Tender Stranger (5 page)

The waiter brought their food, and as they ate they talked about general things. He seemed very knowledgeable about foreign conflicts, and she imagined that he read a lot of military publications. That led to talk of the kind of weapons being used, and he seemed equally knowledgeable about those.

“My best friend’s husband likes to read about weapons,” Dani volunteered, remembering Harriett’s Dave and his fascination with weaponry. “He has volumes on those exotic things like…oh, what is it, the little nine-millimeter carbine—”

“The Uzi,” he offered. “It has a thirty-shot magazine and can throw off single shots as well as bursts. A formidable little carbine.”

She laughed. “I can shoot a twenty-two rifle. That’s about the extent of my knowledge of weapons.”

“I know more about knives than guns, as a rule, although I’ve used both.” He reached into his inside blazer pocket, produced a large folded knife and put it on the table.

She stared at it, fascinated. It was made of silvery metal, with a carved bone handle, and when she tugged the blade out, it was oddly shaped and had a sinister look.

“It’s not a pocket knife, is it?” she asked, lifting her eyes.

He shook his head. “Although it passes for one, going through customs.”

“Where did you find something so unusual?” she asked, fascinated by it.

“I made it.” He picked it up and repocketed it.

“Made it?” she exclaimed.

“Sure.” He laughed at her expression. “Where do you think knives come from? Someone has to make them.”

“Yes, of course, but I didn’t recognize…It’s very formidable looking,” she added.

“I don’t carry it for decoration,” he said. He leaned forward and sipped his coffee. “Would you like some dessert?”

“No, thank you,” she said. “I don’t like sweet things very much, thank God.”

He smiled. “Neither do I. Let’s go walk on the beach for a while.”

“Lovely!”

She waited while he paid the check and then followed him out into the darkness.

The night was warm, and she took off her sandals, which she’d worn without hose, and danced in and out of the waves. He watched her, laughing, his hands in his pockets, his blond hair pale and glowing in the light from the hotel.

“How old did you say you were?” he asked when she came running back up the beach, sandals dangling from one hand.

“About ten,” she laughed up at him.

“You make me feel old.” He lifted a hand and touched her cheek, her lips. There were people farther down the beach, but none close enough to be more than dark shapes.

“How old are you?” she asked.

“Thirty-six,” he said. His other hand came out of his pocket. He took her sandals from her nerveless fingers and dropped them down into the sand. The soft thud barely registered above the crashing surf.

“You excite me,” he said in a deep, slow tone. He cupped her face in his hands and drew her closer, so that she could feel the pleasant heat of his body against hers. “Do you know how a man’s body reacts when he’s excited?”

Her face felt blistering hot, and she couldn’t seem to move as he released her face only to take her hips in his hands and draw them against him.

Her breath caught and his open mouth touched her forehead. His breathing was audible now, and she was learning fascinating things about him, about the subtle differences in his body that she was apparently causing.

“No protest at all?” he asked quietly.

“I’m…curious,” she whispered. “As you’ve already seen, I know very little about this.”

“I don’t frighten you?”

“No, not now.”

His mouth smiled, she could feel it. His thumbs bit into the soft flesh of her stomach as he urged her closer. “Not even now?” he whispered.

Her legs trembled against his. She felt strange new sensations inside her, dragging sensations that left tingling pleasure in their wake. Her hands clung to his blazer because she wasn’t sure her legs were going to support her much longer.

His chest rose and fell roughly against her taut breasts. “I want to be alone with you. And at the moment that’s the most dangerous thing we could do.”

“You want me,” she whispered, realizing it with a strange sense of triumph.

“Yes.” His hands moved up her body slowly to her breasts, which were bare under the dress because she hadn’t wanted to suffer her hot, longline bra, which was the only strapless thing she had.

She tensed, feeling his hands lift her, cup her, so tender that she accepted them without protest. His thumbs brushed over her, feeling her instant response.

“You want me, too, don’t you?” he asked gently.

The sensations his thumbs were producing made her mind go blank. She moved a little, moaning.

His face pressed against her cheek. She could feel his breath at her ear.

“Thank God we don’t have an audience,” he whispered huskily. “Stand very still, Dani.”

