Adam (6 page)

Buck already had his fingers twined in Velma's red curls, and Velma had her hand on the front of Buck's jeans when Tate cleared her throat loudly to remind them that she was still there. They broke apart like two teenagers caught necking, their faces flushed as much by embarrassment as by passion.

“Uh, sorry,” Buck said.

Velma tried rearranging her hair, a hopeless task considering how badly Buck had messed it up.

“You look fine, honey,” Buck said, taking a hand at smoothing her tresses himself. But the gesture turned into a caress, which turned into a fervent look of desire, which ended when Buck's lips lowered to Velma's in the gentlest of kisses.

There was no telling where things might have gone from there, except Tate said, “All right, enough is enough! We'll never get anywhere this way. Buck, you go sit over there in that chair. Velma and I will sit on the couch.”

Sheepishly, Buck crossed the room and slouched down in the chair Tate had indicated. Tate joined Velma on the couch. She dragged her T-shirt out of her jeans and used it to dab at Velma's tears.

“Now it seems to me,” Tate began, “that you both want to give this relationship another try. So I have a suggestion.”

Tate outlined for them a plan whereby they would start from scratch. Buck would pick Velma up at her door, they would go out together and he would return her at the end of the evening. Absolutely no sex.

“You have to learn to trust each other again,” she said. “That takes time.”

Buck's face had taken on a mulish cast. “I'm not sure I can play by those rules. Especially that ‘no sex' part.”

It wasn't hard to see why. The sexual electricity between them would have killed a normal person.

“No sex,” Tate insisted. “If you spend all your time in bed, you won't do as much talking. And you both have a lot you need to talk about.”

Tate chewed anxiously on her lower lip while she waited to see whether they would accept her suggestion.

“I think Tate's right,” Velma said.

The negotiations didn't end there. In fact it wasn't until the wee hours of the morning that all parties were satisfied. Tate felt as emotionally exhausted as she knew Buck and Velma were. The hug Velma gave her as she was leaving, and the whispered “Thank you” from the other woman, made everything worthwhile.

Tate rubbed the tense muscles in her neck as Buck drove her back to the ranch. She knew Buck was still troubled, but at least now there was some hope that he and his ex-wife might one day end up together again.

When they arrived at the front door to Adam's house, Buck took Tate's hand in his and said, “I don't know how to thank you.”

“Just be good to Velma. That'll be thanks enough for me.”

He ruffled her hair as an older brother might, then leaned over and kissed her on the cheek. “You're a good friend, Tate. If I can ever do anything for you, just let me know.”

“I'll remember that,” Tate said. “You don't need to get out. I can let myself in.”

Buck waited until she was inside the front door before he drove his truck around to the bunkhouse.

Tate had only taken two steps when the living room lights clicked on. Adam stood at the switch, his face a granite mask of displeasure.

“Where were you?” Tate accused. “I waited for you for hours, but you never came home!”

Adam was taken aback, since he had intended to ask the same question. “Dr. Kowalski had a medical emergency with one of my former patients. Susan asked me to come because Mrs. Daniels was frightened, and she thought the old lady would respond better if I was there.”

“I knew it had to be something important,” Tate said with a sigh of relief. “Were you able to help?”

“Yes, Mrs. Daniels is out of danger now.”

Adam suddenly realized that Tate had completely distracted him from the confrontation he had planned. His eyes narrowed as he tried to decide whether she had done it on purpose.

“Where have you been all night?” he asked in a cool voice. “Do you realize it's four a.m.?”

“Is it really that late? I mean, that early,” Tate said with a laugh. “I was out with Buck. Oh, Adam—”

He cut her off with a snarl of disgust as she confirmed his worst suspicions. “I don't suppose I have to ask what you were doing,
little girl
. If you were that anxious to lose your virgin
ity you should have told me. You didn't have to drag Buck into the picture.”

Tate was aghast. “You think Buck and I—”

“What am I supposed to think when you come rolling in at this ungodly hour of the morning with your T-shirt hanging out and your hair mussed up and your lower lip swollen like it's been bitten a dozen times.”

“There's a perfectly logical—”

“I don't want to hear any excuses! Do you deny that you spent the night with Buck?”

