Sweet Enemy (8 page)

Her lower lip trembled. "Where I go and what I do is none of
your business, Clint Raygen!"

His smile was mocking. "Thank God," he replied.

She sighed heavily. "You are, without a doubt, the most
maddening man I've ever known!"

"So you're going to run out on me," he taunted. "Leave me here
with no secretary and no prospects of finding one before you
leave."

"You said two weeks," she reminded him narrowly.

"Make it four."

"Clint…"

"Just until Janna comes, little girl," he said quietly.

She avoided his eyes. "You don't want me here."

"No, I don't," he said, suddenly serious, "and remind me
one day to tell you why-in about five years."

"Is it going to take that long to make up an answer?" she asked
pertly.

He studied her face for a long time. "No," he said finally, "but
it looks like it's going to take that long for you to grow up enough to
understand the answer."

"Will you still be around then, you poor old doddering thing?"
she asked in mock innocence.

His hands caught her face and held it in a vise-like grip on the
pillow. "You damned little irritating cat, will you stop throwing
my age at me?''

"Turn about's fair play," she said sweetly. "You take every
opportunity to remind me of mine."

"And you've never stopped to wonder why, have you?" he
growled.

She pushed against his hard chest. "Don't you have a plane or
bus or train or something to catch?" she muttered.

His lips made a thin line as he glared down at her. "Can I trust
you not to pull any more harebrained stunts until I get back?"

"Harebrained?" she replied hotly. "And just who upset me in the
first place…!"

"If you hadn't panicked while I was making love to
you…"

"You were
not…
!" she gasped.

His thumb pressed against her lips, stopping the indignant
protest. "I would have been," he said quietly, "if you hadn't
chickened out."

Her eyes flashed up at him. She jerked her face aside. "You
flatter yourself that I'd have let you!" she returned.

"Or Philip?" he asked quietly. His eyes narrowed at the color in
her cheeks. "I don't think I've ever known a woman as chaste as you
are. You're so damned afraid of anything physical, Maggie, that I
thought it was coldness for a long time, but it isn't. You're
afraid to let go with a man."

"Am I?" she returned calmly, careful not to let him see how
close to the truth he was. "Or is it soothing to your pride to
think I am?"

"You little brat!" he growled, and, leaning forward, he caught
her face in long, merciless fingers, spearing them into the hair at her
temples to hold her. "Was it too close to the truth, Maggie?"

Her hands went up against his chest, pushing at it helplessly.
"Let go of me! You think you know so much…!"

The fingers holding her head suddenly released it to catch her
wrists like traps and slam them up over her head, pinning them to
the bed.

There was something strangely ruthless in the way he looked down
at her struggling, twisting body, in the burning half-smile
that flamed on his chiseled mouth. "Fight me, wildcat," he murmured
in a dangerous, low tone. "I love it when you fight…!"

She twisted instinctively, but his body went down to half cover
hers, pressing her slenderness into the mattress, leaving only her
eyes free to struggle.

The look on his dark face frightened her almost as much as the
green fires that burned deep in his eyes, as he looked

DIAN A PALMER

down at her with something like triumph. His glittery gaze
shifted to her parted, trembling mouth.

"Don't!" she protested shakily as his dark head
moved down.

He only laughed, softly, confidently. "Try being a woman instead
of a cowering child," he said against her soft mouth as he took
it.

An outraged cry broke from her under the punishing force of the
kiss. She was aware of struggling briefly, fighting him until she
felt the sting of his teeth against her soft lips, until the warm,
steely nearness burned through the bedclothes against her,
until he forced her trembling mouth to part for him and taught her
sensations she'd never been capable of feeling.

She began to relax involuntarily when his mouth eased its
pressure and became caressing, seductive, arousing. He released her
wrists and his warm, long-fingered hands came down to cup her face,
tilting it gently as he deepened the kiss in an in-timacy she'd never shared with a man. A soft, barely audible
protest broke from her.

"Not yet," he murmured deeply, his breath mingling with hers as
he nipped sensuously at the soft contours of her mouth. "Kiss me
back."

