Читать книгу Diana Palmer Collected 1-6: Soldier of Fortune / Tender Stranger / Enamored / Mystery Man / Rawhide and Lace / Unlikely Lover - Diana Palmer - Страница 23

Chapter Three

Dani was glad she’d stopped by the little boutique in the basement of the hotel on her way up to change for dinner. She’d bought a white Mexican dress with an elastic neckline and lots of ruffles, and when she put it on she looked slightly mysterious, with her brown hair and gray eyes and creamy complexion. Her wire-rimmed glasses weren’t so spiffy, she admitted, but they did make her eyes look bigger than they were. And she wasn’t really fat, she told herself, smiling at her reflection. It was mostly what was on top, and the dress even minimized that. She got her small evening bag and went downstairs to meet Dutch in the lobby.

He was wearing white slacks with a white shirt and blue blazer, and he rose lazily to his feet from a plush sofa, leaving his evening paper there as he joined her.

“Nice,” he said, taking her arm. “What do you fancy? Mexican, Chinese, Italian, or a steak?”

“I like steak,” she murmured.

“So do I.” He guided her along the hall past the family restaurant and into the very exclusive Captain’s Quarters next door. White-coated waiters in white gloves were everywhere, and Dani glanced up at Dutch apprehensively as he gave the hostess his name.

“What is it?” he asked softly, guiding her along behind the well-dressed young woman with the menus.

“It’s so expensive,” she began, worried.

His face brightened, and he smiled. “Do you mind washing dishes afterward?” he whispered mischievously.

She laughed up at him. “Not if you’ll dry,” she promised.

He slid an arm around her waist and pulled her close. “You’re a nice girl.”

“Just the kind your mother warned you about, so look out,” she told him.

He glanced down at her. “No. My mother would have liked you. She was spirited, too.”

She smiled shyly, aware of envious eyes following them along the way. He was so handsome, she thought, peeking up at him. Muscular, graceful, and with the face of a Greek statue, male perfection in the finest sense. An artist would have been enchanted with him as a subject.

The hostess left them at their table, near the window, and Dutch seated Dani with a curious frown.

“What were you thinking about so solemnly just now?” he asked as he eased his tall form into the chair across from her.

“That you’d delight an artist,” she said simply. “You’re very elegant.”

He took a slow breath. “Lady, you’re bad for my ego.”

“Surely you look in the mirror from time to time?” she asked. “I don’t mean to stare, but I can’t help it.”

“Yes, I have the same problem,” he murmured, and his eyes were fixed on her.

She was glad she hadn’t yielded to the temptation to pull the elastic neck of her dress down around her shoulders. It was hard enough to bear that dark stare as it was.

“Shall I order for you, or are you liberated?” he asked after she’d studied the menu.

“I kind of like it the old-fashioned way, if you don’t mind,” she confessed. “I’m liberated enough to know I look better in a skirt than in a pair of pants.”

He chuckled. “Do you?”

“Well, you’d look pretty silly in a dress,” she came back.

“What do you want to eat?” he asked.

“Steak and a salad, and coffee to drink.”

He looked at her with a dry smile, and when the waiter came, he gave a double order.

“Yes,” he told her, “I like coffee, too.”

“You seem very traveled,” she remarked, pleating her napkin.

“I am.” He leaned back in his chair to study her. “And you’ve never been out of the States.”

“I’ve been nowhere—until now.” She smiled at the napkin. “Done nothing except work. I thought about changing, but I never had the courage to do it.”

“It takes courage, to break out of a mold,” he said. He pulled the ashtray toward him and lit a cigarette. “I hope you don’t mind, but I’m doing it anyway. This is one habit I don’t intend to break.”

“‘I’ll die of something someday,’” she quoted. “There are lots of other clichés, but I think that one’s dandy.”

He only laughed. “Smoking is the least dangerous thing I do.”

“What do you do?” she asked, curious.

He thought about that for a moment, and pursed his lips as he wondered what she’d say if he told her the truth. She’d probably be out of that chair and out of his life so fast…He frowned. He didn’t like that idea.

“I’m in the military,” he said finally. “In a sense.”

“Oh. On active duty?” she continued, feeling her way because he seemed reluctant to elaborate.

“No. Inactive, at the moment.” He watched her through a veil of smoke from his cigarette.

“Is it dangerous, what you do?”

“Yes.”

“I feel like a panelist on ‘What’s My Line?’” she said unexpectedly, and grinned when he burst out laughing.

“Maybe you’re a double agent,” she supposed. “A spy.”

“I’m too tall,” he returned. “Agents are supposed to be under five feet tall so that they can hide in shrubbery.”

She stared at him until she realized he was joking, and she laughed.