“No, but something wonderful happened—”

“I don't want to hear the gory details!”

He was shouting by now, and Tate knew that if she had been any closer Adam might not have been able to control the visible anger that shook his body.

“Get out of my sight!” he said in hard, quiet voice. “Before I do something I'll regret.”

Tate put her chin up. If this
fool
would give her a chance, she could explain everything! But her pride goaded her to remain silent. Adam was neither father nor brother. Yet he seemed determined to fill the role of protector. She felt the tears that threatened. Why couldn't he see that she only had eyes for one man—and that man was him!

“Some folks can't see any farther than the steam from their own pot of stew.” With that pronouncement, she turned and stalked from the room.

Once Tate was gone, Adam swore a blue streak. When he was done, he felt worse instead of better. He had hoped he was wrong about what Tate and Buck had been doing out so late. He had been stunned when Tate hadn't denied losing her vir
ginity to the cowboy. He felt absolute, uncontrollable rage at the thought of some other man touching her in ways he knew she had never been touched. And the thought that she had found it
wonderful
caused an unbearable tightness in his chest.

He tried to tell himself that what had happened was for the best. He was not a whole man. She deserved more. But nothing he said to himself took away the bitter taste in his mouth. She was his. She belonged to him.

And by God, now that her virginity was no longer an impediment, he would have her.

S
UDDENLY IT WAS
A
DAM
who became the pursuer and Tate who proved elusive. She gave him the cold shoulder whenever she met him and made a point of smiling and recklessly flirting with Buck. Because of the way Buck's courtship was prospering with Velma, he had the look of a happy, well-satisfied man. Which left Adam seething with jealousy.

Tate suspected she could lift the thundercloud that followed Adam around if she simply told him the truth about what she had been doing the night she had spent with Buck. But she was determined that Adam would be the one to make the first move toward conciliation. All he had done for the past week was glare daggers at her.

However, there was more than anger reflected in his gaze, more than antagonism in his attitude toward her. Tate was beginning to feel frazzled by the unspoken sexual tension that sizzled between them. Something had changed since the night they had argued, and Tate felt the hairs lift on her arms whenever Adam was around. His look was hungry. His body radi
ated leashed power. His features were harsh with unsatisfied need. She had the uneasy feeling he was stalking her.

Tate escaped into the office by day, and played mediator for Buck and Velma at night. She refused to admit that she was hiding from Adam, but that was the case. His eyes followed her whenever they were in the same room together, and she knew he must be aware of her reaction to his disconcerting gaze.

Exactly one week from the day Tate had accompanied Buck on his pivotal visit to Velma, the cowboy took Tate aside and asked whether she minded staying home that evening instead of joining them as chaperon.

“There are some things I'd like to discuss with Velma alone,” Buck said.

“Why sure,” Tate replied with a forced smile. “I don't mind at all.”

Once Buck was gone, Tate's smile flattened into a somber line. She was more than a little worried about what Adam might do if he found out she was home for the evening. She decided the best plan was to avoid him by staying in her room. It was the coward's way out, but her brothers had taught her that sometimes it was best to play your cards close to your belly.

Tate quickly found herself bored within the confines of her bedroom. She remembered that there was some work she could do in the office—if only she could get there without being detected by Adam. The light was on in his bedroom across the courtyard. Adam often retired early and did his reading—both ranch and medical journals—in bed.

She was already dressed for sleep in a long pink T-shirt, but it covered her practically to the knees. She decided it was modest enough even for Adam should he find her working
late in the office. She tiptoed barefoot across the tiled courtyard, which was lit by both moon and stars, slipped into Adam's wing of the house via a door at the far end, and sneaked down the hall to the office.

It could have been an hour later, or two, when Tate suddenly felt the hairs prickle on her arms. She had long since finished working at the computer. Because the chair in front of the desk was more comfortable than the one behind it—which was as straight-backed and rigid as the man who usually sat there—she had plopped down in it to look over the printout of what she had done. She had one ankle balanced on the front of the desk and the other hooked on the opposite knee.

She glanced up and found herself ensnared by the look of desire in Adam's heavy-lidded blue eyes.

