Lady Love (11 page)

“Yes,” he said, but he wasn’t teasing.

“No need to worry, though,” she said. “I’ll be gone in a week, and you can get back to normal again.”

“A week?” He scowled. “I thought you and Mother had barely begun.”

“I work fast,” she told him. “And shouldn’t we go into the dining room?”

He reached out and touched her throat. Just that—warm, strong fingers moving gently on her skin. But it was enough to stop her in her tracks.

“I want you,” he said in an odd tone.

She felt as if the breath had been knocked out of her. Her eyes stared up helplessly into his.

“You’re totally unsuitable,” he said. His breath was coming hard now, quick. “Too reckless, too mercurial.”

“Look here, buster, you’re no bargain either,” she said in a breathless tone. “You staid banker types leave me cold.”

He shook his head. “I got you hotter than hell,” he said in a gruff whisper. “I’d bet half my stock that you’ve never been that way with another man, either.”

“I have!” she burst out, but she sounded and looked frantic, threatened.

“No,” he breathed. “Where did you really go last night? Not to a hotel. You just wanted me to think that.”

Her lower lip trembled. It wasn’t fair! How could she think straight while he was touching her? “We…went to a nightclub.”

His fingers moved lower, to the vee neck of her blouse, and traced its outline. “As I thought,” he murmured. “A totally innocent evening.”

She glared at him. “Yours wasn’t,” she ground out.

“But it was, Merlyn,” he said quietly, and his chiseled mouth curved softly. “I kissed Delle twice and felt your mouth both times.”

Excitement highlighted her high cheekbones, brightened her wide eyes.

“A virgin,” he breathed angrily. His fingers moved up to catch her long hair in a grip that hurt, and his eyes stabbed into hers. “Damn you, Merlyn!”

“I didn’t drag you into the closet!” she whispered on a sob.

“You came, though,” he accused. “You came, and you let me strip you and touch you.…Oh, God, I could feel your skin in my sleep, you little tease!”

She was shaking now, trembling with mingled fury and fear and desire. “I’m not a tease,” she bit off. “Let me go!”

His dark eyes narrowed menacingly. “What would you call it?” he demanded. He glanced down at her blouse. “You led me on, party girl.”

“You were the one who started taking my dress off,” she threw back, green eyes blazing. “Men are supposed to have some kind of control over themselves, aren’t they?”

His eyes widened with disbelief. “You thought I could touch you that way and just break it off with no ill effects?”

Her voice faltered. “Couldn’t you? Adam always…could.”

He drew in a harsh breath. “Who’s Adam?”

She lowered her eyes. “The man I was going to marry.”

He stiffened. She glanced up at him, puzzled by the waiting stillness of his body.

“You were engaged?” he asked.

She nodded.

“And you’re still a virgin?” he persisted.

She glowered up at him. “He didn’t want me. Not that way, at least. He wanted…something my father had.” That much was true; he’d wanted her father’s millions. “But I thought it was just gentlemanly restraint that kept him so respectful of my body.”

“My God,” he said heavily.

“Are you shocked, Mr. Rochester?” she asked with a bitter little laugh.

His eyes met hers. “Yes. Shocked that any man could want something more than you.”

Her lips turned up at the corners. “Thank you,” she said with quiet pride. “It sounds trite, but I did need that.”

He frowned. “Is that why you came to work for my mother? To recuperate?”

She nodded. “In a way. Could I go now?”

“Did you want him?”

That was a question she hadn’t expected. Her lips parted, but no sound passed them. She searched his dark face and realized quite suddenly that she hadn’t wanted Adam. She hadn’t known what wanting really was until Cameron Thorpe dragged her into a closet and unzipped her evening gown.

“No,” she said slowly. “I don’t believe I really did.”

“Did you love him?”

“I thought so,” she replied with a faint smile. “I don’t think I knew exactly what love was.”

“Apparently you still don’t know what sex is,” he said flatly. “You’d better not let me go that far again, Merlyn, for your own protection. You’re damned vulnerable with me.”

