Renegade Page 7

  She felt ashamed that she'd made such a rash offer, and to Cash Grier of all people. She was furious at him for making her feel that way. He'd started it, after all. Throwing his perfect body at her like that and then slapping her down when she got aroused! Were all men like that?

  "Dinner and the ballet," she agreed curtly, wrapping her coat around her tightly and buttoning it up to her chin. "And don't worry, I won't try to seduce you in the front seat of the car!"

  He glared down at her. "Thanks. I was really worried."

  She swept by him in a fury.

  They ate without knowing what, and Tippy felt guilty, because it was delicious. They went from the elegant restaurant to the ballet, where she sat beside Cash and never saw what was happening on stage except for noting the beautiful colors and how they reflected on the dancers. She was angry. She was elated. She was eaten up with physical desire that she'd never felt before in her life. She was blinded by her hunger for him. She wanted to jump on him and tear his clothes off where he was sitting. Outraged and mortified by her own helpless urges, she ignored him throughout the performance.

  As if he understood completely what she was feeling, he didn't say a word or even touch her until the ballet was over and they were filing out of the theater. He took her arm to help her across the street to the parking garage, but she was like steel to the touch.

  He unlocked the door and she got inside, reaching idly for her seat belt. He glanced at

  her as he started the engine and pulled out of the parking space. He felt remorseful

  about refusing what she'd offered him. But he was honest. He had nothing to give.

  Nothing at all. It would have been unfair to take advantage of something she couldn't

  help. He was flattered that she could feel such attraction for him, but he didn't trust it. He

  didn't trust her. He was still stunned that he'd spilled his darkest secrets to a woman

  who was, after all, little more than a stranger. Except that she didn't feel like a stranger.

  She felt...familiar. Too familiar.

  He whipped the car out into traffic with muted violence.

  She noticed. She turned her evening bag over in her lap and looked out the window

  at the crowded streets with their floods of neon lights and glimmering messages on

  billboards.

  "Don't get conceited, Grier," she said sharply. "I'm sure there are at least five or six

  other men on the planet who could make me feel like ravishing them on the

  sidewalk."

  He made a rough sound in his throat.

  She didn't look to see if it was laughter or something else. "Besides, I can always take a

  cold shower and go in for team sports..."

  The car jerked under his hands as he tried to cope with what he was feeling. "Will you give it a rest?" he asked after a minute. "We both know you'd start screaming the minute I laid hands on you with intent."

  She started. "Is that what you think?" "I've been in law enforcement and the military most of my life," he said, slowing in traffic for a turn. "I know more about rape victims than you do." She didn't say anything else, but she was watching him, waiting.

  He glanced at her as he made the turn. "You may have the best intentions in the world, but it's not going to be that easy for you to be with a man—even a man you think you want. One of the roughest rape cases I ever testified in was a similar circumstance. A young girl who'd been raped tried to make it with

  HER new boyfriend. But she couldn't go through with it and he couldn't stop."

  "What happened?"

  "She started screaming about the time her parents came home. They had the boy arrested. She tried to recall the charges, but it was too late. He did get probation—it was a first of-fense—but he never spoke to her again. She really loved him. She just couldn't have sex with him."

  She folded her arms together over her coat and shivered.

  "You get the picture?" he asked tersely.

  She nodded. Her eyes went back to the passing storefronts.

  His lips flattened together. "I couldn't live with it if I lost control and forced you,

  okay?" he admitted finally. Her caught breath was audible. "But I offered," she said huskily. He glared at her. "What would that mean if I left you with more scars than you've

  already got?"

  Her anger evaporated and she studied him quietly. "I've never felt like this with anyone since it happened," she confessed. "I was very attracted to Cullen, but he found women repulsive. Even so, it wasn't like this. I'm on fire," she said with a nervous little laugh. "I ache all over. It's almost like pain. All I can think Of is how it would feel to be with you in a bed all night."

  His hands tightened on the steering wheel until they turned white, while he tried to convince himself that this was a disaster waiting to happen.

  "But if you're not interested, you're not interested. I guess you're worried about that marriage thing. I don't have any plans to propose to you, no matter how good you are in bed, if that would change your mind," she promised.

  He laughed in spite of himself. "You don't understand." "You're impotent?" she murmured dryly. He glared at her. "I am not impotent." "You're saving yourself for someone you haven't told me about?" she persisted.

