Tempestuous Eden (22 page)

“No,” Craig retorted, his flow of words barely halted by her interruption. “No, I am not loathsome, nor am I even remotely so to you. But if by loathsome and traitorous you refer to the fact that I did eagerly accept you and take all that you offered—love, beauty, trust—then I do plead guilty. I wanted you from the moment I saw you, and if you became mine, and realized that you were a passionate, desirable, sensual creature, more a woman than you ever knew, don’t ask me to apologize. We were two human beings touching, Blair. You trusted me with the secrets of your past, with all that you are. I have never nor will I ever betray that trust, and if you don’t know that yet, you will, if I have to spend every second left pounding it into your head, crushing it into your head.”

His grip on her arms relaxed, but before Blair could assimilate her momentary freedom, his fingers were threading through her hair as if he did indeed mean to crush his every word into her mind. But this touch, though spontaneous and rough, was not painful or cruel. He was like a man compelled, torn into as many pieces as she. His eyes glittered over hers only briefly, then his fingers tangled more thoroughly through her hair, holding her still, her neck arched, her parted lips opened to his conquest.

He didn’t really need to hold her so forcefully, she dimly noted. She had no thought of resistance. She would rationalize later—and, God, how she would need that rationalization!—that it had been too much wine too quickly, that he had been too overwhelming, but for all the lies that she would later give herself, none would be so staunch as the truth.

She wanted him to kiss her, and it was so easy because his arms were so strong and she really didn’t have a choice. But then that was a lie, too, because he certainly didn’t force the response that she gave him. Not at first, at first she was just stunned, immobilized as his lips took hers with a bruising savagery, propelled by an urgent need. It was understandable that shock left her acquiescent, pliable, whimpering slightly as she was crushed to his onslaught, her arms slipping automatically, instinctively, around his neck. His demand was irresistible on every level, a hunger that created hunger, a fire that burned and consumed all that it came in contact with, and it was in contact with her. His fevered body seemed to meld hers to it, encroaching irrevocably, like the sparks that escaped a small fire and set the entire forest slowly, then rampantly ablaze.

No one forced Blair to ravage her fingers through his hair, to run them with raking, tantalizing pleasure across the breadth of his shoulders, down the length of his back. No one forced her to arch closer and closer against him, wallowing in the strength and heat. Nor could she hold anyone responsible but herself when her mouth opened fully to accept his hot, plundering tongue, to duel and play thirstily with her own, to wantonly seek every secret and crevice that was his.

Blank. She could later use that as an excuse. She had simply gone blank to everything except the sensations swimming sweetly in a body sensitized to his touch. After all, they took no courses not previously charted. Her body had become his willingly, his property, blossoming beneath his tutelage on not-so-long-ago nights that could never be recalled. When thought processes were stopped and responses were on instinct only. This was all that was right—being held in arms that were iron bands of security, the need to give in return flowing freely, naturally, from her, like the cascade that spewed and crashed from a waterfall with marvelous, earthly beauty.

It all just happened; she couldn’t really blame herself, she couldn’t blame him.
Two human beings touching,
he had said, but it was more than that. Very rarely did two human beings touch with such innate wisdom, bound by invisible ties that had no rationalization, needed no excuse, but existed pure and free, defying all else.

It just happened. The sun could not be prevented from rising, the earth from spinning. Some long-ago destiny had decreed that she should fit to Craig Taylor, perfectly attuned, a part of him. She was in no way restrained and his lips finally broke from hers to create a new, fiery trail as they sensuously massaged her throat and stroked the breasts that pressed high and firm against him, oblivious to the material of her blouse. She locked her fingers around his neck, holding him to her. Her teeth grazed his shoulder; she had drifted too far, she was willing to go on and on…. Her senses, shooting with a strident wildfire, demanded that she go on and on and follow that practiced route that he had led her upon before.

Craig knew that he should stop. He loved her so very much, but she was going to hate him all the more when she discovered that he was being a yes man to her own father and that his chief was Huntington’s old friend George Merrill. But he couldn’t reassure her now—he was held by a code of ethics and a belief in that code. There were reasons, sound reasons. Would she ever understand? Maybe she would at least forgive him—if he stopped now.

