pleasure, she set a wild pace, feeling her strength bound high, then higher, as her need swelled.