"Something like that. Because you didn't like me." She said it again, trying to impress it on herself, trying to face it head-on so she wouldn't crumple under the hurt of it.
"Not at first, no." He paused, and his big hands tenderly cradled her sore one. "Or rather, I was angry, but it didn't take me long to figure out you weren't what I'd first thought. Within an hour, actually. I began to get the idea when you almost passed out on me, but then when you watched that video and tried to act so calm, so untouched… you were falling apart, and I knew it."
"How?" she demanded, feeling a little truculent. She had tried hard to remain in control, a technique she had perfected over the years. She didn't like thinking she had been so transparent.
"You were clenching your fists so tight they were almost bloodless. You're a marshmallow, sweetie. Instead of not feeling enough, you feel too much. You try to take care of everything and everyone, and then beat yourself up when you can't do it." He slanted a glittering look at her from under his lashes. "By the way, did you get any of my messages?"
"Of course I did. 'God damn it, Karen,'" she quoted, and watched his olive skin darken as blood ran into his cheeks. She was almost glad he was embarrassed, because it balanced her own sense of vulnerability. He saw too much; she felt stripped naked, even more so than when he had actually removed her clothes. She was accustomed to shielding herself emotionally, and it knocked her off balance to realize how transparent she was to him.
"I'm sorry," he said gruffly. "I was so mad I—anyway, I left three messages yesterday."
"Oh. With everything that was happening, I didn't think to call the machine and check messages. What did you say?"
"To call me. Please. Then I got your message, and I was scared shitless until you got off that plane." He took a deep breath and shuddered as he let it out. "We need to talk."
"We're talking," she pointed out.
"Not like this." Abruptly, he leaned down and lifted her in his arms. Startled, she grabbed his neck for balance. "What are you doing?" she half shrieked as he carried her into the bedroom and set her on the bed.
"Checking you out," he replied, going down on one knee beside her and taking her hand again to finish the unveiling. He inspected that hand, too, then folded her skirt back to look at her knees. Both were skinned and bruised, but he could see for himself none of her injuries was serious. Lifting each foot, he slipped off her sandals. "So, on the basis of a first impression, you ignored three days of intensive courting?" He flashed her another of those glittering looks. "Well, as intensive as I could make it, under the circumstances."
"When I thought about it, everything seemed so… orchestrated. Planned." She gave him an angry look of her own. "You were already wearing a condom while we were dancing!"
"And kept it on the whole time we were dancing, too, by God, which should tell you something about how turned on I was." He stood and removed his jacket, tossing it aside. Then he started unbuttoning his shirt, his movements jerky, his nostrils flaring with anger. "I was trying to be considerate . I didn't think you'd appreciate having to worry about a pregnancy or disease at the beginning of our relationship." Karen watched him, her eyes big, her mouth dry. She didn't say, "What are you doing?" which would be stupid because it was obvious what he was doing. She didn't say, "What relationship?" because she didn't want to inquire too closely in case she had heard wrong. She wanted to say she did appreciate his consideration in wearing a condom, but she didn't say that, either.
She just watched him, her heart pounding, her nipples tightening. Greedily, she took in his sleek, strongly muscled shoulders and nice, broad, hairy chest. Clothed, he looked broad-shouldered and trim; naked, he was more muscular, with a flat, ridged stomach and a line of downy hair running down the center of it straight to his groin. She thought of following that line with her tongue and taking him in her mouth; his entire body would go rigid, and he would give that wonderful, deep, gut-wrenching groan. She wanted him. Oh, God, she wanted him now and forever.
He dropped his shirt to the floor and kicked out of his shoes, then peeled off his socks. "I can't believe you were mad about the rubber," he muttered, glancing up at her, and for a moment his gaze was so
blazing hot she felt scorched.
She reached out and touched his stomach, feeling his hot, smooth skin and the hard pad of muscle underneath. "It wasn't the condom, it was that everything felt so deliberate , as if you were following a plan."
"I was," he said bluntly. "I'd been working for three days to get you in bed, and I was afraid stopping to put on a condom would give you a chance to think twice about what we were doing and back out. So I put the condom on first."
"And kept it on, too, by God," she teased him, smiling. Her fingers trailed down his belly to the waistband of his pants, following the line of silky hair.
His eyes were brilliant as he looked down at her. "Take off your clothes." The words were low and rough, almost a whisper.
Her heart pounded harder. She stood and began removing her clothes, her breath rushing in and out in excitement. She felt the clenching of desire deep inside, the twin yielding and demand of utter need. She dropped her blouse to the floor, then unfastened her skirt and stepped out of it. His gaze was locked on her breasts as she undipped the front clasp of her bra and let it fall, and she noticed his breath was coming faster, too.
Critically, he eyed her ribcage as he dropped his pants, trousers and underwear going down in one smooth movement. Her ribs were marked with bluish splotches, and his hands clenched into fists before he deliberately relaxed them, reaching out to touch the bruises. "Are you too sore for this?"