Authors: Vicki Hinze
“Thank God. I thought I’d be wearing this as a turban for the rest of my days.” She let out a relieved sigh and jerked the sweater down, trapping his hand underneath.
Their thighs brushed, their gazes met, and they stilled.
“You’re caught.”
Afraid she was right, he nodded and lifted the earring in his free hand. She didn’t notice, so fixed was her focus on
his eyes. She really was a beautiful woman. Especially fresh from the shower. Worse, she smelled as good as she looked,
and her scent had his stomach in knots. Her hair was still
damp and wisps curled around her face. He liked that. A
lot. Too much, in fact. “Did you mean it, Caron?”
He let his fingers drift over her abdomen and up to her ribs.
She sucked in a breath that concaved her tummy. “What?”
“About me being gentle?” There was nothing quite like the feel of her naked skin. Satiny-smooth. Soft. Supple.
She licked her lips. “You have your moments.” Her gaze
never left his mouth.
“Thank you.” The urge to kiss her, all sweet and soft and
sexy, body-slammed him. What would she do if he did?
“You’re welcome.” She took the earring. “Thank you.”
He stepped closer and cupped her chin in his hand, then rubbed her lobe between his forefinger and thumb. “Your
ear’s red.”
“I, uh...I guess I tugged a little too hard.”
Her voice husky, she settled her hand at the waist of his
jeans and looked up at him, her eyes that translucent lavender that turned his mind to mush—and his conscience
into a prickling itch easily ignored.
Figuring that his odds were fifty-fifty, and that fifty-fifty
odds weren’t bad, he took the plunge. Not because he
wanted to, but because he had no choice. “Caron—” he leaned closer, and their noses touched “—I want to kiss
you.”
She dipped her chin and rubbed her cheek against his jaw. Her breath warmed his chest. “We tried that.” She
lowered her lids, but, even as she rejected him, her mouth
parted for his. “It didn’t work.”
She was saying no, but her fingers, gently squeezing his
waist, were shouting
yes.
“I want to try again,” he whispered, lifting his hand and tracing the soft hollow of her
throat. He let his fingertip trail and brush across her cheek.
It flushed a rosy pink. Delicate. Nice. “It wasn’t that bad at Hunt’s,” he reminded her.
“So we’re improving. But kissing now...here...?
It, um, wouldn’t be wise.”
She didn’t want him. She wasn’t feeling all of the things her eyes promised him she was feeling. And she was right. Considering their situation, a deeper intimacy wasn’t wise;
it was crazy. He wanted this kiss more than he’d wanted
anything in a long time, but
he’d never push her, or any
woman. He let his hand fall to his side.
Caron cocked her head, and worried her lip with her
teeth. Her eyes were stormy. “Parker?”
He couldn’t answer. He’d say too much. What had she done to him? How had she gotten inside him like this?
“I’m not Peggy Shores.” Her shell-pink lips curled. “I won’t run out on you.”
She was trembling. It hadn’t been easy for her to lay open
her soul for him. But beautifully and bravely she’d done it;
she’d stepped toward trust.
Desire seeped and spread through his body, hot and thick. He
condemned himself for it, and for wanting her more than he wanted to avenge Harlan’s death. She was beginning to
trust him, and he was deceiving her. Bitterness churned in his stomach, and guilt quilted his chest. He had been lying
to her since the moment they’d met.
She stepped closer, wrapped her arms around his waist and let them slide over his back to his shoulder blades. “I’m not always wise,” she whispered, rising up on her toes and
grazing his mouth with her soft lips.
He balled his hands into fists at his sides. His knees nearly folded. This was a first. They’d kissed before, but only when intensely emotional, or for someone else’s benefit. This time, their kissing was her idea...and just for
them.
Unable to resist, he leaned forward and met her mouth
with a gentle pressing of lips. She softly sighed. Shudders of pleasure ran rampant through him; she tasted sweet, and
as warm and delicious as he’d remembered. Even better; this time she wasn’t holding anything back.
He was lost.
Drifting through the hair at his nape, her fingers gently
scraped his scalp. She rested the heel of her hand flat
against his shoulder, then squeezed, telling him she wanted
more.
He tightened the circle of his arms and drew her closer
until they met chest to breasts. She whispered something he
didn’t hear, but understood perfectly.
Her parted mouth welcomed, beckoned, lured. Their tongues met in a fury of motion, a warm and wet and joy
ful union, like flame and log, each feeding on the other. He wanted her. Really wanted her. The need pounded through
his veins, swept through his pores. God help him, he
wanted her more than he’d ever wanted a woman in his life.
She let out a sexy little moan that had him hard and reeling, and then, just as suddenly, ice-cold. What was he doing? He couldn’t make love with Caron, not without tell
ing her the truth. To her, he’d be no better than her father.
Furious with himself, Parker pulled back, angry and
bitter that circumstance, not feeling, forced him to stop.
Sensing his withdrawal, Caron stilled. After a long mo
ment, she straightened her sweater and managed to look up
as far as his chest. “What happened?”
He heard her confusion, and it left him sick of himself. He shouldn’t have let things get out of hand.
“Hmm?” Grunts were infinitely easier right now than words. He wanted to kiss her again. Just once more; then she’d be out of his system and he could think straight.
Because he was lying to himself now, as well as to her, he
scowled.
“Parker?”
