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windows playing dimly over her naked body, the blackness of her hair fanned
over the pillow in an ebony tangle. He imagined her writhing against the
building pressure caused by the caressing stroke of his hands.
To dispel the image and the inherent intimacy of a darkened bedroom, he
stepped forward and flipped the wall switch by the door. Light pooled beneath
the fringed Victorian lamp on the nightstand. Its diffuse glow spilled through
the shade and spread onto the bed in mute invitation.
Cursing under his breath, he pivoted from the sight and jerked the key from
the lock. "You left the key in the door."
When he took a step to drop the key on the bedside table, she turned and came
toward him, her blouse unbuttoned fully two-thirds of the way down. The
muscles in his chest and throat constricted, closing off his breathing as he
stared at the lacy white fabric stretched tautly over her breasts.
Woodenly he lifted his hand to give her the key. But she ignored it and
reached past him, giving the door a decisive push. It swung shut with a dull
thud and a click of the latch. She turned back to him and slid her hands up
the front of his shirt to his shoulders, her blouse gaping open a little more.
"I want you to stay." She tilted her head back, black hair swinging to hang
down her back.
His hands came up, but they stopped short of touching her and, instead, held
the air inches from her body. He dragged his gaze from her breasts up to her
face. It lingered fractionally on her lips, still slightly swollen from his
previous rough kiss, then traveled up to her eyes. He saw the desire in
them-and the faint shadowing of grief that lurked at the edges. It didn't take
a great deal of intelligence to figure out that she was using him as a
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stand-in, a substitute for the man who had died.
"This isn't a good idea," he told her, his voice rumbling the warning.
"Why? Because I suggested it?" Her gaze traveled over his face, exploring the
angular line of his jaw, his high, hard cheekbones, and the slant of his
forehead. His hat sat low on it. "Don't tell me you're one of those men who
doesn't like it when a girl makes the first move?"
Reaching up, she swept his hat off and gave it a toss, then ran her fingers
through his coarse black hair, combing away the flatness from the hat and
studying the wayward strands that curled onto his forehead.
"because you aren't thinking clearly," he said with a terseness. "You've had
too much to drink tonight."
Cat paused to consider that. "Maybe I have," she admitted. "Lord knows, I've
never been this brazen before. Maybe the alcohol has washed away my good
sense. But I don't recall appointing you to be my conscience."
"Stop kidding yourself." A thread of anger ran through his voice. "It isn't me
you want."
A knifing pain twisted through her at his words. Cat fought it off with a
defiant toss of her head. "Isn't it?" she challenged him.
Since entering the hotel room, she had avoided his gaze. His height, his
build, the darkness of his hair-they reminded her of Repp. But she couldn't
maintain the pretense when she looked into his gray eyes. Yet that didn't stop
the little thrill from tingling through her at the dark light smoldering in
them.
"Tonight, you made me feel things I didn't think I would feel again. Want
things I didn't think I'd ever want. For the first time in months, I feel
alive. If that's wrong. .." She paused, her voice catching on a tiny sob.
Anger was her only defense against the pain. "Why do you men have to be so
damned noble? I hate this stupid code of honor that demands certain women be
treated differently. Who asked you to do that? It sure as hell wasn't a
woman."
In all the anger, he saw the emptiness that ached to be filled. It was
something he understood, something he felt himself. His hands settled on her,
and he lowered his head to brush his mouth across her lips, tasting her
tremulous sigh.
"You'd better know that I don't have any protection with me," he warned in a
thick murmur.
"I don't care," she whispered back. "All my life I've been protected. Someone
else has always decided what's best for me. But not anymore. Not tonight.
Tonight I just want you to love me."
It was a request all too easy to fulfill; he'd been loving her in his mind
nearly all night. Discarding reason and caution, he gathered her to him as his
mouth came back to devour her lips, swallowing her groan that echoed his own
hunger.
She was filled with the taste of him. It turned her greedy and demanding,
determined to satisfy this raw ache that seemed only to intensify. She
strained even closer, trying to absorb him into her. His arms tightened around
her like twin hands of steel binding her to him.
A moment later a hand tugged at the back of her blouse, pulling the material
free from her jeans, then slipped under it to spread across her back. She
breathed in sharply as little shudders traveled through her. His hand followed
the curve of her spine, then glided to the front and cupped a lace -covered
breast. Her flesh seemed to swell under his hand.
Wanting more, she arched closer and felt the uncomfortable bunching of her
blouse. Desperate to rid herself of it and give him free access, Cat pulled at
the blouse. A button slipped loose from its stitched hole and the other popped
oft. As she shed the blouse, his deft fingers dealt with the front closing of
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