“Your eyes laugh when you do,” he said absently. “Are you always this sunny?”

“Most of the time,” she confessed. She pushed her glasses back as they threatened to slide down her nose. “I have my bad days, too, like everyone else, but I try to leave them at home.”

“You could get contact lenses,” he remarked as he noticed her efforts to keep her glasses on her nose.

She shook her head. “I’m much too nervous to be putting them in and taking them out and putting them in solution all the time. I’m used to these.”

“They must get in the way when you kiss a man,” he murmured dryly.

“What way?” She laughed, a little embarrassed by his frankness. “My life isn’t overrun with amorous men.”

“We can take them off, I suppose,” he mused.

Her breath caught as she read the veiled promise in his dark eyes.

“Stark terror,” he taunted gently, watching her expression. “I didn’t realize I was so frightening.”

“Not that kind of frightening,” she corrected him. Her eyes lowered.

“Dani.”

He made her name sound like a prayer. She looked up.

“Seducing you is not on the agenda,” he said quietly. “But if something did happen, I’d marry you. That’s a promise, and I don’t give my word lightly.”

She began to tingle all over. “It would be a high price to pay for one mistake.”

He was watching her oddly. “Would it? I haven’t thought about marriage in years.” He leaned back in his chair to study her, the cigarette burning idly in his fingers. “I wonder what it would be like,” he mused, “having someone to come back to.”

What an odd way to put it, she thought. Surely he meant someone to come home to. She pulled herself up short as she realized that it was just conversation. He was only amusing himself; she had to remember that. Making memories, as he’d put it. They were strangers and they’d remain strangers. She couldn’t afford to mess up her whole life because of a holiday romance. That was all this was. A little light entertainment. She’d better remember that, too.

The waiter brought their food, and as they ate they talked about general things. He seemed very knowledgeable about foreign conflicts, and she imagined that he read a lot of military publications. That led to talk of the kind of weapons being used, and he seemed equally knowledgeable about those.

“My best friend’s husband likes to read about weapons,” Dani volunteered, remembering Harriett’s Dave and his fascination with weaponry. “He has volumes on those exotic things like…oh, what is it, the little nine-millimeter carbine—”

“The Uzi,” he offered. “It has a thirty-shot magazine and can throw off single shots as well as bursts. A formidable little carbine.”

She laughed. “I can shoot a twenty-two rifle. That’s about the extent of my knowledge of weapons.”

“I know more about knives than guns, as a rule, although I’ve used both.” He reached into his inside blazer pocket, produced a large folded knife and put it on the table.

She stared at it, fascinated. It was made of silvery metal, with a carved bone handle, and when she tugged the blade out, it was oddly shaped and had a sinister look.

“It’s not a pocket knife, is it?” she asked, lifting her eyes.

He shook his head. “Although it passes for one, going through customs.”

“Where did you find something so unusual?” she asked, fascinated by it.

“I made it.” He picked it up and repocketed it.

“Made it?” she exclaimed.

“Sure.” He laughed at her expression. “Where do you think knives come from? Someone has to make them.”

“Yes, of course, but I didn’t recognize…It’s very formidable looking,” she added.

“I don’t carry it for decoration,” he said. He leaned forward and sipped his coffee. “Would you like some dessert?”

“No, thank you,” she said. “I don’t like sweet things very much, thank God.”

He smiled. “Neither do I. Let’s go walk on the beach for a while.”

“Lovely!”

She waited while he paid the check and then followed him out into the darkness.

The night was warm, and she took off her sandals, which she’d worn without hose, and danced in and out of the waves. He watched her, laughing, his hands in his pockets, his blond hair pale and glowing in the light from the hotel.

“How old did you say you were?” he asked when she came running back up the beach, sandals dangling from one hand.

“About ten,” she laughed up at him.

“You make me feel old.” He lifted a hand and touched her cheek, her lips. There were people farther down the beach, but none close enough to be more than dark shapes.

“How old are you?” she asked.

“Thirty-six,” he said. His other hand came out of his pocket. He took her sandals from her nerveless fingers and dropped them down into the sand. The soft thud barely registered above the crashing surf.

“You excite me,” he said in a deep, slow tone. He cupped her face in his hands and drew her closer, so that she could feel the pleasant heat of his body against hers. “Do you know how a man’s body reacts when he’s excited?”

Her face felt blistering hot, and she couldn’t seem to move as he released her face only to take her hips in his hands and draw them against him.

Her breath caught and his open mouth touched her forehead. His breathing was audible now, and she was learning fascinating things about him, about the subtle differences in his body that she was apparently causing.

“No protest at all?” he asked quietly.

“I’m…curious,” she whispered. “As you’ve already seen, I know very little about this.”

“I don’t frighten you?”

“No, not now.”