Her wet lashes opened lazily over misty, confused eyes, to find
him staring back at her. He was so close that she could see the
tiny lines around his eyelids, the dark eyebrows above them.
Wonderingly, her fingers went up to trace them down to the
hint of a frown that wrinkled his brow.

He drew back slowly, studying her. Her mouth was parted, her
hair wild and disheveled, her eyes shimmering with
mingled pleasure and awe.

"Beautiful little cat," he murmured, and his breath came heavily
with the words. His hands slid into the thick tangle of hair at her
ears, gently caressing. "Your eyes are like emeralds. I like the
way you feel under me, Maggie."

Her lips parted as she tried to catch her breath, her heart racing under the warm crush of his chest.
"You…hurt me," she whispered.

"That's what it's all about, little girl," he said quietly. His
mouth brushed hers tenderly. "You bit me," he whispered against the
moist, bruised softness.

She sighed against the dragging brash of his warm mouth,
drowning in pleasure. "You…you bit me back," she murmured.

He laughed softly. "With a vengeance. I was afraid I'd drawn
blood," he mused, studying the braised little mouth so close under
his. "I've never fought so damned hard for a kiss."

Her lips pouted up at him, her eyes clouding. "Well, don't think
I enjoyed it!" she muttered.

"Didn't you, honey?" he asked deeply, and leaned down to tease
her mouth with his in a heady, coaxing pressure that tore a moan
from her throat as she raised up against him in a silent plea.

But he drew away and stood up in a smooth, graceful motion to bend a calculating gaze down at
her. His dark hair was raffled, his mouth sensuous from the
contact with hers. The silk tie was disarranged, and he
looked altogether masculine and disturbing.

He turned away to straighten his tie and his hair in her mirror.
"What are you going to do while I'm gone?" he asked
carelessly.

She fought to regain her composure, clutching the bedclothes
around her as if they were a lifeline. "Work, I suppose. Did…did
you leave any letters you want done?"

"Not a word," he replied coolly. He pulled a cigarette out of
his pocket and lit it. "Take another day or so before you start
back into the routine, little one. I don't want you to have a
relapse."

She rubbed her bruised arms and wrists gingerly, darting an
accusing glance his way. "That concern is a little late, isn't
it?"

He smiled rakishly. "Did I bruise you?" he asked without a trace
of sympathy in his deep voice.

"Yes!"

"And you loved every second of it, you little hypocrite," he
taunted. "I'm almost sorry I stopped. Another few minutes and you'd
have been clawing my back to ribbons."

She gasped at the insinuation. "How dare you!"

"You sound like something out of a very old Victorian novel," he
observed, mischief in every line of his face. "Did it shock you
that you could feel that kind of violent emotion with a man,
Maggie-violent enough to make you bite and claw?"

She dropped her eyes like hot irons, concentrating on the
clasped hands on the bedcovers. "It wasn't like that," she
whispered. "I was fighting you, not…"

"I hope you'll remember this the next time you decide to use
those formidable young hands on me," he remarked.

"What do you mean?" she grumbled.

He caught her eyes with a narrow, level gaze, and there was no
humor in it. "I want you," he said bluntly, with no warning.
"I don't take much encouragement, either, and that's something
you'd better remember. You're not the little girl I used to carry
around on my shoulders anymore. You're a woman, and you feel like a
woman, and, God, I like touching you!"

She blushed to her toes. "If you think I'd let you…!"

"You just did," he countered.

"You didn''t… touch me!" she flashed.

"We both know I could have," he said patiently. "You fought me
like a tigress at first, I'll give you that. But you didn't stop
me, did you?"

She glared at him, but she didn't deny it. She couldn't.

He took a long draw from his cigarette and studied her through
narrowed eyes. "I never thought there was any danger of this
happening, but I've just found out how wrong I was. Watch yourself, little girl. I know a hell of a lot
more about it than you do, and I'm not above using every dirty
trick in the book when I'm aroused. No man is."

She avoided his glance. "You always used to say I didn't affect
you like that," she told the bedcovers.