His hands rose, moved to her shoulders. He eased the fabric down her arms with a slow, sinuous, achingly tender pressure. Her heart stopped beating as she felt the blood rush through her veins, felt the coolness of the salty night breeze touching her shoulders, her upper arms, and then her breasts as he slid the fabric to her waist.

She moaned again, a catching of breath that acted on him like a narcotic. He felt his own legs go weak at the wholehearted response she was giving him. Giving to him, when he knew instinctively that she’d never have let any other man do this to her.

“I wish that I could see your eyes,” he whispered. He lifted his head and looked down at her shadowed face. His hands slid against her face, her throat. “You’re so silky-soft,” he said under his breath. His hands slid down her arms and back up, his fingers barely touching, experiencing her skin. “Like warm cream. I can feel you trembling, and it brings the blood to my head, did you know? And that little sound you made when I pulled your dress away from your breasts…” His hands moved back to her shoulders. “Sweet, sweet virgin,” he whispered. “Make it easy for me. Lift your arms and let me hold you in my palms.”

She stood on tiptoe as his hands began to move over her collarbone. Her hands reached up into his thick, straight blond hair as his thumbs moved down ahead of his palms and rubbed sensually at the hard tips of her breasts.

She jerked helplessly at the exquisite contact.

“I want to put my mouth on you,” he whispered as his lips brushed hers and his hands slowly, achingly, swallowed her, feeling the involuntary tremors that shook her. “All of this is a natural part of lovemaking, so don’t be frightened if you feel my teeth. All right?”

“Peo-ple,” she moaned helplessly.

“There was only an old couple down the beach,” he whispered. “They’ve gone inside now. Dani, Dani, of all the erotic, unbelievably sexy things I’ve ever done with a woman, this has to be the sweetest!”

She was arching her body toward him, blind and deaf to everything except sensation. Tomorrow, she told her conscience, tomorrow I’ll worry about it.

“You want my mouth, don’t you, darling?” he said, and with something like reverence he began to run his lips along her throat, down the side of her neck, over her collarbone, her shoulders. “I’m going to make a meal of you right here,” he breathed, and all at once she felt his teeth on her and she stiffened and cried out.

“Eric,” she moaned, frightened, her hands catching in his hair.

“It’s all right,” he murmured against her breast. “I wouldn’t hurt you for all the world. Relax, darling, just relax. Yes, like that, Dani. Lie down. Lie down, so that I can get to you….”

He was easing her down onto the sand, and she let him, grateful to have some support under her, because the world was spinning around wildly. She clung to him, glorying in the feel of his lips, his teeth, his tongue, as he showed her how inexperienced she really was. By the time he got back to her mouth she was on fire for him.

With fierce enthusiasm she pulled his body down over hers and kissed him back with a naive but satisfying passion. He laughed delightedly against her open mouth and eased his hips over hers. She was his already.

“Eric,” she ventured shakily.

“What do you want?” he asked, tasting her closed eyelids.

Her hands went to the front of his shirt, and he lifted his head. “Do you want to feel me?”

She flushed. “Yes.”

“Unbutton it.”

He was heavy, but she loved his weight. Overhead there were hundreds of stars. But all she knew was the unexpected completeness of his passion.

She touched his bare, hair-rough skin with hands that tingled with excitement. She’d never touched a man’s body before, but she loved the feel of Dutch’s. His muscles were padded, warm and strong, and she could imagine that his strength was formidable.

“Move your hands,” he said seconds later, and when she did, he dragged his bare chest roughly over hers, shocking her with the force of desire the unexpected action caused in her body.

“Do you like it?” he asked as he moved sinuously above her.

“I never dreamed…” she began huskily. She was trembling, and so was her voice. “Oh, I want you,” she confessed on a sob. “I want you, I want you!”

“I want you, too, little one,” he whispered, kissing her softly. “But I can’t treat you like a one-night stand. I find I have too much conscience.”

Tears were rolling down her cheeks. He kissed them all away, and his tongue brushed the tears from her eyelashes, and she realized suddenly that she hadn’t had her glasses on for quite a while.

“My…glasses?” she falterd.

