Eye of the Tiger (7 page)

“Of course,” she said. “I’d like a daughter, though.”

“A daughter wouldn’t be bad, although boys run in my family. The father determines sex, you know.”

“No!” she said in mock astonishment. “And here I thought the cabbage fairy did all that!”

“Stop it, you idiot,” he muttered, chuckling. “I keep forgetting you went through nurse’s training. I expect you know more than I do about reproduction.”

“About some of it, maybe,” she said tightly. She finished her tea and got up to put her cup and the plates in a nearby garbage can. When she came back, Keegan hadn’t moved. He was still watching her, his eyes narrow and calculating.

“How about putting my cup in there, too?” He drained it and handed it to her; but just as she reached down to take it, he caught her wrist and propelled her into his hard body, cushioning the impact with his arms.

“Keegan!” she protested, struggling.

He only held her closer, positioning her across his legs, with her head captured in the crook of his elbow. He looked down at her, watching her struggles, feeling the touch of her hands on his chest as she pushed at it, and the blood rushed like lava through his veins.

“I’m not…on the menu,” she said, panting.

“You should be,” he murmured. His blue eyes scanned her delicate features, her full mouth and big
brown eyes in a frame of blondish-brown hair. “I like what you’ve done to your hair, Eleanor. I like the new makeup, too.”

She hadn’t thought he’d even noticed it. Her eyes, steady and curious on his hardening face, reflected her puzzlement.

“You were sixteen the first time I kissed you,” he said abruptly, watching her mouth. “It was at the annual Christmas party, up at Flintlock, and you stood under the mistletoe with the damnedest lost look on your face. I bent and kissed you, so gently, and you went beet red and ran away.”

“I wasn’t expecting it,” she muttered, renewing her struggles.

He felt his body going rigid, and he stilled her with a firm hand on her hip. “No,” he said softly. “Lie still. You’re hurting me.”

She froze, because even as he said it she could feel it. Her eyes levered back up to his and were captured by the mixture of hunger and pain she read in them.

“I’m sorry,” she said, lying quietly. “But if you’d just let me go…”

“I don’t want to,” he replied. His possessive gaze traveled boldly from her face to the soft curve of her breasts in the revealing knit shirt, to her slender waist and her long, elegant legs in their tight blue-jeans casing. “I’m sorry I hurt you that night,” he remarked in a deep, velvet-soft tone. “I’m even sorrier that I didn’t make up for it. By then, the risk would have been no worse. I left you with scars, didn’t I?”

“Enough…that I don’t want any more of them! Will you let me go?” she said, panting.

His voice was tender, the slow movements of his hand on her hip maddening. “It must have gone against everything you believed in to give yourself to me. I wasn’t thinking about your upbringing. I was so drunk on the taste and feel of you that I couldn’t think. I remember the scent of your body, the sound of your voice in my ear whispering that you loved me….”

“Stop it!” she cried, hiding her red face against him. Her hands clenched into fists against his chest. “Stop it, Keegan, for heaven’s sake! I was a teenage girl with a furious crush, and you were an experienced man out to revenge yourself on the girl you really loved. That’s all it was!”

“Are you sure?” He tilted her face up to his quiet, solemn eyes. “I’ll admit that I’d had too much to drink and had fought with Lorraine, and you looked…” His mind went back to the way she’d looked in blue satin with her long hair curving around her shoulders and her full, lovely breasts provocatively displayed in the strapless gown. “You looked like Venus walking. I only meant to show you a good time, kiss you a little. But when you moaned and started kissing me back so hungrily, I forgot everything.”

It had been explosive, she remembered, the bare touch of his mouth enough to trigger unexpected longings. She’d wanted it for so many years, hungered for it, ached to know his lovemaking, his possession. She’d had a few drinks of her own, and when he’d started undressing her, she’d gone wild at the touch of his skillful hands on her bare flesh.

He saw those memories in her eyes and felt his body going tense. The soft warmth and weight of her in his
arms was making him ache. She smelled of gardenia, and his mind wouldn’t let go of the picture it carried of her that night in the moonlit darkness, writhing under his touch while the car stereo played an exotic, sultry tune that could still bring his blood up four years later.