But he couldn’t stop now. Not when her fingers wound through his hair, not when her lips clung to his, not when her nails grazed down the length of his spine, adding fuel to the eruption of chemistry between them.

He should let her go; he should give her every chance.

But thinking only gave him warning. He couldn’t part from her even for an instant. Then she might start thinking …

He swept her into his arms, lips seeking hers even as he carried her down the ladder and to the bed, treading lightly as a cat so as not to break the binding spell. He lowered her with equal care, creating an exotic prison with his body as he worked upon the cotton blouse, lifting it over her shoulders with slow-moving fingers, his lips following the pattern of his hands, his tongue making quivering forays against her flesh as it was exposed. Sliding to kneel beside her and yet giving no quarter, he slowly slid her skirt down the length of her legs, once again tantalizing her flesh each inch of the way. All that could be heard in the cabin was the rustle of the fabric as it slipped from skin, that almost excruciatingly sensual sound. His lips touched her flesh and heartbeats began to hammer like the growing rumble of a storm.

Like the wind that accompanied the storm, their breathing rose. Then a moan broke through, a sound soft and sweet, piercing all others. Craig’s lips left the tender creamy flesh of her upper thigh where his teeth had gently nibbled; his eyes sought hers.

They were glazed emeralds, murky with lost passion, deep with love. Sensuously lazy, seduced …

Craig was beyond feeling guilt.

She moved lithely from the bed to fold her arms around him, sending his strong frame shuddering as she planted tiny moist kisses over his throat and along his shoulders and she in turn now helped him to remove his clothing.

It was a slow process. Delectably slow …

Blair was released from rational cognizance. She did love Craig; she loved being with him in this maddening whirlpool, alone, oblivious to all else. There was no other experience on earth that could do this to her, but once plummeted into this swift-moving soul-shattering current, there was nothing to do but hold on.

In turn she kissed bronzed flesh, growing bolder and bolder with the deep guttural groans that sounded from his throat, echoing his quivering pleasure.

“Touch me, Blair,” he murmured, a voice as deep and haunting as the golden orbs of his hypnotizing eyes. “Touch me. It’s so good, babe. So good.”

His clothing was gone; large, tender hands bore firmly down on her shoulders and together they sank down, entwined on the bed, soft femininity welcoming masculine strength. Golden eyes bored into Blair just before his lips sought hers and his knees wedged fully between her thighs. She jolted as his tongue plundered into her mouth just as his entry filled her entire being, taking her away in a wash of spiraling sensation as cleanly as a tidal wave.

The storm thundered on. Pelting, murderous winds, rains as gentle as flowers stretching through an eon of colors, cresting with a brilliant, shattering burst of pure white lightning to reach the sweet, satiating calm that always followed a storm.

But this calm couldn’t last. The storm that obliviated reason was over, and in the wake came the pain of reason.

Blair first became aware of his breathing growing easy, of the damp, tawny hair on the chest where her cheek rested, of the raw, rugged profile facing their chipped ceiling, the texture of deeply bronzed skin, the long-fingered, powerful hands that draped casually around her shoulders in an intimate, possessive caress.

“Oh, God,” she moaned with horror, pulling away, shaking.

His gaze riveted to her; he blinked. When they opened again a guarded look glazed his eyes. He was watching her very warily.

Blair tore her gaze from his and stumbled from the bed. She fumbled as she struggled back into her clothing, refusing to look his way again.

“Blair—” he began.

“Shut up, damn you!” she hissed.

“Blair, I didn’t force—”

“Shut up! For God’s sake, please, shut up!” she grated, grabbing his cutoffs with clamped jaw and hurling them upon his prone form. How could she have lost herself so easily? she wondered, flooded with shame and guilt. She was his hostage and she had fallen right into his arms.
Be serious, Blair!
she rudely admonished herself. She had done much, much more than simply fallen into his arms.

Craig didn’t struggle with his pants, nor did he fumble. She felt him watching her as she dressed.

“I don’t want to talk about this!” she snapped, quickly, firmly. “It didn’t happen.”

