Tears of the Renegade (16 page)

The light had already faded out of Preston's eyes. “Do you see him often?” he finally asked, his tone gruff as he struggled to hide his emotions.

It was only the painful truth when Susan replied, “No, not often at all.” In moments of mental detachment she was astonished at the way she had given herself to a man whom she didn't know that well, hadn't seen that often, and who was a direct threat to her way of life. Then the memory of the heat of his kisses would banish her detachment, and she would no longer wonder at the way she had lost herself in his arms. He wasn't a man who inspired a sedate love; he evoked the deepest, wildest passions a woman's heart was capable of feeling.

Preston sat there, a frown puckering his brow as he thought. After a moment he said, “I'd like for him to know that the money has been repaid. Will you tell him for me?”

“If I see him again,” Susan agreed steadily. “I don't know
where he is.” The bald confession stabbed her as she realized anew how empty she felt at the thought that she might not see him again.

Preston sat upright. “Has he left town?”

“I don't know. But I haven't seen him for a week, and he's not at the cabin.”

“He's either gone again, or he's making some sort of move against me,” Preston muttered absently, tapping his fingertips on the top of Susan's desk. “Let me know if you hear from him.” He got up and left her office, still preoccupied with the news that Cord had dropped out of sight.

After a moment Beryl appeared with an armload of correspondence to be signed, pulling Susan away from the chasm of loneliness, but inside herself she was aware that she had only stepped back, not walked away from it entirely. It was still there, cold and black in its yawning emptiness, a bleak, bottomless pit where she would fall forever, locked away from the fire of the man she loved.

J
ust as she turned into her driveway a swiftly moving thunderstorm swept in from the Gulf, and it threatened to drown her as she dashed the short distance from her car to the covered side patio. Emily met her at the door with an enormous towel, having seen her drive up. Just as Susan stepped out of her soaking shoes and wound the towel around her hair, the rain stopped as swiftly as it had come, leaving only the cheerful dripping of water from the trees and the eaves of the roof. A split second later the thundercloud was gone and the sun was shining merrily on the wet landscape, making the raindrops sparkle like diamonds. Susan gave Emily a rueful look. “If I'd waited in the car for a minute, it would've been over with and I wouldn't have gotten soaked.”

Emily couldn't suppress a chuckle. “If you wanted predictable weather, you'd live in Arizona. Go on upstairs and get dried off, while I finish your dinner.”

Fifteen minutes later Susan was downstairs again, helping Emily put the finishing touches on the small but tasty meal she'd prepared. Emily watched her set a single place on the table, and the older woman's protective instincts were aroused. Putting her big spoon down with a thunk, she braced her hands on her hips. “I'd like to know why you've been eating alone every night, instead of letting Cord Blackstone take you out.”

Susan flushed, not certain how to respond. Because it was what she feared most, she finally said, “Just because he passed out on the couch and spent the night here doesn't mean he's interested—”

“Baloney,” Emily interrupted in exasperation. “I've got eyes, and I saw the way he was looking at you the next morning. You were looking back at him the same way, and don't try to deny it. Then he went upstairs with you, and it was quite a while before he came down.”

“I don't know where he is,” Susan admitted helplessly, staring down at the table. “He's not at the cabin. He hasn't called; he didn't even tell me he was leaving, or where he was going. For all I know, he won't be back.”

“He'll be back, mark my words.” Emily sniffed. “He's not used to accounting for himself to anyone, but if he had it in mind to leave for good, he'd have let you know.”

“You knew him when he was a boy,” Susan said, looking up at Emily with the hunger to know more about him plain in her eyes. “What was he like?”

Emily's care-worn features softened as she looked at the pleading face turned up to her. “Sit down,” she urged. “I'll tell you while you're eating.”

Susan obeyed, automatically eating the tiny lamb chops and steamed carrots that were one of her favorite meals. Emily sat down at the table across from her. “I loved him as a boy,” she said, turning her mind back over twenty years. “He was always ready to laugh, always up to some prank, and it seemed like he was more relaxed at my house. He never fit in with the people his parents expected to be his friends, never really fit in here at all, and that just made him wilder than he naturally was anyway, which was wild enough. He was always ahead of everyone else, stronger than anyone else his age, faster, with better grades, more girlfriends. Even the older
girls in high school were after him. Everything came so easy to him, or maybe he made everything come to him; I've never seen anyone more stubborn or determined to have his way. Thinking back on it, I know that he had to be bored. Nothing challenged him. He pulled off every wild stunt he could think of, but he had a golden touch, and everything always worked smooth as silk for him. I've never seen anything like his luck.”

