Garden of the Moongate (21 page)

"Don't try to blame Allie for your mistakes," Ric interceded calmly. "You got into this mess without anybody's help."

With a choked exclamation of rage, Deb flounced away, and as she did Allendre gestured uncertainly, then stood again, feeling a strange, buzzing sensation all over her body. She shouldn't have had that last drink, she decided, watching warily as Ric also rose to his feet. Her slight dizziness increased when he abruptly gripped her elbow and guided her out of the lounge.

"I'd better get my purse and go dress for dinner," she said, enunciating carefully so he wouldn't realize the drinks had affected her in any way. "I… I'll be late meeting Mrs. Wainwright and Mrs. Chandler already."

"Forget dinner," he commanded, herding her toward the front desk. "Get your purse, then call the ladies and tell them to dine without you. I want to have a little talk with you, and I don't plan to wait."

"Have a little talk about what?" Allendre murmured weakly five minutes later as he steered her through the garden and the moongate to the path that led to staff quarters. "Wh-what did I do?"

"It's what you didn't do." Glaring down at her from his considerable height, he shook his head. "You didn't believe me when I told you why I didn't call last night, and I still want to know why you think I'm lying. I
will
know why, before the night's over. I'm taking you to the cottage, and if it takes me until morning, I mean to make you tell me."

As she gazed up at the implacable set of his jaw Allendre's soft green eyes widened. He meant what he said. Angry already, he was hardly in the mood to tolerate any nonsense from her. He probably
would
keep her in his cottage until she told him why she didn't believe his story. And with that realization, a fresh wave of dizziness washed over her.

"Would you like to have dinner before our little discussion or after?" Ric asked, watching Allendre walk into his study. "It's Mrs. Wilkins's night off, but she always leaves something prepared for me. Would you like…"

"I'm not hungry, thank you," Allendre responded stiffly, standing behind one of the high-backed chairs. The fuzziness in her head hadn't abated, and since she was feeling a little unsteady on her feet, Ric's sudden movement toward her seemed almost menacing. Determined to stand her ground, however, she gripped the back of the chair, lifting her chin somewhat defiantly. The distance between them was quickly diminished by two of his long strides, but she met his eyes directly when he stopped very close in front of her.

"Well?"

At his gruffly spoken word, she dug her nails into the leather chair. "Well, what?"

As Ric uttered an oath beneath his breath, his hands shot out to span her waist, hauling her closer. "Tell me."

"Tell you what?" she muttered, pressing her hands against the hardness of his chest in an effort to keep some distance between them. "I have nothing I want to say."

"You owe me an explanation, at least, don't you think?" he asked, the grim line of his mouth belying his soft tone. "Why are you assuming I lied to you last night? I can't recall ever lying to you before."

"Oh, no, you've always been brutally frank with me," she retorted, resentment arising in her again. "Assuming I was chasing after you and saying so in no uncertain terms. I really appreciated your honesty."

"That's past history, Allendre," he said curtly, his patience beginning to wear thin. "Why are you bringing it up now?"

"I don't know why," she admitted, though just as curtly. "Maybe because I know you still think that about me."

Ric's eyes narrowed. "Do you want to know the truth?" he whispered, lowering his head until his breath, when he spoke, disturbed a wisp of hair at her temple. "I have no idea what I think of you. Every time I turn around, you're surprising me, showing depths of sensitivity and warmth and even an almost innocent vulnerability that I never imagined you possessed. In other words, Allendre, you're a complete mystery to me."

"And you can't resist trying to unravel the mystery, can you?" she retorted defensively, finding his sudden gentleness too devastating to accept. "I suppose you're only interested in me because I'm not quite the man-chasing simpleton you assumed I was when we first met. You're trying to understand how you managed to misjudge me, isn't that it? If it weren't for that, you wouldn't even bother with me."

"Allie, you're deliberately twisting everything I say tonight!" he ground out, his patience gone. Jerking her against him, he tangled his strong fingers in her hair to pull her head back, and his gray eyes glittered, holding hers. "What the devil's wrong with you? You don't usually act this way!"

"Really?" she answered coolly, trying to appear much more composed and clearheaded than she felt. "I wasn't aware I was acting any differently than I usually do." Twisting her head, she tried to escape his firm grip on her hair, but her attempt only caused his fingers to tighten painfully in the silky strands. Hurt and resentment welled up in her until she felt she would explode, and her eyes sparkled angrily as she glared up at him. "But what's the matter with you tonight?" she taunted, foolishly emboldened by the drinks she'd had. "Are you taking it out on me because Deb's not exactly what you thought she was, either? Are you beginning to regret last night?"