“Don’t you dare touch me there!” she burst out as his fingers went down to her knit blouse and edged under it to the bottom of her bra.

But his hand kept moving, and she could feel his warm breath at her ear, whispering things she didn’t hear. She struggled again, until his strength subdued her. The silence around them was tense, broken by bird songs, the lap of the water on the shore and the rustle of windblown leaves. Eleanor could hardly hear them above the beat of her heart. She could even hear his, and she marveled at the electricity they created together. It seemed even more potent than it had four years ago, perhaps because she was a woman now.

“Hush, Ellie,” he whispered, ignoring the hand tugging at his wrist. “Shhhhh. Lie still for me….”

She had to bite her lip to keep from crying out. He had her wrapped up so tightly that she couldn’t even squirm. She didn’t want his hands on her; she couldn’t bear the remembered pleasure of it. She moaned sharply, hating the vulnerability that he could hear now as he found the front clip of the garment and gently unhooked it. She could feel herself swelling, and he wasn’t even touching her yet. His fingers rested on the clip as the bra parted in front and began to peel away.

He lifted his head, finding her eyes, paralyzing her with the sweet warmth of that possessive gaze, while his fingers tortured her with slow, expert movements.

“All I want is to touch you, stroke you a little,” he said in a voice as lazy and sultry as a summer night.

“Don’t!” she cried, biting her lip hard as his free hand began to move the bra away from soft flesh. “Please don’t do this to me, Keegan!”

“Why are you so afraid of it?” he asked gently, searching her wild eyes. “You’re a woman now, not a child. Four years older, wiser, experienced yourself. This is just an interlude. Share a little pleasure with me, Ellie. Let me bring back the memories.”

“They were terrible memories,” she reminded him on a caught breath. “You hurt me!”

“I know, baby,” he said softly, and his eyes for an instant were haunted. He bent and brushed his mouth gently over her forehead. “Once, but never again, never. Lie still, baby, and let me touch you.”

She wanted to stop him. To cry out, to protest. He’d hurt her pride so desperately, and he was only playing with her. But he was calling her “baby,” just as he had on that night, and she remembered the feel of his hair-roughened chest against her taut breasts, the smooth, hard muscles of his bare legs against her own, the unexpected steely strength of his body as he held her down and overwhelmed her in the moonlit darkness….

How could she want this, after the way he’d hurt her? But she did; she wanted it, her body was gently arching, and his hand was tracing her rib cage, taunting her, teasing her. “Shhhh,” he whispered again. The arm supporting her lifted her a little closer to his chest, turning her so that her hot face could fall against his neck.

She shuddered helplessly and raised her hands, tangling them gently in the slightly curly hair at the nape
of his strong neck. She couldn’t breathe properly, and she couldn’t hide it. She moaned again, a breath of sound that barely reached his ear.

His cheek brushed against hers. His mouth touched her ear, her cheek, her nose. “Ellie,” he whispered, and his lips found hers, probing them delicately apart, biting at them.

It was just like that night. Explosive. Blazing. Frightening, a brushfire that hardly needed its own spark to ignite.

“Keegan,” she moaned against his lips, shaking all over. Her eyes opened, anguished, and found a matching torment in the blue depths.

“Nothing’s changed,” he whispered, his deep voice a little husky with emotion. “Touching you excites me so. This, with you, is as satisfying as lovemaking. You make such sweet noises when I do this….”

“This” was an achingly slow tracing around her breast until his fingers brushed the taut hardness and made it throb with pleasure. Her body jerked and she moaned against his mouth. He reveled in the trembling hunger he could feel in her. Lost, burning up with remembered passion, he opened his mouth and gently thrust his tongue into her mouth. It was surprising, the way she tensed, as if she weren’t used to this kind of kissing. Surprising, and wildly arousing.

His hands teased her body until he felt her fingers at his wrist, pleading, guiding. Surges of pleasure shot through him like fire as his hand found her, so gently, and she froze in the tender embrace, her breath catching as he took the delicate weight and found the hardness
with his thumb. She jerked at that brushing contact, shuddering with obvious pleasure.

“Do you like it like that?” he whispered. “Does it please you when I touch them this way? Or is it better like this?”

His thumb and forefinger contracted, and she arched back, groaning, abandoned. And he went crazy.