  "Hell!" "I'm only trying to explain to you that I want your cooperation in a science project," she continued, unabashed. "A what?" "A science project. Anatomy." She grinned. He was losing ground. This wasn't good. He had to keep his head, because it was a sure bet that she was losing her own. "I won't even ask you to leave the lights on." He frowned. "Why would I want them out?" "Well, a man of your age," she murmured, glancing at her polished nails. "I mean, you might have inhibitions about your body." She peered at him through her lashes. He felt himself go taut. He wondered if she even realized how arousing this sort of conversation was. "I have a great body, thanks." "In that case, we can leave the lights on." He gave an exasperated sigh as he turned onto her street and pulled up in front of her apartment, with the engine still running. He scowled at her in the glare of the streetlights. "You want to do it right here, with the engine running?" she exclaimed in a hushed tone, looking around. "I do not!" he bit off. 'Then, shouldn't we go upstairs?" she prompted. "I haven't checked door to door, of course, but I'm sure my neighbors are easily shocked."

  He met her level stare and tried to weigh the consequences logically. But his mind

  wasn't cooperating. His body was making it impossible to think at all. Just the sight of her in that white gown, with her bodice plunging and hinting at the beautiful curves underneath made him ache. It had been a long time.

  Too long. He was ripe for a reckless night in bed. But not with an abused woman who was barely one step removed from virginity.

  "Last chance," she said breathlessly, her nails biting into her evening bag as she fought inherent shyness to make the outrageous offer.

  He sighed angrily. "Listen..."

  She held up a hand. "You're just bristling with excuses," she gleaned. "I'm sorry, but

  it's no use. You don't want to. Okay. I understand. Thanks for dinner and the ballet. I know it didn't look like it, but I really did enjoy them." She opened the door and got out, smiling forcefully. "Are you going to be around tomorrow? It's Christmas Eve."

  He frowned. "I don't know."

  "If you are, I'm having turkey and dressing and all the trimmings," she said.

  He was confused and upset. He'd never been in a situation where he was so torn between two alternatives. He'd never wanted a woman so badly, either. But he thought her outlook was overly optimistic. She'd never really dealt with her past.

  "Have you even had therapy?" he asked abruptly.

  "You think I need therapy because I offered you sex?" she exclaimed.

  "Hell!" he burst out. "Can't you be serious for a minute?"

  "I've spent my whole adult life being serious, and it's getting me nowhere."

  "You
need counseling," he insisted.

  She glared at him. "I don't need counseling. All I need is...well, never mind what I need. You're not interested." "You haven't faced your past," he said flatly. "Oh, yes, I have. Despite what you think, I can live with my past. Can you?"

  She turned and started up the steps. She was angry, but her body was still throbbing

  like a wound. She couldn't quite control that, or her unsatisfied desire. He thought she

  couldn't function as a woman. She knew she could, with him, at least. But if he

  wouldn't believe her, there was little hope in showing him.

  She paused as she unlocked her front door to look back at him. He was still sitting

  in the car, scowling, with both windows up and the moon roof closed. The car was still

  running, too.

  She waved and went inside. It was the hardest thing she'd done in years. She knew she might never see him again. The funny thing was that she'd been telling the truth. Her body was throbbing with desire. She wanted him so much that she was almost shaking with it. Any other man would have had her in the bedroom before she could get the whole invitation out. And she had to run across a man who was too concerned with her hang-ups to accept a blatant offering!

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CASH WATCHED HER GO in the door with his heart in his throat. That beautiful, desirable woman wanted him. But she was inside, and he was sitting out here in the cold with the engine running. And why? Because he was afraid that once wouldn't be enough. He was afraid that he'd finally met the one woman he couldn't walk away from, and he didn't want to take the chance that lovemaking would lead to obsession. He'd already had a taste of what passed for love in a woman's mind. It had destroyed his life.

  But Tippy wasn't just any woman. She had a past of her own to live with. She understood him, perhaps better than anyone else alive. He remembered Christabel Gaines listening to him, sympathizing with him. He'd gotten drunk on her caring kindness. But it hadn't been love, not on her part. It had been friendship. It wasn't like that with Tippy. She aroused a rage of passion in his body, in his mind, in his heart. He wanted to know how it would be to have her. He ached to know.

  While he was trying to convince himself that he should pull the car out into the

  street and go away, his body was turning off the ignition and opening the door. He was

  rigid with desire, so tormented that he couldn't think past relief. All his arguments

  were being consumed in a veritable maelstrom of aroused passion.

  He rang the bell without giving himself the opportunity to run for it. There was an answering buzz. The door was unlocked. He went through it and up the stairs, his heart pounding madly with every quick step. He wouldn't think about tomorrow. Not until he had to. She was waiting for him at the door when he reached it. She'd taken off the coat, but she was still wearing the shoulder-less white velvet dress. Her glorious red-gold hair was around her shoulders, falling in soft waves on her creamy skin. She was breathing quickly, despite the faint trace of fear in her soft eyes that she couldn't contain. Her skin looked like silk. He moved into the apartment and closed the door. On an afterthought, he reached behind him blindly and threw the lock. She backed away from him. At first, he thought she was changing her mind. But she was moving toward the bedroom. He followed her slowly, his face giving away his hunger for her. He followed her into the room and closed that door, locking it, too. He stood and looked at her, vaguely aware of the neat coverlet of the double bed behind her and the closed windows and curtains that flanked it. She swallowed hard. 'The.. .light," she faltered, flushing, because it was a little embarrassing, despite her bravado earlier. His eyes narrowed. "Do you want it out?" She nodded.