“Working late?” he asked in a silky voice.

“I thought I'd finish a few things.”

Tate was frozen, unable to move, uncomfortably aware that her long T-shirt had rucked up around her thighs, and that her legs were bare all the way up to yonder. As Adam stared intently at her, she felt her nipples harden into dark buds easily visible beneath the pink cotton.

Adam's chest was bare, revealing dark curls that arrowed down into his Levi's. His jeans seemed to be hanging on his hipbones. His belly was ribbed with muscle, and a faint sheen of perspiration made his skin glow in the light from the single standing lamp.

Adam was no less disconcerted by Tate's appearance. He had come to his office looking for a ranch journal and found a sultry sex kitten instead. His view of Tate's French-cut panties was wreaking havoc with his self-control. Her crow-black hair
was tousled, and her whiskey-colored eyes were dark with feminine allure.

“You ought to know better than to come here half-dressed,” Adam said.

“I wasn't expecting to see you.”

One black brow arched disbelievingly. “Weren't you?”

Adam abruptly swept the desk clear of debris with one hand while he reached for Tate with the other. Papers flew in the air, cups shattered, Tate's handful of pebbles pinged as they shot across the tile floor. The last paper hadn't landed, nor the pinging sound faded, when he set her down hard on the edge of the desk facing him.

Tate's frightened protest died on her lips. Adam's fierce blue eyes never left hers as he spread her legs and stepped between them. He yanked her toward him, fitting the thin silk of her panties snugly against the heat and hardness of his arousal.

“Is this what you had in mind?” he demanded.

“Adam, I—”

She gasped as rough hands smoothed the cotton over her breasts, revealing nipples that ached for his touch.

“Adam—”

“You've been teasing me for weeks,
little girl
. Even I have my limits. You're finally going to get what you've been asking for.”

“Adam—”

“Shut up, Tate.”

He seized both her hands in one of his and thrust his fingers into the hair at her nape to hold her captive for his kiss.

Tate didn't dare breathe as Adam lowered his head to hers. Her body was alive with anticipation. Though she had wanted this ever since she had first laid eyes on Adam, she was still a
little afraid of what was to come. She wanted this man, and she was certain now that he wanted her. Tonight she would know what it meant to be a woman, to be Adam's woman. The waiting was over at last.

Adam's anger at finding what he considered a sensual trap in his office made him more forceful with Tate than he had intended. But after all, she was no longer the tender, inexperienced virgin of a week ago.

However, somewhere between the moment he laced his hand into her hair and the instant his lips reached hers, his feelings underwent a violent transformation. Powerful emotions were at work, soothing the savage beast. When they finally kissed, there was nothing in his touch beyond the fierce need for her that thrummed through his body.

Tate was unprepared for the velvety softness of Adam's lips as he slid his mouth across hers. His teeth found her lower lip, and she shivered as he nipped it and then soothed the hurt. His tongue teased her, slipping inside, then retreating until she sought it out and discovered the taste of him. Dark and distinctive and uniquely male.

Tate was lost in sensation as each kiss was answered by a streak of desire that found its way to her belly. Her breasts felt full and achy, yet she was too inexperienced to ask for the touch that would have satisfied her body's yearning.

Sometime while she was being kissed, Adam had released her hands. Tate wasn't quite sure what to do with them. She sought out his shoulders, then slid her hands down his back, feeling the corded muscle and sinew that made him so different from her.

Her head fell back as Adam's mouth caressed the hollow in her throat. The male hands at her waist slowly slid up under
her T-shirt until Adam was cupping her breasts. Tate gasped as his thumbs brushed across the aching crests. Her body seemed alive to the barest touch of his callused fingertips.

“I want to feel you against me,” Adam said as he slipped the pink T-shirt off over her head.

Before Tate could feel embarrassed, his arms slid around her.

He sighed with satisfaction as he hugged her to him. “You feel so good,” he murmured against her throat.

Tate's breasts were excruciatingly sensitive to the wiry texture of Adam's chest hair. She was intimately aware of his strength, of her own softness.

Adam grasped her thighs and pulled her more snugly against him. She clutched his shoulders and held on as his maleness pressed against her femininity, evoking feelings that were foreign, yet which coaxed an instinctive response.

