Читать книгу Untamed - Diana Palmer - Страница 11

4

Clarisse took a cab to her small house, the one that her parents had bought so many years ago. She’d been staying at hotels when she was in the country, when she’d brought Peg Grange here, because the memories were too stark. But she had to face the past someday. The house was part of it.

She put down her suitcase and purse and walked into the living room. She’d replaced the couch where Rourke had almost seduced her eight years ago. But the memories were still there, so exciting, so hot, that she flushed just recalling them.

It had been Christmas Eve. She was seventeen years old. Rourke had been in Manaus on a job, and he came by to pay his respects to Clarisse’s parents. He and her father had been friends, despite the difference in their ages. Her parents and K. C. Kantor had been close since Clarisse was a child, playing with Rourke when her father was stationed in Kenya.

Rourke had teased her while they decorated the Christmas tree. She’d been wearing a slinky dress that her mother hadn’t approved of, but she knew Rourke was coming by the house and she’d wanted so much to look grown-up, to make him see her as a woman.

And he had. He’d looked and looked. While they spoke, while he teased her, while they put the ornaments on the tree.

Her father and sister had been doing last-minute shopping. Her mother had been home, but a neighbor had come by and asked her to step next door and look at a small child with a fever. Maria had been a nurse and she was still the last refuge of people with little money. Reluctantly, because she knew Rourke’s reputation, she’d let herself be talked into leaving the house.

Clarisse could still see the expression in Rourke’s brown eyes, because it was before he’d lost one of them, as the front door closed behind her mother. He’d moved toward her with intent, for the first time since she’d known how she felt about him.

Without a word, he’d lifted her off the floor in his strong arms and his mouth had settled with exquisite tenderness on her trembling lips.

He brushed them softly with his and smiled when she looked at him from wide blue eyes. “You’ve never done this,” he whispered.

She shook her head.

“Lucky, lucky me,” he whispered back, and bent again to her lips. “Don’t be afraid, Tat. I won’t hurt you. I promise.”

He’d spread her out on the couch while he unbuttoned the silk shirt he was wearing and pulled it out of his slacks. She watched him like a cat, with wide-eyed wonder.

He slipped out of his shoes and slid alongside her on the long leather couch.

“Mama,” she whispered worriedly. “She won’t be gone long...”

“I’ll hear her,” he promised.

While she was worrying, his big hands went to the wide straps that held up the dress and slid them with sensual mastery right down over her soft little breasts. She opened her mouth to protest and his mouth went down right on one breast and began to suckle it.

She had to bite her lip almost through to keep back the helpless cry of pleasure as she felt desire for the first time in her life. It was more than desire. She arched up to his lips, clutched at the back of his head, where the hair was thick, and tried to bring his mouth even closer. The suction increased suddenly and she threw back her head, arched her back and climaxed in his arms.

She cried then. It shocked her that she was abnormal. But Rourke had only laughed, softly, with pure delight, and comforted her. She loved him, he whispered, that was why. It made her extremely sensitive to his lovemaking.

Her eyes had opened wide as his body slowly overwhelmed hers. He let her feel the slow, building tension of his body, let her feel it swell against her flat belly. That, too, he whispered, was the most natural thing in the world. And how would she like to feel it inside her?

She flushed, but his mouth covered hers and she shivered, her legs parting as he moved between them, her voice breaking as she encouraged him. She felt his hands under her dress, moving the lacy little briefs down, touching her in a place and a way she’d never been touched in her life. And all the while, he fed on her breasts, working the hard crowns with his tongue. She was pleading then, begging him. His hand moved between them in a heated rush as he felt for the zipper and tugged at it with something like desperation...

And they’d heard the door open and her mother’s footsteps.

Barely in time, they were dressed and apparently putting decorations on the tree when she walked in. But Clarisse’s mother could see quite easily what had been going on. She hadn’t approved—that was obvious. She’d lectured her daughter after Rourke had left, minutes later, without a word to Clarisse or even a backward glance. That man, Maria said coldly, had a string of lovers, and he was not adding her precious chaste daughter to them! She would make sure of it.

Clarisse didn’t think of Rourke that way. Not until Rourke had been wounded soon afterward in a conflict that cost him his eye and almost his life. She’d flown to Nairobi and sat by his bedside for days, nursing him, forcing him to live, to cope with the loss of the eye. His reaction to her had been heartbreaking. He’d been ice-cold, withdrawn. He acted as if he hated her. The minute he was allowed to leave the hospital, he took an old girlfriend home with him and didn’t even thank Clarisse for being there when he needed her most.