Her eyes glittered up at him. “I didn’t tempt you in the first place!”

“Like hell!” he returned. “You were flirting for all you were worth.”

“It’s my way!” she flashed. “It’s my defense mechanism! Most men run for the hills when I start.…”

“I’m not most men,” he said with menace in his deep, slow voice. “You throw me off balance and that’s dangerous. I could get hungry enough not to remember Delle or your virginity.”

“I’ll keep my blouses fastened to the throat and dig out my chastity belt,” she promised, easing away from him. “Don’t you worry, sir, I’ll do my best to protect you from yourself.”

He cocked his head, eyeing her narrowly, as if he saw through the mask of her outrageous humor to the frightened woman underneath.

“After all, you have your life mapped out,” she persisted, moving toward the door. “You might just remind yourself occasionally that you’re engaged.”

His bold, slow gaze moved down her body and back up again, and it was every bit as intimate as his touch had been the night before, in the hot closet. “Why did you let me?” he asked gently, capturing her eyes.

Her lips trembled. She couldn’t get words past them.

“You were lucky,” he said after a minute. “Damned lucky. Or hasn’t it occurred to you that I wasn’t going to stop?”

Her lower jaw dropped slightly. “You…we couldn’t have!” she whispered.

He laughed humorlessly. “Like hell we couldn’t.” He moved closer, looking down at her from a disturbing proximity. “Didn’t you know, my innocent, that people can do it standing up?”

She hated that mocking smile. She hated him, too, for making her vulnerable, for laughing at her. Her face flamed, and she felt her fingers itching.

He seemed to sense that, because he reached down and caught her fingers in his. “He scarred you, didn’t he?” he asked suddenly. “You’re as afraid of your own emotions as…” He didn’t finish the sentence, but she could have done it for him:…
as I am of mine.
It was in his eyes, his face.

“I don’t trust men anymore,” she breathed.

“And I don’t trust women.” He looked down at her mouth and his breathing quickened. “Not one bit.” His fingers tightened on hers.

“Cameron,” she protested in a faint whisper.

That seemed to make it worse. With a rough sound, he lifted her by the waist until she was on a level with his hard, glittering eyes.

“I don’t want you,” he said coldly, desperately, as though he was trying to convince himself. “I don’t want your madcap humor or your quicksilver tongue or this body that makes me ache when I look at it.”

“Then let me go,” she whispered. “And don’t complicate things.”

He drew her slowly against him, brushing her body over his. “Tell me you want to be put down,” he challenged. “Tell me you don’t want my mouth as violently as I want yours.”

“You’re a…levelheaded businessman.…” She faltered.

His head bent. His open mouth bit softly at hers, his breath came fast and ragged. “Open your mouth,” he whispered gruffly.

“No…” It was more a moan than a protest. She tasted him, and felt the excitement all over again. His hands slid around her, bruising hands that lifted and stroked and made her burn with a thousand fires. With a wild little cry, her arms went up and around him and clung. They stood there, clinging, breathing, tasting each other in a fever of need while the grandfather clock in the hall struck and echoed in the silence.

When he finally lifted his dark head, her hands were tangled in his thick hair, her lips were red and swollen from the ardent pressure of his mouth.

“If I let go of you, will you fall?” he asked, sounding shaken himself.

She made a small negative motion of her head and tugged halfheartedly at his hands on her shoulders.

He let her move away. His eyes glittered, his face was hard and strained. He laughed suddenly, bitterly, and his eyes were frankly hostile. “My God, I’m shaking like a boy of sixteen with his first woman,” he said on a harsh sigh.

She fought to keep the tremor out of her own hands. “I think…I should leave,” she ventured.

He shook his head. “Not yet,” he said softly. “Not yet. Don’t run from me.”

“You’ve got Delle!” she burst out.

“Why are you afraid?” he asked. His voice was casual, but his eyes weren’t. “Is it because you think I’m looking for a last fling before I settle down?”