“Above your head,” he said with a smile. He sat up slowly, catching her wrists to pull her up with him. She was in a patch of light that allowed him a delicious view of creamy, hard-tipped breasts in blatant arousal.

“Oh, you’re something else, Miss St. Clair,” he said gently. He bent and touched his mouth to the very tip of one breast.

Her breath wouldn’t come steadily. She looked down at his blond head. “I…we should…that is…”

He lifted his head. “Suppose in the morning we get married?”

“M-married?”

He nodded. “Married.” He pulled up her bodice with obvious reluctance. Then he reached behind her, retrieved her glasses, and put them back on her.

“But…”

His knuckles brushed one perfect breast lazily, feeling it go hard again. “This isn’t going to get better,” he said. “By tomorrow we’ll be in such a fever that nothing is going to keep us away from each other. I haven’t experienced anything this powerful since I was about fifteen. And I’m damned sure you’re feeling it for the first time.”

“Yes, I know that, but we’re strangers,” she protested, trying to keep her head.

“We aren’t going to be strangers for much longer,” he said flatly. “My God, I want you,” he ground out. “If you won’t marry me, I’m getting the hell out of this hotel tonight, and on the next plane out of Veracruz. Because I can’t bear to be around you without taking you. And I won’t take you without marriage.”

“But…”

“Am I so unmarriageable?” he burst out. “My God, I’ve had women propose to
me
! I’m not ugly, I’m well to do, I like dogs and cats, and I pay my bills on time. I’m in fairly decent health, I have friends…why in hell won’t you marry me?”

“But it’s only desire,” she began.

“Stop trying to be logical,” he said gruffly. “I’m not capable of logic when I’m aching like this. I want you. And you want me. For God’s sake, put me out of my misery!”

“Would…would we have a divorce if…after we…if you…” she began.

“I’m getting older.” He got to his feet and drew her up with him. “I travel a lot, you’d have to get used to that. But until now I’ve never had anyone of my own. I like you. I like being with you. And I think we’ll set fires in bed. It’s more than most people start out with. At least we aren’t kids who believe in fairy tales like love and happily-ever-after. I’d rather have a woman who doesn’t bore me than an infatuation that wears off.”

“And if you fell in love with someone later?” she asked quietly, hearing her dreams die.

“I’ll never love again,” he said with equal quietness. “But if you do, I’ll let you out.” He took her hands in his. “Yes or no? I won’t ask again.”

“Yes,” she said without hesitation. Harriett would faint. Nobody would believe it back home, that she’d found a man like this who wanted her. All the questions she’d meant to ask went right out of her mind.

He bent and kissed her—without passion and very tenderly. “My full name is Eric James van Meer. I was born in the Netherlands, although everyone calls it Holland, in a place called Utrecht. I lived there until I was in my teens, when I joined the service. The rest, you know, a little. Someday I’ll tell you all of it. When I have to.”

“That sounds ominous.”

He put an arm around her. “It doesn’t have a lot to do with us right now,” he said. His arm tightened. “Do you want to be a virgin until tomorrow morning?”

Her lips parted. Her breath came wildly. Of course, she thought, and started to say it. But she couldn’t. The words stuck in her throat. She thought of the long night, and her logical mind was booted out of its lofty position by a body that was in unholy torment.

“I want you so much,” she said unsteadily.

“No more than I want you,” he returned gruffly.

They were in the light of the hotel lobby now. He stopped, turning her toward him. His hands cupped her face and his eyes were dark and hot and full of anguish.

“I was raised a Catholic,” he explained. “And in my religion, what I’m going to do to you tonight is a sin. Probably in your religion it is, too. But in the sight of God, for all our lives, I take you for my wife here, now. And tomorrow, in the sight of men, we make it right.”

Tears stung her eyes as the words touched her heart. “And I take you for my husband, for better or worse, as long as I draw breath.”

He bent and brushed his mouth tenderly over her wet eyes. “In Dutch, we call a married woman
Mevrouw,”
he whispered.

“Mevrouw,”
she repeated.

“And darling,” he added, smiling, “is
lieveling.
”

“Lieveling,”
she repeated, smiling back.

“Upstairs,” he said, turning her, “I’ll teach you some more words. But you won’t be able to repeat them in public.” And he laughed at her expression.