But that was only the beginning. Later that year, he flatly refused her invitation to a party in Manuas. Even then, she didn’t get the idea. He stopped answering her letters and refused to pick up the phone if she was on the other end.

Not until the next time they met, at some fund-raiser in Washington, DC, when he was so cold and mocking about her behavior that she was certain he hated her. He called her an immoral little tramp who was any man’s. Nothing had ever hurt so much. He was the only man she’d ever been intimate with. Had her behavior with him made him think that she was any man’s, that she was immoral? Was that why he suddenly hated her? She hadn’t known. She hadn’t understood. But his hateful attitude had caused her to avoid him, off and on, ever since.

But every time there was a tragedy in her life, he was there. It had never made sense. Now, perhaps, it did. He’d wanted her beyond bearing and he’d heard gossip that they were related. She couldn’t help wondering if her mother had anything to do with that gossip. Then she swept aside the suspicion. The mother she loved would never have been that cruel, even to save her daughter’s innocence. Of that she was certain.

Perhaps K.C. had told Rourke something. He seemed to like Clarisse, but perhaps he had someone else in mind for his employee—or his son, some people said. Rourke and K.C. were so alike that she’d wondered for years if they weren’t related.

Well, it didn’t matter now. Rourke was not going to take her to bed and walk away. Whatever she had to do to protect herself, even if it meant marrying Ruy, she would do.

She loved Rourke far too much. She’d just gone on the endangered list, if he’d meant what he said. So she had to start making plans. She didn’t love the Manaus physician, but he was kind and she could live with him as long as there were no physical demands. It would protect her from Rourke, who would never coerce a woman into forsaking her marriage vows. He was quite old-fashioned in that sense. There had never been a single instance when he’d been seen with a married woman, not even one who was separated from her husband. He was, in his own way, something of a Puritan.

Besides all that, she thought that it had just been the alcohol talking. Rourke had been very inebriated. Probably he was just teasing her, as he had for years.

* * *

She thought that until she answered a knock at the door that evening and found an amused, blond man leaning on the door frame facing her.

She caught her breath.

“And you thought I didn’t mean it,” he mused, smiling through bloodshot eyes. “Come dancing, Tat.”

She was all at sea. “We danced last night,” she began.

He smiled. “There’s a Latin Club in town. It just opened.” He leaned toward her. “I can do the tango.”

She flushed. It was her favorite dance. She’d been dancing it with a handsome Latin at a club in Osaka, Japan, one night when she’d gone to a society wedding to which Rourke was also invited. The club was where the crowd had gone for supper after a rehearsal dinner. Rourke had shown up there with a date. He hadn’t danced with Clarisse, of course; he was his usual mocking, sarcastic self. But he drew his date onto the dance floor and Clarisse watched with wide-eyed wonder as he held the audience enthralled with his skill. She thought she’d never seen anyone dance like that in her life. He hadn’t said a single word to Clarisse, much less danced with her.

“Come on. Give in,” he teased. “You know you want to.”

“I was going to watch television...”

“Put on something sexy and come dancing. You can watch television when you’re alone.”

She opened the door, with obvious apprehension. “I’ll have to get dressed.”

He tilted her face up to his with a thumb under her chin. His expression was very solemn. “I’ll make you a promise, Tat. I won’t touch you, in any way, until you tell me you want me to.”

She colored. “That’s new.”

“Isn’t it?”

“I’ll get dressed,” she said.

* * *

She came back into the living room dressed in a black cocktail dress with sequins around the hem, with strappy tango shoes and carrying a small black purse.

“Leave the purse here,” he said, smiling at the picture she made. “I’ve got money.”

“Okay.” She tossed it onto the side table. “Oh, my house key...”

She dug it out and looked at herself. The dress fit closely and there were no pockets.

He took the key from her and slid it into the expensive slacks he was wearing with a black silk shirt open at the neck and an expensive dark jacket.

His fingers linked into hers. “Do you mind?” he asked softly.

She tingled all over. “No,” she faltered. “It’s all right.”

He smiled and led her to a stretch limousine that she hadn’t even noticed in her excitement.

“Oh, it’s Domingo, isn’t it?” she exclaimed when the driver got out to open the back door for them. “How is your family? Your daughter...?”