She forced her voice to remain steady. “I’m not wealthy,” she said with a trembling smile. “I have nothing, except my income from jobs like this one. And you’re after a brokerage firm, I believe? A financially beneficial marriage?”

“How did we get on the subject of marriage?” he asked after a minute. “I don’t remember proposing to you.”

Her eyes flashed with indignation. “God forbid,” she said curtly. “I don’t want to get married. Ever.”

He studied her curiously. “Don’t you want children eventually?”

The conversation was getting entirely out of hand. “Lila and Amanda should be down any minute,” she said.

“Talk to me!” he said shortly.

“About what?” She moved away from him with her arms folded tight over her chest. “Your life is mapped out, isn’t it?”

He frowned as he watched her. “It was.”

Her eyes sought his, and a wild kind of current linked them for an instant.

She whirled and rushed out the door into the hall just as Amanda and Lila came downstairs. She smiled like a grateful refugee and herded them into the dining room before Cameron could get out of the study.

It was an animated meal. Merlyn was livelier than usual, reminiscing about her college days and drawing out Lila about hers, while Amanda giggled. Cameron sat and watched and listened, unusually quiet. There was something in his eyes that frightened Merlyn. He watched her with an intensity that was frankly disturbing. It didn’t help one bit when he announced that he was extending his visit that weekend, and wouldn’t be leaving that night.

Chapter Seven

T
hat evening, while Merlyn and Lila worked in the living room, Cameron and his daughter played chess nearby. But, all the while, his black eyes wandered restlessly to Merlyn. She met that searching gaze once, and it took her breath away. He smiled, secretively, and went back to his game.

***

The next morning he showed up in casual slacks and a black and tan shirt and proceeded, with Amanda’s help, to talk Merlyn into going for a walk with them. Lila was delighted to take a break, and told her so, adding her coaxing voice to theirs.

Merlyn was herded out the door with Amanda in tow.

“You like to walk, don’t you?” Cameron asked, as they started down a wooded path that led around the lakeshore.

“Well, yes, but there’s still a lot of research to do before the end of the week,” she protested.

“Mother can use the break,” he said.

Amanda was ecstatic. Apparently this was something her father didn’t do often. The little girl walked beside him with a shy smile, and he smiled down at her.

“Having fun?” he murmured.

She grinned. “Oh, yes, Daddy,” she said. “It’s been ages since we did anything together.”

He ruffled her hair. “It’s been ages since I took any time off.”

“We used to go fishing when I was little,” Amanda said. “Merlyn, did your mother and father take you fishing when you were a kid?”

Merlyn sighed. “No, dear. My parents weren’t the type. Dad was very much wrapped up in his work, and Mother…” She smiled at the memory. “Mother was a butterfly. She wouldn’t have known which end of the pole to put in the water.”

Cameron studied her curiously. “What did she do?”

“She was a housewife,” she said, avoiding that hard look. “What did your father do?” she countered.

He grinned. “He raised hell, mostly.”

“Was he a banker, too?” she asked.

“Yes.”

“Grandaddy used to take me fishing,” Amanda volunteered. “He got the hook caught in his trousers once, and another time he got his line tangled in a tree.”

“And Amanda learned some new words,” Cameron murmured dryly.

“Do you look like him?” she said.

He shook his head. “My father was slight. Brown hair, brown eyes. I take after my grandfather. He was French-Canadian.”

The youngster’s eyes darted up. “Merlyn, what did your ancestors do?”

She smiled slowly. “One of them was a soldier,” she murmured, remembering Richard and the Crusades. “He did a lot of traveling.”

“You speak of your mother in the past tense,” Cameron observed. “Is she dead now?”

“Yes.”

“And your father?”

“He lives in Atlanta. We’re great friends.”

“But you weren’t always?” he said with a sharp glance, and she knew he was remembering what she’d said before about her father’s negligence.

“No,” she agreed. “We weren’t always. We grew closer after my mother died. He grieved for a long time.”