Susan's breath caught at the image Emily had given her, of a boy growing up too fast, without any limits to guide him. He wouldn't accept any limits, she realized. He'd been propelled by the extraordinary combination of genes and circumstance that should have made him the prototypical Golden Boy, with all the comforts and privileges of wealth and class: handsome, unusually intelligent, athletic, gifted by nature with charm and grace. But his restless, seeking mind had soared beyond that, driven him to test the limits of chance. He had pushed and pushed, seeking a boundary he couldn't push beyond, until he'd gone too far and been driven away from his home.

There had been dark years in Cord's life, times when he'd been close to death, when he'd been cold and hungry, but she couldn't imagine him ever being frightened. No, he'd face everything that came his way, the mocking twist of his lips daring everyone and everything to do their worst. The remaining vestiges of the Golden Boy had been obliterated by the harshness of the life he'd led. Perhaps he had money now, perhaps he lived comfortably, but it hadn't always been so, and his senses were still razor-sharp. She thought of the scars on his body and her heart twisted.

“Everyone acts as if he's a wild animal,” she said painfully. “Why are they so afraid of him?”

“Because they don't understand him. Because he's not like they are. Some folks are afraid of lightning; some think it's beautiful. But everyone's cautious around it.”

Yes, he was as wild and beautiful as a bolt of lightning, and as dangerous. She stared at Emily, her eyes glistening with tears. “I love him.”

Emily nodded sadly. “I know, honey. I know. What are you going to do?”

“There's nothing I can do, is there? Just…love him, and hope everything works out.”

A foolish hope, doomed from the start. How could it work out? It was impossible to hold a bolt of lightning.

He was gone, and every minute seemed to drag by, rasping on her nerves. An hour was a lifetime; a day, eternity. No book, no gardening, no sewing, could ease her bone-deep sense of yearning. All she could think of was Cord, overwhelming her with his reckless charm and the impact of his forceful sensuality.

If only he was with her! In his presence she wouldn't care about Preston, or Imogene, or whatever was going on. In Cord's arms, she wouldn't care about anything. She could lose herself in him, and count the loss well worth the cost in pain. She loved him simply, completely, and she had to follow only the dictates of her emotions.

She slept restlessly that night, and was jerked out of sleep a little after midnight by a boom of thunder that rattled the windows. Susan lay snugly in her warm bed, listening to the lightning crackle; then a hard, driving rain began to pound against her windows and the wind picked up. Deciding she'd better turn on the radio and get a weather report, she sat up and turned on her bedside lamp. When she did, another pounding reached her ears and she paused, a small frown touching her brow. Then it was repeated, and she jumped out of bed. Someone was trying to beat her door down.

She grabbed her robe and raced down the stairs, turning
on lights as she went. “Who is it? What's wrong?” she called as she neared the door.

A deep laugh answered her. “The only thing that's wrong is that you're on that side of the door and I'm on this one.”

“Cord!” Her heart jumped into her throat and she fumbled hastily with the lock, throwing the door open. He sauntered in, as wild as the night, and as dangerous. The wind had tumbled his dark hair into reckless waves, and his pale eyes were glittering. He brought the fresh scent of rain in with him, because the wind had blown a fine mist of moisture over him. He was dressed in a conservatively cut, dark business suit, but the coat was hanging open, his tie was draped around his neck, and his shirt was open to the waist. The suit couldn't disguise the desperado that he was, and her mouth went dry with longing.

Unthinkingly, she clutched at his sleeve. “Where have you been? Why haven't you called? I've been so worried—” She stopped, suddenly realizing what she was saying, and stared up at him with eyes full of vulnerability.

“Uh-uh,” he crooned softly. “No questions, remember? I'm not telling you anything, not where I was, or when I'll be going again.” A savage enjoyment lit his face as another crash of thunder reverberated through the house, and his teeth flashed in a grin. “I like storms,” he murmured, taking a step toward her and lacing his arm around her waist in an iron embrace. “I like making love while it rains.”

Something was wrong; she couldn't quite catch her breath. She stared up at him dazedly, and she clutched his lapels for support. “I was just going to turn on the radio to get the weather report,” she stammered.

He grinned again. “Thunderstorm warning, with possible high winds,” he said, pulling her closer until she was pressed full against him. “Who cares?”

The gleam in his eyes was still interfering with her breathing. “When…when did you get back?” she asked, hanging suspended over his arm, her feet having somehow lost touch with the floor. “Or is that another off-limits question?”