The distrust was back in her eyes; she thought he didn’t
want her. Her expression, the tense set of her shoulders, the
disillusionment in her voice, spoke as clearly as if she’d said
the words. It was for the best, he told himself. Still, something heavy and hard blanketed his heart. He hated it; the
warmth had felt so good and right. But it hadn’t been. This
was right; this leaden emptiness was all he could afford to
feel for Caron.
She twitched her nose. Cocking her head, she blinked, then sniffed again. “Do you smell something burning?”
Burning? No, not any— Then what she’d said hit him. “Burning! Damn, that’s your breakfast!” He bolted from
her room, then down the hall.
Caron followed him downstairs. Seeing a dishcloth on the landing, she picked it up and draped it over her shoul
der. To think that kissing her, a mere semi-normal woman,
could have such an effect on a hunk like Parker Simms
boggled her mind. It invigorated and dazzled, too—until
she remembered that he’d stopped.
Her spirits sank. For a while, she’d thought he wanted
her; no man in her life had ever kissed her the way Parker
had. But he didn’t. She’d known it an instant before he’d stopped kissing her. Something beautiful had nearly happened between them, but at the last moment, he’d
retreated.
Once more she’d opened herself up to a man, and once more she’d been rejected. But this time it was different. Before she’d been disappointed; now she hurt.
Yet she wasn’t despondent. Probably because when
Parker had turned cold, she’d sensed his bitterness
and
his
confusion. He was having as hard a time with their chem
istry as she was. Maybe Charley keeping Parker at arm’s
length, not letting him show his love openly, had been the
reason for Parker’s sudden withdrawal. Maybe she’d got
ten too close. When they’d kissed, the dazzle had been unlike anything she’d ever before experienced. Being dazzled
once in a while, she decided, could do a woman good. A
man, too...if he’d let it.
Turning the corner at the foot of the stairs, Caron
frowned. Unless she was deluding herself. Maybe Parker
hadn’t been dazzled. Maybe he’d pulled back because he just plain didn’t want her. It hurt to admit it, but from the start he hadn’t liked her. Oh, they’d warmed to each other since then. But that didn’t mean that Parker felt anything more for her than lust. And maybe for him lust was short-
lived, a fleeting thing.
She pondered on the matter all the way down the hall and
paused at the kitchen door. By then the truth had settled. She’d let him into her heart, but Parker hadn’t let her into his. He didn’t want her. The truth was as simple and as
awful as that.
In the kitchen, the smoke was thick. Caron waded
through it, her eyes tearing and her throat burning, and
opened the back door. A warm wind whipped into the house, filling it with fresh air.
Parker was at the sink, drowning what was left of what
had been...What had it been? “Parker?”
“What?”
From his tone, he wasn’t ready just yet to be civil. He was
angry with himself for burning breakfast...and for want
ing to kiss her. She could hear him mumbling, but she knew
that the rambling, disjointed comments she was hearing weren’t being spoken; she was hearing his thoughts.
Excited by this rare glimpse inside him, she stood very
still. But when he looked down at her, what she sensed was
pain. Desire was there, yes, so was confusion and...and something else. But, first and foremost, she sensed pain.
Busying herself, she located the cups on the second try,
poured herself a cup of what smelled like—and she prayed
was—coffee, then rummaged through the fridge and scarfed up a fried chicken leg.
Munching, she sat down at the oak table. The chair
rocked on the tile. Parker was scrubbing the skillet, his back
to her. Caron chewed slowly, enjoying the view. He had
great shoulders. Really great shoulders. She swallowed and
took another bite. How would they feel, bare against her
hands?
That she’d never know had her sinking into the depths of
despair. She shifted on her seat and lifted her mug. Inhal
ing the steam, she tuned in on Parker.
The pain had lessened, but he was still calling himself forty kinds of fool for not taking her. What he wanted was
to make love with her; lust burned strong in him. That truth
had her face hot and her body fluid. It had her mind drift
ing, entertaining fantasies again. But lust was all she sensed,
so she was glad they hadn’t made love. Lust wasn’t enough.
Making love with Parker Simms. Now that was the stuff of a woman’s dreams. She set the chicken down and sipped from her mug. It wouldn’t happen, of course. The very idea
of them making love was absurd. They were both against it. He didn’t even like their kisses. Depressing, that, but true. At least, she inwardly sighed, she confused him as much as he confused her. There was a certain comfort in that. Still, she couldn’t help wishing that just once a man could want more than her body or her gift, that he could
want
her.
Parker slapped at the faucet, cutting off the water. As abruptly as the flow stopped, he knew what he had to do. His body was geared for a primal mating with Caron, and
it refused to be ignored. He’d
fought the feelings, and
failed. So he’d do what he’d always done. Face the inevitable head-on, and suffer the consequences later.
He turned away from the sink. Her legs folded under her
bottom, Caron was nibbling at a chicken leg. He wished it were his skin. His body sprang to life, every nerve ending raised to full alert. Without a word, he grasped her hand
and lifted her to her feet.
She dropped the chicken onto her plate and looked up at
him, dazed. He gripped her shoulders and primed his
mouth to warn her, but the words wouldn’t come. All he
could think about was how it would feel to sink himself into
her and to forget the reasons he should hate himself for
wanting her.
He kissed her hard and fast, deep, then deeper. She gravitated to him, her soft breasts flattening against his
chest. Leaning back against the table, he spread his legs and tugged her between them, nestling her body to his. She fit perfectly, and she kissed him back with a hunger that drove
desire through his core. Lust, he told
himself, immensely
relieved. It was lust.