Her face was white. Fear filled her eyes, fear and something else—something wrenching and frightening was there in her eyes. He ignored it.
He grabbed her other arm. “Where the hell do you think you’re going?”
She tried to pull away but he didn’t ease his grip. “Don’t you know about lovers’ etiquette? Rule one is you don’t run out. You don’t pull a disappearing act because you can’t face things, can’t face what you—yeah you, Lindsay—wanted to do and did with great enthusiasm and energy and passion. No, dammit, hold still. I’m not letting you go anywhere, so don’t try. Come with me. I’m naked and it’s cold and you belong with me, back in bed. Don’t fight me, damn you.”
He dragged her back to the bedroom. She dug in her boot heels, but it didn’t help. He was strong and mad and determined. She hadn’t said a word, hadn’t made a single sound. There was just her harsh deep breathing. Once he got her in the bedroom, he slammed the door and locked it. He threw the key under the bed. He pulled her bag off her shoulder, then unleashed the strength he’d always controlled around her. He got her out of her coat and gloves and scarf. She was wearing a bulky wool sweater beneath, and tight blue jeans and boots.
He shoved her down onto the bed. She leapt up, only to have him shove her down again. She kicked out and got his thigh. He winced and cursed, realizing in that moment she knew karate, yet she wasn’t out to shred him. No, she battered him with her fists, but even then she was careful. A good sign, he supposed as he grabbed her right leg, held it up by shoving her flat on her back, knocking the breath out of her, and pulling off the boot. He got the other one off the same way. “Now,” he said, and grabbed her sweater. “Progress, at last.”
She began to fight him in earnest now. Still, she said nothing, struggling and twisting and striking out in an eerie silence that he refused to acknowledge. Her blue jeans were tough because they were so bloody tight, but he got them off her despite her fighting him, peeling them down inside out. He’d carry bruises from this, but what the hell. He saw the bruises he’d made on her hips from the previous night. He wondered if she’d noticed, and remembered her frantic movements, riding him, letting him work her up and down on him, his fingers digging into her flesh, all while she’d shouted and moaned and arched wildly.
He left her knee socks and her panties on. She hadn’t bothered with a bra, just a light wool teddy. He was in no mood for niceties now. He ripped it off.
“Now,” he said again, and brought her under the covers with him, holding her, stiff and hard and withdrawn, against him. It made him furious and he bellowed, “Feel me, damn you, Lindsay!” He pressed his hand against her hips, pressing her into his belly, against his hard penis. “I’m yours, dammit, and this body of mine is also yours and I’m not about to let you use me to cure whatever devils were chasing you last night. I’m not about to let you enjoy four damned orgasms that I give to you and then run out on me as if nothing happened. Do you hear me, you damned twit?”
“You’re yelling, of course I hear you. You needn’t use profanity.”
“Good, at least now you’re talking. Dammit. No, that isn’t profanity, that’s just appropriate exclamations. No, dammit, don’t struggle because you won’t get away from me. I like your belly against me; just get used to it. You’ve already bruised the hell out of me. You’re a dirty fighter, Lindsay, and those long legs of yours reached every part of me. But I’ve got meaner, nastier experience, so forget trying to get away from me again. Put your head on my shoulder and relax. Do it, damn you! There, that’s better.”
He could feel her hitching breath, nearly taste the uncertainty, the fear in her. Fear of him? No, more probably it was fear of herself, fear of a past that had colored her every action for years now. Finally her breathing slowed. He kept quiet, content to stroke her until she had eased against him, her muscles loose again.
“Now that you’re back where you belong, I’ve got something to tell you.”
He didn’t say a word. Finally she said, “What?”
He still held silent.
“What do you have to tell me?”
He kissed the top of her head and squeezed his arms around her back. “You’re the best lay I’ve ever had in my life.”
She froze on him, going stiff, and he simply held her. Hell, it was the truth, and some unvarnished truth was good for her. “In addition,” he continued after several moments of her rigid silence, “it’s a relief that you and I are magic in bed, since we’re going to be spending the next fifty years together. Don’t you agree?”