His mouth smiled, she could feel it. His thumbs bit into the soft flesh of her stomach as he urged her closer. “Not even now?” he whispered.

Her legs trembled against his. She felt strange new sensations inside her, dragging sensations that left tingling pleasure in their wake. Her hands clung to his blazer because she wasn’t sure her legs were going to support her much longer.

His chest rose and fell roughly against her taut breasts. “I want to be alone with you. And at the moment that’s the most dangerous thing we could do.”

“You want me,” she whispered, realizing it with a strange sense of triumph.

“Yes.” His hands moved up her body slowly to her breasts, which were bare under the dress because she hadn’t wanted to suffer her hot, longline bra, which was the only strapless thing she had.

She tensed, feeling his hands lift her, cup her, so tender that she accepted them without protest. His thumbs brushed over her, feeling her instant response.

“You want me, too, don’t you?” he asked gently.

The sensations his thumbs were producing made her mind go blank. She moved a little, moaning.

His face pressed against her cheek. She could feel his breath at her ear.

“Thank God we don’t have an audience,” he whispered huskily. “Stand very still, Dani.”

His hands rose, moved to her shoulders. He eased the fabric down her arms with a slow, sinuous, achingly tender pressure. Her heart stopped beating as she felt the blood rush through her veins, felt the coolness of the salty night breeze touching her shoulders, her upper arms, and then her breasts as he slid the fabric to her waist.

She moaned again, a catching of breath that acted on him like a narcotic. He felt his own legs go weak at the wholehearted response she was giving him. Giving to him, when he knew instinctively that she’d never have let any other man do this to her.

“I wish that I could see your eyes,” he whispered. He lifted his head and looked down at her shadowed face. His hands slid against her face, her throat. “You’re so silky-soft,” he said under his breath. His hands slid down her arms and back up, his fingers barely touching, experiencing her skin. “Like warm cream. I can feel you trembling, and it brings the blood to my head, did you know? And that little sound you made when I pulled your dress away from your breasts…” His hands moved back to her shoulders. “Sweet, sweet virgin,” he whispered. “Make it easy for me. Lift your arms and let me hold you in my palms.”

She stood on tiptoe as his hands began to move over her collarbone. Her hands reached up into his thick, straight blond hair as his thumbs moved down ahead of his palms and rubbed sensually at the hard tips of her breasts.

She jerked helplessly at the exquisite contact.

“I want to put my mouth on you,” he whispered as his lips brushed hers and his hands slowly, achingly, swallowed her, feeling the involuntary tremors that shook her. “All of this is a natural part of lovemaking, so don’t be frightened if you feel my teeth. All right?”

“Peo-ple,” she moaned helplessly.

“There was only an old couple down the beach,” he whispered. “They’ve gone inside now. Dani, Dani, of all the erotic, unbelievably sexy things I’ve ever done with a woman, this has to be the sweetest!”

She was arching her body toward him, blind and deaf to everything except sensation. Tomorrow, she told her conscience, tomorrow I’ll worry about it.

“You want my mouth, don’t you, darling?” he said, and with something like reverence he began to run his lips along her throat, down the side of her neck, over her collarbone, her shoulders. “I’m going to make a meal of you right here,” he breathed, and all at once she felt his teeth on her and she stiffened and cried out.

“Eric,” she moaned, frightened, her hands catching in his hair.

“It’s all right,” he murmured against her breast. “I wouldn’t hurt you for all the world. Relax, darling, just relax. Yes, like that, Dani. Lie down. Lie down, so that I can get to you….”

He was easing her down onto the sand, and she let him, grateful to have some support under her, because the world was spinning around wildly. She clung to him, glorying in the feel of his lips, his teeth, his tongue, as he showed her how inexperienced she really was. By the time he got back to her mouth she was on fire for him.

With fierce enthusiasm she pulled his body down over hers and kissed him back with a naive but satisfying passion. He laughed delightedly against her open mouth and eased his hips over hers. She was his already.

“Eric,” she ventured shakily.

“What do you want?” he asked, tasting her closed eyelids.

Her hands went to the front of his shirt, and he lifted his head. “Do you want to feel me?”

She flushed. “Yes.”

“Unbutton it.”

He was heavy, but she loved his weight. Overhead there were hundreds of stars. But all she knew was the unexpected completeness of his passion.

She touched his bare, hair-rough skin with hands that tingled with excitement. She’d never touched a man’s body before, but she loved the feel of Dutch’s. His muscles were padded, warm and strong, and she could imagine that his strength was formidable.

“Move your hands,” he said seconds later, and when she did, he dragged his bare chest roughly over hers, shocking her with the force of desire the unexpected action caused in her body.

“Do you like it?” he asked as he moved sinuously above her.