She felt her body being forced down against the hard ground, felt the weight of his body as he kissed her fiercely, and was powerless to stop him. She was caught in the power of what they were sharing, in the sweet, warm beauty of it. Her mouth felt bruised when he finally lifted his head, and her eyes opened lazily to look up at the passion-hard face of the man above her. “I’m going to look at you,” he whispered, catching the hem of her blouse while she lay helpless under his body. “I’m going to get drunk on you, and then I’m going to eat you like candy.”

She moaned, beyond pride, beyond protest, wanting the breeze on her bare skin, his eyes, his mouth there. She trembled a little as she felt her rib cage being stroked by his lean, strong hands and the wind.

His face was dark with passion, his eyes glittering with it, as he looked down at her body, his hands just the least bit unsteady. Her arms lifted above her head as he raised the hem of the blouse just to the lacy bottom of her bra. Then, as he started to bare her breasts to his eyes, the sound of an approaching automobile penetrated their passion-hazed cocoon.

Keegan froze, shuddering. “No!” he whispered in anguish. He glanced up. “Oh, God, go away!”

But the car, loaded with children and a dog with a
tongue half the length of his body, pulled into a parking spot right beside the Porsche.

Keegan dragged his eyes from Eleanor’s shaking body and got to his feet with a rough curse, ramming his hands in his pockets and actually shuddering with frustrated passion.

Eleanor dragged herself into a sitting position, shocked to find that she wasn’t even very disheveled except that her bra was unclipped. She fastened it unobtrusively as the family talked merrily and slammed things around getting out of the car. Eleanor had a glimpse of Keegan’s obviously aroused body before he turned away and walked down to the water’s edge. With a shaky sigh, she began to get the picnic items together.

She lifted her head and managed a smile at the group of picnickers as they rushed past to a table a few hundred yards away. She’d had a narrow escape; now she wanted to go home and mentally flay herself for the way she’d given in. She wondered if she might be a nymphomaniac or something. She certainly seemed wanton with Keegan.

He came back minutes later, still pale and rigid. He lifted the basket for her and carried it up to the Porsche, sticking it in the trunk with little respect for its age.

He held the door for Eleanor with a face hard enough to make her uncomfortable. She knew a little more about men now than she had four years ago, and she didn’t have to ask what was wrong with him.

As they drove back toward her home, he lit a cigarette and smoked it silently, his red hair blowing in the wind with the top down. Eleanor kept her silence, too,
ashamed of her behavior, ashamed of letting him see that she was still vulnerable.

He pulled up in front of her house and cut the engine. “I didn’t mean for that to happen,” he said unexpectedly. He leaned back against his door, watching her with an expression that didn’t quite register.

“You never did,” she replied curtly. “Well, if you’re expecting me to be available for fun and games, you can forget it. I had one dose of you, and one was enough. I’m over you.”

His thin lips moved up slightly as he read the fear so plain in her big, dark eyes and controlled the automatic urge to retaliate. He stared down at his cigarette. “I came on too strong, I guess,” he said quietly. “I expected you to be experienced by now, Ellie.”

“And what makes you think I’m not?” she demanded.

He looked up into her eyes, and the expression in them caused her to flush. She opened the door and got out, so quickly that she almost fell.

She was almost to the house when he caught her up with his long, easy stride.

“I won’t flatter myself by thinking that no other man measured up, if that’s what caused the scarlet blush,” he told her, turning her at the front door. “Did I leave such deep scars that you can’t give yourself again, Ellie, is that what happened?”

“Now you are flattering yourself,” she said tightly.

He touched her hair, hating the tiny flinch of her eyelids that told him how very vulnerable she was, how frightened. “Don’t,” he said softly, tenderly. “I don’t think I could bear it if you pushed me away.”

Her eyes widened, shocked as she searched the blue depths of his gaze.

“Can’t you see how hard this is for me?” he asked quietly. “I know how badly I hurt you, what I did to your pride.”

“And what are you trying to do now, make it up to me with a little light lovemaking between women?” she accused angrily. “No, thanks! You caught me off guard today—some old memories got in my way and I lost my head. But that won’t happen twice, Keegan Taber. I’d rather throw myself at a shark than at you.”