“I don’t know.”
“Sure you do. You enjoyed yourself last night. Good God, woman, you had four orgasms!”
“No, no, please don’t say that, Taylor. I don’t understand any of it, not me, not why or how. Last night—all during the night, I just don’t know. It was five.”
Good start, he thought, grinning as he kissed her ear and said, “Okay, five orgasms. I would have preferred an even half-dozen. Oh, yeah, I like your real name. When I thought it was Lynn, I was willing to accept it because it was who you were. But I must say that Lindsay suits you much better. Yes, I like you as a Lindsay.” When she remained quiet, he continued easily, in a chatty voice, “When you feel like telling me the rest of it, I’m here with ears on alert. I suppose that’s why you’ve kept your mail from coming here. I suppose that’s why you signed the apartment lease with one eye on me and your hand curved over your signature. No matter, tell me when you want to. I swear I won’t go find out on my own, and you know I could, being an ex-cop and a P.I. and a computer whiz on top of all that. I could find out who you are in about three minutes, probably less. I could have found out two months ago. But I didn’t. It’s been a real test of my beliefs in the right to privacy not to find out before.”
She stirred against him, not trying to pull away, just her body showing her restless thought, her uncertainty, but she said finally, “I meant to tell you my name. It’s just that it was never the right time and I was afraid that you’d know the moment you heard it, or you’d find out and hate me and—”
He needed time to sort through what she’d said, but he didn’t have it. “I know, I got you in a weak moment.” What did she mean that he’d hate her if he found out who she was? The Son of Sam’s daughter? Jackie Kennedy Onassis’ illegitimate offspring? Taylor hated unsolved mysteries. They begged to be resolved and there was nothing he liked better than figuring them out to the very last loose end, the very last question. He regretted giving her his word. Damnable trust.
“I didn’t want you to make love to Eden. She isn’t real, she’s nothing really, just a chimera, a fake, and I couldn’t stand it.”
He hugged her again. “Well, you told me soon enough. I knew it was you, and you are real, Lindsay, very real and all mine.” He began stroking his hand up and down her back. “I bruised your hips. You can see clearly the outline of my fingers. Did you notice?”
He felt her nod against his throat.
“I didn’t use anything, I’m sorry. Seeing you, knowing you wanted me, the urgency of it all—well, I lost it and I didn’t use anything. Depending on the time of the month it is for you, I could have gotten you very pregnant last night.”
He waited, absorbing her silent shock, and hoping. To his utter delight, she didn’t blow a fit, nor did she withdraw from him. She was silent as a stone but he was used to that. He knew she was thinking. And she was. Lindsay was remembering the nurse in the emergency room and the pill she’d been given to prevent pregnancy. To prevent her bearing the prince’s child. To prevent her having to have an abortion. She closed her eyes, willing the memory away. And now again, only this time she’d been a willing participant. Taylor’s child. Her mind chilled and went blank.
He waited.
“I’m hard again, as I’m sure you can feel. Do you want me to come inside you, in the morning light, so I can see you clearly and watch you climax? And you can see me clearly?”
She trembled at his words and he felt a very clean surge of pure triumph.
He turned and looked at her beloved face. No makeup, and she looked beautiful. Her hair was loose and wild and deeply waving, thick around her face and over her shoulders. Her eyes were a deep blue, glistening with what he hoped was burgeoning desire. He would soon see. He kissed her, feeling her draw back for a moment, then lean into him, her breasts heaving a bit as she did so. He deepened the kiss, touching his tongue to her lower lip, urging her to open her mouth. She did, but only for an instant.
Then, suddenly, she lurched back, rolling off the bed in her haste to get away from him.
She made a grab for the covers but went to the floor without them. He laughed and rolled over, staring down at her. “You don’t have to leap away from me. All you have to do is tell me what you didn’t like and I’ll fix it. I’m good, Lindsay, and I do want to please you.”