A guttural groan escaped Adam as Tate arched her body into his. His hands dug into her buttocks, trying to hold her still.

“You're killing me, sweetheart,” he said. “Don't move!”

“But it feels good,” Tate protested.

Adam half groaned, half laughed. “Too good,” he agreed. “Be still. I want to be sure you enjoy this as much as I do.”

“Oh, I will,” Tate assured him.

Adam chuckled as he slid his mouth down her throat. He captured a nipple in his mouth, sucked on it, teased it with his tongue, then sucked again, until Tate was writhing with pleasure in his arms.

He took one of her hands and slid it along the hard ridge in his jeans, too wrapped up in the pleasure of the moment to notice her virginal reluctance to touch him. “Feel what you do to me,” he said. “I only have to look at you, think about
you, and I want you!” His chin rested at her temple, and he was aware of the faint scent of lilacs. He would always think of her from now on when he smelled that particular fragrance.

It didn't take Tate long to realize how sensitive Adam was to her barest touch, and she reveled in her newfound feminine power.

When he could stand the pleasure no longer, Adam brought each of Tate's hands to his mouth, kissed her wrists and her palms, then placed her hands flat on his chest. “Lift your hips, sweetheart,” Adam murmured as he tucked his thumbs into her bikini panties.

She did as he asked, and an instant later Tate was naked. She hid her face in his shoulder, suddenly shy with him.

Adam's arms slipped around her. “There's no need to be embarrassed, sweetheart,” he teased.

“That's easy to say when you've got clothes on,” she retorted.

Adam laughed. “That can be easily remedied.”

He reached between them and unsnapped his jeans. The harsh rasp of the zipper filled a silence broken only by the sound of her labored breathing, and his.

Tate grabbed Adam's wrist to keep him from pulling his zipper down any more. “Not yet,” she said breathlessly.

She couldn't help the nerves that assailed her. Adam seemed to think she knew what to do, and perhaps she had led him to believe it was so, but she was all too aware of her ignorance—and innocence.

He dragged the zipper back up but left the snap undone. “There's no hurry, sweetheart. We have all night.”

Tate shivered—as much from a virgin's qualms as from anticipation—at the thought.

Adam settled her hands at his waist and lifted his own to gen
tly cup her face. He angled her chin so that she was looking up at him. “You're so damn beautiful!” he said.

“Your eyes.” He kissed them closed.

“Your nose.” He cherished the tip of it.

“Your cheeks.” He gave each one an accolade.

“Your chin.” He nipped it with his teeth.

“Your mouth.”

Tate's eyes had slipped closed as Adam began his reverent seduction. She waited with bated breath for the kiss that didn't come. Suddenly she felt herself being lifted into his arms. Her eyes flashed open in alarm.

“Adam! What are you doing? Where are we going?”

He was already halfway down the hall to his room when he said, “I want the pleasure of making love to you for the first time in my own bed.”

Tate had peeked into Adam's bedroom, but she had never been invited inside. It was decorated in warm earth tones, sandy browns and cinnamon. She had remembered being awed by the sheer size of his bed. The antique headboard was an intricately carved masterpiece, and the spindles at head and foot nearly reached to the ten-foot ceiling.

The quilt that covered the bed was an intricate box design Tate had never seen before, but the craftsmanship was exquisite. Tate grabbed Adam around the neck to keep from falling when he reached down to yank the quilt aside, revealing pristine white sheets.

“Now we can relax and enjoy ourselves,” he said.

Adam laid her on the bed and in the same motion used his body to mantle hers. He nudged her legs apart with his knees
and settled himself against her so that she was left in no doubt as to the reason he had brought her here.

“Where did you get this bed?” Tate asked, postponing the moment of ultimate truth.

“It's a family heirloom. Several generations of my ancestors have been conceived and born here.”

But not my own
, Adam thought.
Never my own
.

Tate felt the sudden tension in his body. “Adam?”

Adam's features hardened as he recalled what had happened over the past week to cause him to be here now with Tate. She had made her choice. And he had made his. He wanted her, and she was willing. That was all that mattered now.