“Doing very well, thanks to you, senhorita,” he said with feeling. “I am happy to see you again!”

She grinned at him and let Rourke ease her into the seat.

“Where are we going?” Domingo asked when he climbed in under the wheel.

“El Jinete,” he said, laughing. “An Argentina native runs it. We’re going to teach the locals how to tango.”

“Ah, such a dance,” Domingo said with feeling. “My mother is from Argentina, you know. She and my father, they danced it together. Not like these silly movies you see...”

Which brought up another subject of conversation, and that took them all the way into Manaus.

* * *

The Latin club was decorated with images of flamenco and furnishings that were reminiscent of both Spain and Latin America.

A young woman wearing a red flamenco dress escorted them to a table near the dance floor and left menus with them.

“They serve food, too,” Rourke said with a grin. “I’m starving!”

She laughed. “Me, too,” she confessed.

They had seafood salads followed by a fruity dessert and coffee.

“I’ve almost forgotten how to dance,” she confessed when he took her onto the dance floor.

“So have I,” he replied. He was remembering the club in Osaka and the hurt look on Clarisse’s face. “I got drunk after you left the club that night in Osaka.”

“Wh...what?” she faltered.

He drew her against him. “Do you think I enjoyed hurting you?” he asked huskily. He averted his gaze to the far wall. “I was scared to death to let you get this close.”

She was fascinated by his expression.

He looked down at her hungrily. “You’ve never been much good at hiding how you feel, Tat,” he said as he began to move her to the lazy, seductive rhythm. “It was a very good thing that I’d had so much to drink last night.”

She flushed and lowered her gaze to his throat.

“Of course, I was still capable,” he mused, and laughed when she stiffened. He hugged her close, with rough affection. “I don’t deserve it. But I feel ten feet tall.”

“You do? Why?”

His mouth teased her ear. “Because you’re still a virgin, Tat.”

His arm brought her closer as he turned her.

“Couldn’t you, with another man?” he asked.

She swallowed. “You’re a hard act to follow,” she managed.

His chest rose and fell a little unsteadily. “If your mother had waited another ten minutes to come back home...”

“I’d have gotten pregnant, most likely,” she interrupted him. “That would have been the end of the world, for you.”

“Why?” He lifted his head and looked into her wide eyes. “I love kids, Tat. So do you.” He smiled. “I remember you giving a bottle to that little boy at the refugee camp,” he said. “It was so poignant that I had to grit my teeth to keep from reaching for you, all the way to the airport.”

He was confusing her. She didn’t understand.

“Don’t look so worried,” he said, brushing his lips over her hair. “We’ve just met. I’m a former secret agent. I have a game park and a pet lion in Africa named Lou. I love beautiful blue-eyed blondes, and I enjoy dancing the tango.”

She laughed. “Do you have one of those permits, too? So you can shoot people...?”

“I never shoot people.” He hesitated. “Almost never.”

She was recalling Miguel and the feel of the knife at her breast. Involuntarily, her fingers went to her bodice.

His arm tightened around her. “He’ll never hurt another woman.”

“He was scary,” she recalled with a tiny shiver. “A big man, very muscular...”

He pursed his lips. “So am I, Tat.”

“Yes, but he had sloppy muscles. You’re...” She recalled how he looked under his clothes and she blushed. “I can’t believe I let you talk me into that.”

He laughed. “I can’t believe it, either. I’ll carry that memory around with me for the rest of my life.”

“Why?”

“Because of the way you looked at me,” he said. He averted his gaze. “I’m touchy about my disability, Tat,” he said. “When you looked at me, you weren’t seeing it.”

“I never see it,” she said. “Stanton, there are men missing arms and legs, in all sorts of conditions, coming home from wars and conflicts. Many of them are married or in relationships. People cope, you know?”

“I had a woman tell me once that it would be creepy to go to bed with a one-eyed man,” he said, trying to make a joke of it.

She stopped dancing and winced.

“I didn’t,” he said at once, because he knew why she winced.

“Because she wouldn’t?” she asked.

“No. Because I...couldn’t,” he said. He drew her close again and danced.

She didn’t understand.

His big hand grew caressing on her back. “While you were under the influence of those anxiety meds, you thought you wanted Grange. But would you have slept with him?”

“No,” she said at once.

“Why?”

She drew in a shaky breath. “I can’t... I don’t...” She closed her eyes.