She was unprepared for his next move. Springing upon her with a mercurial pounce, he gripped her shoulders and wrenched her back into his arms. His touch was harsh, forceful. “It
did
happen, Blair.”

“No!” she protested, uselessly flailing against his chest. “Don’t touch me.”

He could tell her something now, ease her agitation, still the guilt-ridden self-horror that sent her heart thundering anew. Yet anger was stirring in his own blood; he couldn’t tell her anything. And she turned from him so easily, never, never to trust him again. And if he broke his word, his code of ethics, he broke himself and all that he was; he would then have nothing more to offer her, nothing more to give.

He didn’t let her go, but he did change his touch. It had been severe; it became comforting. His arms encircled her, drawing her to him with tenderness, as if the woman he had held with wildfire had become a fragile porcelain doll. “Damn Huntington!” The whisper formed on his lips, yet it was just a breath of air, inaudible, a whistle that wafted softly through the tendrils of hair at the top of her head—deep, rich tendrils that glowed with unquenchable fire.

“I’m sorry, Blair,” he said aloud, cradling her, listening as their heartbeats slowed. Thunderous beats and the sound and feel all but disappeared. “I wish you would trust me.”

“Let go of me,” Blair said tonelessly. She was able to think again, and, thinking, she knew she would be much better off completely away from him. Her heart and body hadn’t the will to obey a humiliated mind.

“Blair—”

“Please, Craig,” she said with great dignity, “let go of me. I—I don’t want you touching me.”

Craig released her, his face an implacable mask. Blair started to wander aimlessly away, but he halted her with a snapped, “Get off that foot!” She sank miserably into the seat surrounding the table, feeling curiously as if she had just viewed the end of a thunderstorm at sea.

Craig finally slipped back into his cutoffs and stalked to the far forward of the cabin. He stood straight beside the wall, his arms crossed over his chest. His voice was as devoid of emotion as hers. “You do want me touching you.”

She cast aside the idea of making ridiculous denials. “Yes, Craig, I want you, you goddamn well know it. But try to understand how I feel, and if anything between us ever was real, you’ll honor what I’m saying. I do want you, but I don’t want to want you. I don’t want to be close to you. Don’t you see, don’t you understand? It’s crazy, and I don’t want to be crazy—”

“Blair!” He left his angry stance and moved quickly to her, one knee on the floor, the other bent with his elbow resting upon it. He took her hand, and she looked at him. “I do understand you, honey. Why do you think I said that I was sorry?”

Blair winced. “Please don’t call me honey.”

He stiffened slightly; she knew that she had hurt him. The hurt wasn’t intentional; it had to be.

“All right,” Craig said softly, that underlying tone of steel slipping through. One by one his fingers moved until he had released her hand. It was slow agony for both of them, but they watched as if spellbound as his large tanned hand left her smaller, softer one.

“I won’t touch you again,” he said, his eyes rising to hers. “I will honor what you feel. But in return I want you to listen to me, and I want you to make a deal with me.”

“I can’t make a deal with you,” Blair said incredulously. But God, it was hard to deny him, hard to doubt the strength, the honor, and sincerity in hazel eyes that could gleam like yellow ice and then become a gold that was darker and deeper than the sun. She had to though. She had spent years studying psychology, behavior. She wasn’t about to let herself become brainwashed, to be tricked into compliance.

Then what did she just do? she demanded of herself. That was different. It couldn’t be denied. It wouldn’t happen again; she wouldn’t allow herself to get that close.

“I can’t make any deals with you,” she grated again.

“Bend, Blair,” he suddenly warned, and there was a touch of gravel to his voice. “The tree that won’t bow to the wind is the one that is hurled over in the end.”

An edge of panic swept through her. He was right; he held all the cards. He could really do anything that he wanted, and she was sitting here throwing out rules like the Queen Mother—a Queen Mother already fallen.

“All right, Taylor,” she said, dismayed as the words slipped out a little too hastily. Taylor now? Who was she kidding? Certainly not herself. Not after the time they had just shared in a bed still warm from their exertions. “Let’s hear this deal of yours.”