“Tonight,” he answered. “I was driving home, thinking about how dead tired I was, and how good it would feel to fall into bed. Then I thought how much better it would feel to fall into bed with you, so here I am.”

“You don't look tired,” she observed cautiously. He didn't. He looked as if he could rival the storm for energy. He was almost burning her with his touch.

“Second wind,” he said, and kissed her. His approach was direct and without hesitation, and he kissed her for a long time. She clung to him, first to his lapels; then her clutching fingers somehow found their way to his shoulders, and finally her arms were locked around his neck. He lifted her and started up the stairs, leaving all the lights on behind him, because that was the last thing on his mind.

He set her on her feet in her bedroom and watched her with lazily hooded eyes as he stripped his tie from around his neck and tossed it carelessly over a chair. The tie was followed by his coat; then his shirt was pulled free of his pants and discarded. When he kicked off his shoes and leaned down to pull his socks off, Susan swallowed at the sight of his half-naked body, so sleek and powerful, and she untied the sash of her robe and removed the garment, folding it over the chair. She could feel his eyes on her, on the ice-pink nightgown that half revealed her body.

He dropped his pants and left them lying on the floor. His only remaining garment was a pair of jogging-style shorts, dark blue silk with white edging, which did nothing to hide his arousal. A thunderbolt of excitement raced through her as he nonchalantly stepped out of his underwear
and came toward her, as naked and powerfully beautiful as an ancient god.

Quickly she raised the hem of the nightgown over her head and drew it off, the silk whispering over her bare skin. His look of hunger became almost fierce as he reached for her. When he placed her on the bed, Susan reached out for the lamp and he halted her, his hard fingers closing around her wrist.

“Leave it on,” he instructed in a voice gone gravelly rough. “I thought of this all the time I was gone. I'm not going to miss seeing one minute of it.”

She couldn't help the blush that tinted her breasts and spread upward to her cheeks, and he found it fascinating. Without a word he took her in his arms.

Their loveplay extended as he explored her body as thoroughly as if he'd never made love to her before, had never spent a lovely sun-drenched day sprawled across a bed with her. When she was writhing against him in frantic need, he paused for a moment to reach for his pants, and Susan realized what he was doing. Without a word, he assumed responsibility for their lovemaking. Then he turned to her and swiftly moved between her legs, sliding into her so powerfully that moans of pleasure were wrenched from both of them. His patience was at an end, and he thrust strongly, his rhythm hungry and fast. Susan wound her legs around him and absorbed the power of his thrusts with her eagerly welcoming body, so dizzy with pleasure at being in his arms again, kissing him, giving herself to him in the most intimate act between man and woman, that he couldn't leave her behind in his relentless quest for pleasure. The powerful coil that had been tightening within her was released suddenly, and her entire body throbbed with the pulsating waves that raced down her legs to curl her toes and spread upward through her torso in a splash of heat. She heard the wild cries that were ground out
through his clenched teeth, felt him arch into her helplessly; then it was suddenly quiet again as the storm passed and he let himself down to lie on her in contented exhaustion.

After a moment he sighed and carefully eased himself from her, rolling over on his side. Susan touched him, her fingers gentle. “This might not have been necessary,” she murmured. “I…I'm not sure I can get pregnant. Vance and I never used any protection, but I never got pregnant. I'm very…erratic.”

He closed his eyes and a tiny grin touched his mouth. Relaxing, he threw one arm behind his head. “Somehow, that's not very reassuring. I get the feeling that if there's any man walking this earth who could get you pregnant, I'm him. We took a big chance last week, but we'll be more careful from now on.” He opened one eye a slit and pinned her with the narrow ribbon of his gaze. “Let me know if it's too late to be careful, or if we hit it lucky. As soon as you know.”

“Yes,” she agreed, sinking down onto the pillow and closing her eyes as contentment claimed her. It felt so natural to be in bed with him, talking about very intimate things, feeling the heat of his body so close to her. She nestled closer to him and rubbed her face against the hair of his chest, feeling the soft curls catch at her eyelashes.

He drifted into sleep with her lying against his side, but woke when the storm, forgotten in their own storm of loving, renewed itself with a snap of lightning so close that the thunder was simultaneous, and Susan sat upright in bed at the unmistakable sound of a limb splitting away from a tree and crashing to the ground. Before she had time to voice her alarm, he seized her from behind and tumbled her back to the mattress.

“Just where do you think you're going?” he growled with mock roughness.

“The trees—” she began, and just then the lights flickered and went out.