“Because you only want me, that way,” he whispered for her.

“Yes,” she said miserably, her pride gone.

He tilted up her chin and searched her blue eyes. He wasn’t smiling. “And I only want you, that way.”

“Pull the other one,” she laughed. “That was a gorgeous blonde you were dancing with at the awards ceremony when I left the room...”

“She’s married to the presenter,” he said quietly.

“Oh.”

“Why in the hell do you think I went out and got drunk?” he asked at her ear.

“Because I wouldn’t go to bed with you,” she bit off.

He lifted his head. He sighed. “We’ve got a long way to go,” he said after a minute. “But, then, I knew it wouldn’t be easy.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Dance,” he said, smiling. “There’s only tonight.”

“Really?”

“Well, not really. I thought I’d take you on a tour of Manaus tomorrow,” he added. “We’ll go look at the opera house and see some of the street performances. We might take in a show. I’ll see what’s in town.”

“You’re not going right back to Africa, then?”

“No.”

She followed his steps so easily, as if she could read his mind and knew exactly what he was going to do next. But it wasn’t that way except for dancing. “When?” she asked.

“How long is your fiancé going to be out of town?” he asked.

“Three weeks, he said.”

He lifted his head and looked into her eyes. “I’m going to be here for three weeks,” he said.

“Stanton...”

“When I take you home tonight, I’m going to leave you at your front door,” he said quietly. “But I’m going to kiss you in such a way that you’ll lie awake all night wanting me.”

Her lips parted on a husky breath.

“Of course, I’ll also lie awake all night wanting you,” he mused, and laughed to break the tension.

The music ended. He took her back to their table and ordered champagne.

“Are we celebrating something?” she asked when the waiter poured it into flutes.

“Yes,” Rourke replied, smiling tenderly. “To beginnings.”

Well, that was innocuous enough, she supposed. He didn’t really look threatening. She smiled and raised her glass to touch to his.

* * *

Domingo waited in the car while Rourke walked Clarisse to her door.

He paused just in front of her, producing her house key. She unlocked the door, leaving the key in it.

“I had a lovely time,” she said. “Really lovely. Thank you.”

“I did, too. I don’t get out much these days,” he confessed. “Never dancing. I’m usually up to my neck in some project overseas.”

That brought back to mind what he did for a living, and she felt uneasy. “You’re always at risk.”

He shrugged. “I can’t live without it, sweetheart,” he said softly, smiling when she flushed a little at the unaccustomed endearment. He never used them to her. Not in the past. “I have to have those adrenaline rushes.”

“I suppose it’s like men who play sports or go into law enforcement work.”

“Something like that.”

She searched his face with quiet, resigned eyes. “Try not to get killed. I hate funerals.”

He chuckled. “I’m sure I’d hate my own. But you’d look gorgeous in black lace, Tat. I used to dream about you in a long, lacy see-through black gown. I’d wake up sweating.”

That was surprising. “You dreamed about me?”

“Just as you dream about me,” he said, as if he knew.

“It was eight years ago,” she began.

“No. It was yesterday.” He looked down at her. “This may get a little rough,” he said apologetically as he drew her slowly to him. “I don’t mean it to, okay?”

“I don’t understand,” she faltered, already on fire from just the contact with his powerful body.

“I’ve kept to myself...for a while,” he whispered as he bent to her mouth. His hands slid to her hips and drew her against him. He shivered as his body reacted immediately, explicitly, to just the touch of her. “Sorry,” he added unsteadily.

“It’s all right,” she said. She stood very still as his head bent, his mouth coming to brush hers very softly. He nudged her top lip away from the lower one and teased it with brief, soft little kisses that made her body go tense.

He felt that. He felt her nails biting into his upper arms as she held him.

“I’ll bet—” he breathed into her mouth “—that your nipples are like little stones right now, Tat...”

She opened her mouth, shocked, and his went down against it with furious hunger. His hands on her hips were hurting but he didn’t move them, he didn’t try to bring her closer. He just kissed her, with hunger, almost with desperation.

He groaned against her lips. “I’m going to die when I have to step away from you,” he said huskily.

He pulled back, shuddering.

“I’m sorry,” she said.

“What for?”

“Making you hurt,” she said, wincing at the strain on his face.

He straightened a little jerkily. “It will go down eventually,” he said with graveyard humor. “An ice pack might help...”