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you're frustrating." "That's much better. I don't want to hear that my hair's the color of sunset, or that my eyes are like sea foam. I've heard all that. I don't care about that." He began to think that being a monk, completely divorced from the mysterious female, had its advantages. "What do you want to hear?" "I'm pot going to tell you what I want to hear. If I do, then what's the point?" At wit's end, he raked both hands through his hair. "The point is, I don't know what the point is. One minute you're telling me about sandwarts " "Sandwort," she said between her teeth. "Fine. We're talking about flowers and friendship, and the next you're asking me if I want to take you to bed. How am I supposed to react to that?" Her eyes narrowed. "You tell me." He went on a mental search for safe ground and found none. "Look, I realize you're used to having men..." Her narrowed eyes glinted. "Having them what?" If he was going to sink, Max decided, he might as well go down with a flourish. "Just shut up." He grabbed her arms, dragged her hard against him and crushed his mouth to hers. She could taste the frustration, the temper, the edgy passion. It seemed that what he was feeling was a reflection of her own emotions. For the first time, she struggled against him, fighting to hold back her response. And for the first time, he ignored the protest and demanded one. His hand was in her billowing hair, pulling her head back so that he could plunder mindlessly. Her body was arched, straining away from him, but he locked her closer, so close even the wind couldn't slip between them. This was different, she thought. No man had ever forced her to...feel. She didn't want this ache, these needs, this desperation. Since the last time they had been together she had convinced herself that love could be painless, and simple and comfortable, if only she were clever enough. But there was pain. No amount of passion or desire could completely coat it. Furious with both of them, he tore his mouth from hers, but his hands dug into her shoulders. "Is that what you want?" he demanded. "Do you want me to forget every rule, every code of decency? You want to know how I feel? Every time I'm around you I itch to get my hands on you. And when I do I want to drag you off somewhere and make love to you until you forget that there was ever anyone else." "Then why don't you?" "Because I care about you, damn it. Enough to want to show you some respect. And too much to want to be just the next man in your bed." The temper faded from her eyes to be replaced by a vulnerability more poignant than tears. "You wouldn't be." She lifted a hand to his face. "You're a first for me, Max. There's never been anyone else like you." He said nothing, and the doubt in his eyes had her hand slipping to her side again. "You don't believe me." "I've found it difficult to think clearly since I met you." Abruptly he realized he was still gripping her shoulders, and gentled his hold. "You could say you dazzle me." She looked down. How close she had come, she .realized, to telling him everything that was in her heart. And humiliating herself, embarrassing him. If it was just to be physical between them, then she would be strong enough to accept it. "Then we'll leave it at that for now." She managed a smile. "We've been taking ourselves too seriously anyway." To comfort herself, she gave him a soft, lingering kiss. "Friends?" He let out a long breath. "Sure." "Walk back with me, Max." She slipped a hand into his. "I feel like a nap." An hour later, he sat on the sunny terrace outside of his room, the notebook on his lap forgotten and his mind crowded with thoughts of her. He didn't come close to understanding her was certain he couldn't come closer if he had several decades to consider the problem. But he did care, enough to add a good jolt of fear to the rest of the emotions she pulled out of him. What did he, a painfully middle-class college professor, have to offer a gorgeous, exotic and free-spirited woman who exuded sex like other women exuded perfume? He was so pitifully inept that he was stuttering around her one minute and grabbing her like a Neanderthal the next. Maybe the best thing for him was to remember that he was more comfortable and certainly more competent with his books than with women. How could he tell her that he wanted her so badly he could hardly breathe? That he was terrified to act on his needs because, once done, he knew he'd never be free of her? An easy summer romance for her, a life-altering event for him. He was falling in love with her, which was ridiculous. He couldn't have a place in her life, and hoped he was smart enough to get a grip on his emotions before they carried him too far. In a few weeks, he would go back to his nicely ordered routine. It was what he wanted. It had to be. And he couldn't survive it if she haunted him. "Max?" Trent, taking the circular route to the west wing, stopped. "Interrupting?" "No." Max glanced down at the blank sheet on his lap. "Nothing to interrupt." "You looked like you were trying to puzzle out a particularly difficult problem. Anything to do with the necklace?" "No." Max looked up, squinted against the sun. "Women." "Oh. Good luck." He lifted a brow. "Particularly if it's a Calhoun woman." "Lilah." Weary, Max rubbed his hands over his face. "The more I think about her, the less I understand." "A perfect start in a relationship." Because he was feeling smug about his own, Trent took a moment and sat down. "She's a fascinating woman." "I've decided the word's unstable." "Beautiful." "You can't tell her that. She bites your head off." Intrigued, he studied Trent. "Does C.C. threaten to hit you if you tell her she's beautiful?" "Not so far." "I thought it might be a family trait." He began to tap his pencil against the pad. "I don't know very much about women." "Well then, I should tell you all I know." Stee-pling his fingers, Trent sat back. "They're frustrating, exciting, baffling, wonderful and infuriating." Max waited a moment. "That's it?" "Yeah." He glanced up, lifting a hand in salute as Sloan approached. "Coffee break?" Sloan asked, and finding the idea appealing, took out a cigar. [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ] |