  'There's something you have to know, before this starts. I don't have anything to

  use."

  Her eyes sought his. "I don't care."

  His heart jumped wildly. He thought of Jessamina, Christabel's little girl. He

  thought of a child. Tippy wasn't refusing him because he hadn't anything to prevent a child. She loved children. He permitted himself to think, for an instant, of a little girl with red hair and green eyes, and his heart began to race.

  "We're both insane," he choked.

  She nodded slowly, her lips parted huskily. "Turn out the light. Please."

  It was the last thing she said.

  HE FOUND HER IN THE semidarkness with his hands, and then with his mouth. She melted

  into him. She felt the zipper in the back of her dress being slowly lowered, and then she

  felt his hands on her bare skin. She gasped at the incredible sensation it produced.

  "Yes," he murmured at her ear. "You feel it, too, don't you? It's like electricity when I

  touch you. I've never touched skin like yours. It feels like flower petals, warmed by the

  sun," he whispered huskily. His hands smoothed up her back and then down again,

  slowly taking the dress and half-slip and panty hose with them. "You aren't wearing

  much under this," he whispered amusedly.

  Her breath was coming in jerks. The touch of his hands made her knees go weak.

  "You can't wear much under a dress like this," she confessed.

  His mouth was working its way down her body, along with his hands. She felt it on

  her breasts and she shivered.

  He paused, his mouth hovering just over a taut nipple. "Frightened?" he

  whispered softly.

  "No!" She jumped when she felt his warm lips open and pull

  at the nipple. Her hands caught in his thick, dark hair and she moaned.

  He laughed gently. "You like that? And we've barely begun."

  She didn't understand. Not then. But as he found more and

  more of her with his mouth, and then with his hands, and the

  passion began to burn high and bright, the words slowly made

  sense. He had all the time in the world. He didn't rush. He lingered over every satin-smooth part of her, exploring, teasing, testing, while she alternately moaned and wept at the rush of sensation that made her boneless and famished. She ached for him. Her body was his. She belonged to him. Every brush of his mouth on forbidden places, every slow movement of his hands was pulsing ecstasy. He felt her move against him and he smiled at her soft belly, enjoying her responses, her soft cries of pleasure, enjoying the sensation of oneness that it gave him to feel her nudity against his.

  She jerked when she felt him against her, but he soothed her and comforted her, his

  mouth teasing gently at her lips while he moved slowly into intimacy between her long,

  trembling legs.

  "Remember what I asked you?" He eased his mouth between her full lips as he began to penetrate her tenderly. "I asked if you wanted to feel me inside you." He caught his breath harshly. "You do, don't you?" he bit off. His eyes closed. "I want to feel you, too, as close to me...as I can get you!"

  "Cash...!" she exclaimed, shivering, and her hands tightened on his muscular upper arms. "You're so big...!"

  "Shh," he whispered into her mouth. "We're going to fit together like two spoons, despite what you're thinking. It isn't going to be stark or violent. I know too much to rush my fences. I won't hurt you, baby. Relax. That's it. Just relax. I'm driving. You're riding. Okay?"

  She laughed huskily at the images that flooded her mind. Then he moved slowly, sensuously, and she felt his tender, soft invasion. She started to stiffen, but it wasn't hurting. It Wasn't violent. It wasn't even...urgent. It was... Her eyes closed and she began to moan softly as the long, slow movements provoked nerve endings she didn't even know she had into pleasure.

  His hands were under her now, one at her neck, the other under her slender hips, lifting her gently into the motion of his body. "That's it," he whispered huskily. "Making love is like singing the blues. The slower it is, the better it is."

  He nibbled her upper lip softly while he moved on her, lazily, tenderly. W
ith every soft motion, she felt him deeper in her body, the shocked pulse of pleasure beginning to grow and flare up inside her as her body stretched to accommodate him. She gasped at the heat and power of him.

  "I...feel you," she whispered, clinging closer.

  "I feel you, too. Silky skin, soft breasts, sweet mouth...I can't get...close enough, Tippy!"

  She felt the same way. Her breath whimpered his name out as the sensations grew more violently pleasurable. She shivered with ecstasy every time he moved. It was incredible!