"Honey, you're not any more shocked about it than I am," he
replied tightly. "I was just teasing you that day by the stream,
the same way I'd been teasing you ever since you came here. But
when I laid you down under that tree, and felt that soft mouth
under mine for the first time… My God, Maggie," he breathed, "if
you hadn't drawn your hand back when you did, if it hadn't just
happened to hit me the wrong way…" His eyes narrowed as he moved
to stand beside the bed, looking down at her broodingly. "You
little fool, couldn't you feel my hands trembling, or did you just
not know what it meant?"

She ducked her head so that the cloud of dark hair hid her face from him. "I didn't know what it
meant," she admitted miserably.

"I'm not trying to embarrass you, little innocent," he said
gently. "I'm not trying to seduce you, either, but I'm not immune
to you. Maggie, you're not the kind of woman a man uses. You were
meant for a white wedding and children-and those things have no
place in my life. You know that, don't you?"

She nodded. "I've always known it, Clint," she said quietly.
"You've never made any secret of the way you felt about
marriage."

"I don't like being tied down," he said harshly through a veil
of smoke. "I can't bear possession, Maggie. In plain
language, I've never found a woman I wanted that much, and
I've never loved one. It isn't in me."

Her eyes shot to his face. "I don't remember proposing to
you," she said.

He chuckled, the seriousness gone from his dark face. "It's just as well, Irish. We'd kill each other
the first week."

"Amen." She traced the pattern on the bedspread. "For what it's
worth, I don't like possession, either. Or being bullied," she
added impishly.

He was quiet for a long moment. "Then why were you marrying
Philip?"

"He didn't dominate me."

"Didn't, or couldn't?" he challenged. "Could you lead him around
by the nose? Was that the attraction?"

"You go to hell!" she told him.

He only smiled, his lips mocking her. "You're going to take a
lot of taming," he said speculatively. "I almost envy the man
who'll get to do it."

Only a man like Clint, though, would enjoy it, she thought,
would look on it as a challenge and make of it a pleasure that even
imagination couldn't do justice to.

"The right man wouldn't have to fight me," she murmured
defensively.

His face was quiet, solemn, as he searched hers. "What a waste,"
he said gently. "I don't like you submissive, Mar-garetta
Leigh."

"How would you know?" she challenged. "You've never seen
me that way!"

His eyes narrowed. "I don't think I'd want to," he replied
quietly. "You're fierce when you fight, Irish. I think you'd love a
man just as fiercely. Submission from you would be like possessing
a wax doll." His eyes dropped to her full lips. "I'd like to feel
that soft mouth on fire with passion just one time."

Her eyes fought him. "You won't," she threw at him. "Not
ever!"

"Don't bet on it," he murmured softly, and she felt her heart
stop at the look in his eyes when he said it. He turned and opened
the door, glancing back at the picture she made. "Miss
me."

"Please, hold your breath waiting for me to." She smiled
sarcastically.

"Stay away from the horses while I'm gone," he returned, and,
with a wink, he went out, closing the door firmly behind him.

With a cry of rage, she buried her face in the pillow.

Several days later-his few, plus some- she was back on her feet
and too restless to sit still. Walking idly in the pecan grove
under a spreading canopy of natural arches, she wondered how it was
possible to miss a man so much. Most of her life had been spent
away from Clint, but it had never hurt like this. Perhaps, she
admitted quietly, because it had only been infatuation
before. A wanting that had nothing to do with reality, but had sprung from her girlish daydreams about
him. Daydreams that had gone up in smoke at the first touch of his
mouth.

It wasn't infatuation anymore. She wanted him in a way that
terrified her. Not just to sit and hero-worship, but to fight with,
and work with, and love with for the rest of her life.

Her pale green eyes sought the horizon far in the distance.
Where was he now? Who was he with? Was there a woman somewhere who
could reach that proud, stubborn heart of his and make it throb
with longing? She sighed, remembering the sultry look in his eyes
when she'd yielded to him. She'd never seen that look on his face
before, that dark, masculine triumph mingled with a hunger
that was just as exciting in memory as it had been in reality.
Clint had wanted her. But wanting wasn't loving. And she wondered
miserably if Clint even knew the definition of love.