Night Fever (32 page)

He glowered at Clay. “What kind of girl do you think your sister is? Of course it's my baby.”

“But Becky doesn't do that sort of thing,” Clay said, trying to make the older man understand that she couldn't be having a child. “She doesn't even go out with men, and she goes to church on Sundays, and she gets all excited and mad when people talk about abortion and living together.”

“Yes, I know,” Rourke replied.

“She doesn't go around getting pregnant when she's not married!” Clay burst out.

Rourke grinned at him and stuck the cigar in his teeth. “Yes, she does.”

“Well, what are you going to do about it?” he demanded.

“I've given that some serious thought,” Rourke told him. “And considering how stubborn she is, I've decided that the only way I'm going to get her in front of a minister is to arrange the wedding, invite the guests, and carry her bodily down the aisle. It won't be easy. Handcuffs might be overdoing it a little, and I suppose people would notice if I gagged her,” he added thoughtfully.

Clay's face broke into a helpless grin. He still couldn't quite believe it. He was going to be an uncle. “How did Granddad take the news?” he asked.

“He got up out of his bed in the nursing home and demanded to be taken back to the farm so that he could save Becky from me. Then, when he found out she was pregnant, he demanded to be taken back to the farm so that he could make her marry me.”

“She doesn't want to?”

Rourke shook his head. “I don't really blame her. She thinks I set her up so that I could spy on you. I did, actually, but she grew on me.” He smiled wistfully. “The baby is one big bonus. It was like Christmas, when I knew for sure.”

Clay sighed. He'd never have figured Kilpatrick for the paternal sort, but nobody could accuse him of being a womanizer. If he'd only wanted Becky for a casual interlude, he certainly wouldn't be enthusiastic about her pregnancy, or keen on marrying her. He studied Kilpatrick for a minute, while another worry began to play on his mind.

“Mr. Davis talked to me about turning state's evidence,” he told Rourke. “I wouldn't mind for myself. But what about Becky and Granddad and Mack?”

“Your grandfather said the same thing,” Rourke replied. His dark eyes narrowed thoughtfully. “I won't make any promises, but there may be another way. I'll talk to Davis. The fact that you were willing may go a long way. If we could talk your friends into confessing that they railroaded you, we might even get you off with a suspended sentence.”

“Which is more than I'd deserve,” Clay said. He'd had a lot of time to think, cold sober, and the past few months seemed like a nightmare. He still couldn't believe he'd been so thoughtless and cruel. “If I have to do the time, it will be all right, Mr. Kilpatrick,” he said in a subdued tone. “I guess taking your licks is part of being a man, isn't it?”

Rourke smiled. “Yes. It's part of being a man.”

He didn't tell Becky about the conversation he'd had with Clay, or what he was planning to do about the Harris boys. The less she knew, the safer she would be. The Harrises were probably already convinced that Clay was going to spill the beans, and that was why they'd volunteered to testify against him. He had one ace left up his sleeve, and he was going to play it.

It took Granddad the better part of a week to regain his strength, but he ate like a horse and cursed Rourke for sport. Rourke came and went as his free time allowed, ignoring Becky's cool politeness and Granddad's restrained antagonism. He patched the shingles on the roof Saturday afternoon. He'd shown up in old, faded jeans and a stained white cotton sweatshirt and sneakers, carrying a toolbox.

Mack had stayed outside at the foot of the ladder to fetch and carry as needed, talking enthusiastically about basketball, a passion that Rourke shared.

Becky had tried not to notice that he was there, despite her frantic heartbeat and the furious excitement having him around engendered. She put her hair in pigtails, wishing she looked less frumpy in her long print skirt with the waistband unfastened and a floppy oversized shirt with “Beam Me Up, Scotty” and a drawing of the USS
Enterprise
on the front. She was barefoot, too, her usual condition around the house.

Rourke came down an hour later, just after the banging and hammering and cursing stopped. He had a cut on one brawny wrist, which he held out to Becky as naturally as if they'd been married twenty years and he was used to having her patch up his cuts.

“I've got some antiseptic and Band-Aids in the kitchen,” she said gently.

“Remember to kiss it and make it better, Becky!” Mack called after them as he sat down beside Granddad to watch an old western movie on TV.

Becky went to get the first aid things out of the kitchen cabinet. Rourke unobtrusively locked the kitchen door before he joined her at the sink. “Mack made a good suggestion,” he murmured dryly while Becky cleaned the cut and applied an antibiotic ointment through the thick hairs on his dark skin.

“You don't need kissing better,” she murmured. “Does it hurt?”

“No. District attorneys are tough. Predators, you know.” He leaned down. “Do you know why sharks don't eat lawyers?”

She glanced up warily. “No. Why?”

“Professional courtesy.”

She laughed in spite of herself, and her face brightened. Her freckles stood out on her nose, and her hazel eyes were big and soft and radiant.

He framed her face in his hands and bent, drawing his open mouth over hers in a teasing travesty of a kiss that aroused her at once.

She gasped, shocked at the force of what she felt from such a light caress.

He searched her eyes. His own narrowed and darkened as they fell back to her parted lips. He did it again, and again, and again, feeling her body tauten as he moved his hands to her hips and pulled her against him. He made a sound deep in his throat, and all at once his mouth settled on hers and hardened insistently.

She couldn't even make a pretense of holding anything back. Her dreams had been feverish and explicit only the night before, and the memory of how sweetly they'd made love was all too fresh in her mind. Her body knew the pleasure he could give it. It wouldn't let her fight.

The smoky state of his hard mouth was heaven, the possessive ferocity of his arms ecstasy.