"Last night?" Confusion flickered in his eyes for only a second before understanding dawned. "Ah, now I begin to see," he whispered, his hold on her gentling. "You think Deb and I did much more than discuss Lawrence last night. Don't you, Allie? That's what's making you act this way. You think we—"

"What difference does it make what I think?" she interrupted, averting her eyes, wishing she hadn't ever mentioned last night. The last thing in the world she wanted was for him to realize how jealous she was of Deb. After glancing back up at him through the thick brown fringe of her lashes, she closed her eyes and took a deep, shuddering breath. Assailed by a renewed dizziness, she waited until the world stopped spinning before she allowed her eyelids to flicker open again. Then she was overwhelmed by an entirely different kind of dizziness when she saw that his impatient expression had altered to one of tenderness. As his fingers in her hair began to caress her nape her breath caught and her heart started pounding fiercely. Warned by the desire that flared in his blue eyes, she struggled instinctively, sensing a danger she had never encountered before, but his muscular arm around her waist pinned her against him, allowing no escape.

"Stop fighting me," he commanded, his voice husky as he lowered his dark head. "This is crazy. Since that night on the boat, we've both known this had to happen, so why are you trying to fight it now? I want you and you want me and we're alone here, so… Allendre, come to bed with me."

The mere words whispered against her averted cheek sent her senses reeling. She swayed toward him, her legs no longer capable of supporting her weight. As if compelled by some irresistible force, she met his dark narrowed gaze, recognizing in his eyes a promise of passion that both frightened and delighted her at the same time. He did want her, and he was right—she wanted him, too. She longed to know what it would be like to give her love completely to him. But it wasn't love that he wanted from her, and despite her need to lose herself in the desire that shone in his eyes, she knew that total surrender to him now would haunt her for the rest of her life. The instinct to avoid pain reasserted itself, and she struggled again. Pressing her palms against his firm chest, she tried again to free herself. But it was too late. She moaned softly, beseechingly, as his hand gripped her jaw. Tilting her head back, he lowered his own, his firm, seeking lips parting the softness of hers. Arching her against him, his hand on her hips pressed her relentlessly into the hardness of his thighs, forcing her to acknowledge his need for her and telling her silently but very effectively that he could make her assuage that need. His teeth gently nipped the fullness of her lower lip, and she began to wish that she would not be forced to decide, that he would simply make love to her. When his tongue coaxed her mouth open and began an intimate exploration, she relaxed against him, her trembling fingers unbuttoning his shirt, then slipping inside to stroke the smooth, heated flesh of his lean sides.

With a soft, triumphant groan, he crushed her to him until only the tips of her toes touched the floor. He took her mouth with a succession of plundering, possessive kisses that robbed her of all desire to resist, and she clung to him, her body soft and warm and completely yielding, while his hand covered her left breast with gentle squeezing pressure. As she trembled weakly in his arms he lifted his head slightly and smiled down at her. "Allendre?" he whispered roughly, demanding everything of her, and when she drew a long, shuddering sigh, he took acquiescence for granted and led her out of the study and up the stairs to his room.

She was never quite sure how she came to be standing in the center of his bright, airy bedroom waiting as he closed the draperies covering French doors that opened onto the balcony. When he turned to face her, his drowsy blue eyes exploring her slender body, she thought for a moment that she must be dreaming, though the frantic pounding of her pulses in her temples seemed very real indeed. Then, as he started toward her, shedding his shirt and exposing the bronze glow of his chest and the muscular strength of his wide shoulders, the reality of the situation struck her with devastating force. Suddenly, he seemed like a stranger, a large, overpowering stranger who expected something from her she was no longer certain she was prepared to give. Scared, she took a step backward, closing her eyes, then shaking violently when his strong, warm hands encircled her waist.

"This is what we both want, Allendre. You know it is," Ric whispered, tugging her white blouse free of her black gauze skirt, beginning to undo the buttons with deft yet oddly shaking fingers. Leaning down, he brushed a kiss along her cheek and pushed her blouse off her shoulders. "Don't be frightened," he whispered tenderly. "I'd never hurt you. Open your eyes, Allie. Look at me."

Breathlessly, she obeyed, her gaze meeting his.

There was something so much like affection warming the depths of his blue eyes that for a moment she could nearly pretend it was love. And that pretense was her undoing. If he cared for her, even only slightly, she needed to give herself to him. Perhaps the giving would be enough, she rationalized as they kissed again, and she allowed him to remove her blouse completely. She stood very still, unresisting, as his hand moved down to unbutton her skirt, and even when her half-slip joined her other discarded garments on the floor, she still didn't make a move to stop him. Her breath caught, though, when his darkening gaze lingered on the brief lacy white bra she wore, but instead of removing it, he cupped her face in both his hands and lowered his head to kiss her, very gently. "Relax," he coaxed, and suddenly she could, swept away on a tide of inevitability that was somehow reassuring. She stepped closer to him, returning his kiss, and as his lips hardened to take hers with swift, compelling urgency, her own intense physical need for him overcame her fear.