“I never dreamed…” she began huskily. She was trembling, and so was her voice. “Oh, I want you,” she confessed on a sob. “I want you, I want you!”

“I want you, too, little one,” he whispered, kissing her softly. “But I can’t treat you like a one-night stand. I find I have too much conscience.”

Tears were rolling down her cheeks. He kissed them all away, and his tongue brushed the tears from her eyelashes, and she realized suddenly that she hadn’t had her glasses on for quite a while.

“My…glasses?” she falterd.

“Above your head,” he said with a smile. He sat up slowly, catching her wrists to pull her up with him. She was in a patch of light that allowed him a delicious view of creamy, hard-tipped breasts in blatant arousal.

“Oh, you’re something else, Miss St. Clair,” he said gently. He bent and touched his mouth to the very tip of one breast.

Her breath wouldn’t come steadily. She looked down at his blond head. “I…we should…that is…”

He lifted his head. “Suppose in the morning we get married?”

“M-married?”

He nodded. “Married.” He pulled up her bodice with obvious reluctance. Then he reached behind her, retrieved her glasses, and put them back on her.

“But…”

His knuckles brushed one perfect breast lazily, feeling it go hard again. “This isn’t going to get better,” he said. “By tomorrow we’ll be in such a fever that nothing is going to keep us away from each other. I haven’t experienced anything this powerful since I was about fifteen. And I’m damned sure you’re feeling it for the first time.”

“Yes, I know that, but we’re strangers,” she protested, trying to keep her head.

“We aren’t going to be strangers for much longer,” he said flatly. “My God, I want you,” he ground out. “If you won’t marry me, I’m getting the hell out of this hotel tonight, and on the next plane out of Veracruz. Because I can’t bear to be around you without taking you. And I won’t take you without marriage.”

“But…”

“Am I so unmarriageable?” he burst out. “My God, I’ve had women propose to me! I’m not ugly, I’m well to do, I like dogs and cats, and I pay my bills on time. I’m in fairly decent health, I have friends…why in hell won’t you marry me?”

“But it’s only desire,” she began.

“Stop trying to be logical,” he said gruffly. “I’m not capable of logic when I’m aching like this. I want you. And you want me. For God’s sake, put me out of my misery!”

“Would…would we have a divorce if…after we…if you…” she began.

“I’m getting older.” He got to his feet and drew her up with him. “I travel a lot, you’d have to get used to that. But until now I’ve never had anyone of my own. I like you. I like being with you. And I think we’ll set fires in bed. It’s more than most people start out with. At least we aren’t kids who believe in fairy tales like love and happily-ever-after. I’d rather have a woman who doesn’t bore me than an infatuation that wears off.”

“And if you fell in love with someone later?” she asked quietly, hearing her dreams die.

“I’ll never love again,” he said with equal quietness. “But if you do, I’ll let you out.” He took her hands in his. “Yes or no? I won’t ask again.”

“Yes,” she said without hesitation. Harriett would faint. Nobody would believe it back home, that she’d found a man like this who wanted her. All the questions she’d meant to ask went right out of her mind.

He bent and kissed her—without passion and very tenderly. “My full name is Eric James van Meer. I was born in the Netherlands, although everyone calls it Holland, in a place called Utrecht. I lived there until I was in my teens, when I joined the service. The rest, you know, a little. Someday I’ll tell you all of it. When I have to.”

“That sounds ominous.”

He put an arm around her. “It doesn’t have a lot to do with us right now,” he said. His arm tightened. “Do you want to be a virgin until tomorrow morning?”

Her lips parted. Her breath came wildly. Of course, she thought, and started to say it. But she couldn’t. The words stuck in her throat. She thought of the long night, and her logical mind was booted out of its lofty position by a body that was in unholy torment.

“I want you so much,” she said unsteadily.

“No more than I want you,” he returned gruffly.

They were in the light of the hotel lobby now. He stopped, turning her toward him. His hands cupped her face and his eyes were dark and hot and full of anguish.

“I was raised a Catholic,” he explained. “And in my religion, what I’m going to do to you tonight is a sin. Probably in your religion it is, too. But in the sight of God, for all our lives, I take you for my wife here, now. And tomorrow, in the sight of men, we make it right.”

Tears stung her eyes as the words touched her heart. “And I take you for my husband, for better or worse, as long as I draw breath.”

He bent and brushed his mouth tenderly over her wet eyes. “In Dutch, we call a married woman Mevrouw,” he whispered.

“Mevrouw,” she repeated.

“And darling,” he added, smiling, “is lieveling.”

“Lieveling,” she repeated, smiling back.

“Upstairs,” he said, turning her, “I’ll teach you some more words. But you won’t be able to repeat them in public.” And he laughed at her expression.