He moved her backwards until she came up against the cool, rough wall, and his hands flattened against it beside her head while his body levered down over hers in blatant intimacy.

She gasped, which only gave him deeper access to her mouth. His tongue stabbed into it, deep and hard, and her short fingernails dug into his back as the fever began to kindle in her body.

It wasn't until she felt his hands under her skirt that she opened her eyes. His own were almost black, his face rigid, his arousal stark and demanding against her belly.

“Here?” she gasped under her breath.

His eyes glittered. “Here. Now.” Holding her eyes, he stripped the briefs down her slender legs, then his lips brushed behind the briefs in a caress so sensual that she gasped.

He worked his way back up her legs blatantly lifting the skirt and blouse up under her chin so that his mouth had free access to her heated skin. He took her hard nipples into his lips and tormented them, his arm half supporting her sagging weight. There was a metallic sound and his mouth lifted and he positioned her gently and readjusted his weight so that his legs were between hers.

He held her shocked, misty eyes and pushed, impaling her.

“Rourke!” she groaned achingly, shivering.

“Hold on,” he breathed huskily, repositioning his hands on either side of her as he began to move. “It's going to be hot and quick, and you're going to want to scream. But don't. They'll hear you.”

His mouth bent to hers. He ignored the incredulous protest. Of course it was insane, but his body had him on the rack, and she was nothing if not welcoming.

“We can't,” she whispered as he began a sharp rhythm against her. But even as she said the words, her hips arched up to his to help him. Her mouth opened in a soundless cry. She saw his face harden, felt him becoming part of her body, felt the rhythm become tormented pleasure.

Above her, his teeth clenched. “God,” he breathed jerkily. “God, Becky, I can't stop!” his face contorted. He groaned helplessly, his body out of control now, mindlessly lifting into hers, his eyes closing as he fought to suck air into his lungs. “Feel how bad it is for me!” he ground out, pausing for an instant so that she was completely possessed, his eyes staring tormentedly into hers. “Make it stop hurting, Becky,” he whispered into her mouth. “Make me whole.”

Becky watched him, shocked by what was happening, delighting in his fierce pleasure even as her own body sought desperately to satisfy him.

“Is it good?” she whispered huskily.

“Ecstasy,” he managed. His eyes opened into hers. He was shuddering. “Touch me,” he whispered under his breath.

It amazed her that she could, and so hungrily, giving in to his demands with frantic eagerness. He caught his breath when he felt her shy hands. He covered them with his, teaching her how.

The pleasure was digging into her like hurting hands now, and she was as wild as he was. His breath was audible, tormented, as he moved down against her roughly, sharply, his eyes never leaving hers.

“Watch,” he managed just as the first shudder hit him.

This time she didn't look away. His face registered the anguished pleasure her rapt gaze gave him, his eyes black and steady on hers. He began to tremble and she watched his face contort, feeling her stomach tauten as the sharp pleasure echoed in her body.

His breathing was audible, like his heartbeat. He pushed down against her suddenly, desperately, and a hoarse cry escaped his mouth as his throat arched and his teeth ground together in anguished completion. Incredibly, watching him triggered her own, so that the same silvery pleasure washed over her like fire, even as he convulsed above her in blind completion. Seconds later, his heavy body collapsed on hers and ground her into the wall. She opened her eyes, looking up at him with shocked awe.

Her heartbeat shook her. She swallowed, astounded at what they'd done, and where they'd done it. Her wide hazel eyes met his with disbelief.

Neither of them was breathing normally or steadily, and she could hear and feel his heartbeat on her bare breasts. She stared up at his damp hair dazedly.

“Now you know,” he said with shaken humor. “It's possible to do it standing up when you're too desperate to get to a place where you can do it lying down.”

“It's nothing to joke about,” she said miserably, feeling unsettled by her ready accommodation.

He touched her cheek gently. “I wasn't joking. I want you so much that it doesn't matter where or when, which is why I couldn't give you the promise you wanted. You can't stop what happens any more than I can,” he added quietly. “It's a fever, burning so hot and high that ice couldn't quench it.”

“It's wrong,” she whispered.

“Why? Because we're not married?” He bent and brushed his lips over her heavy eyelids. “That isn't my fault. I want to marry you. You're the one who won't cooperate.”

“I guess I seduced you?” she asked half angrily.

He lifted an eyebrow and looked down. She flushed furiously. He moved back then and she blushed even more, quickly straightening her clothes while he did the same.

“What a blessing that you're already pregnant,” he murmured, watching her frantic movements, enjoying the radiance in her face. “We don't have to worry about getting you that way.”

She gave him a killing glare. “You have to stop doing this!”

“I'm doing my best,” he said heavily. “Can I help it if you're so damned sexy that I can't get within ten feet of you without getting aroused?”

That was a hard question to answer. In her condition, it wasn't exactly an insult to be thought of as sexy, and she had to admit that he tried to get her to marry him almost constantly. His motivation was her one big hang-up. He wouldn't tell her what his feelings really were, and she couldn't marry him until she knew.
Men,
she thought furiously.

“What an expression,” he murmured, smiling with pleasant fatigue as he pulled his shirt down and bent to kiss her nose.

“In the kitchen, standing up, with the door unlocked,” she began in a strained voice.

“They were so wound up in that movie that they didn't know or care what was happening in here,” he whispered. “But just to reassure you…”

He moved away from her and put a finger to his lips as he gently turned the key to unlock the door.

“You locked it!” she exclaimed, almost sinking to the floor with relief.

“Of course I locked it,” he said, rejoining her. He traced her swollen mouth with his forefinger. “I'm not kinky. Not that kinky, at least,” he added gently. “Did I hurt you?”