The Lady and the Lion (6 page)

She conjured a rueful smile. "I don't seem to have enough pride to tell you to go anywhere at all."

The arm around her tightened, and his hand slipped down to enclose her throat. Fleetingly, Erin thought that he could break her neck quite easily. She might have been forgiven for wondering if he meant to because his face looked as stony as it had when she'd slapped him, almost cruel in its fixed expression of grim anger. But Erin didn't wonder. She met his glittering eyes with no fear in her own, and she reached out to touch his lean cheek.

"Don't be angry," she murmured. "I can't help it." For the first time in her life, she felt totally comfortable in revealing her own emotions, and if there was surprise in that, she didn't think about it, because everything seemed so natural with him. Talking to him, fighting with him, touching him—it all felt incredibly familiar. Her deepest instincts told her their tranquil dawn interludes had woven a link between her and this man, and a certainty beyond reason insisted the connection was terribly important to them both.

For an instant after her soft words, his face remained unyielding, but then something changed. It wasn't a lessening of intensity, but a shifting. Anger was replaced by another emotion that gleamed in his eyes.

"Dammit, Erin," he said roughly, his hand slipping to the nape of her neck, beneath her thick hair. He lowered his head and covered her parted lips with his own.

He had stated with utter certainty that she wasn't reckless enough to sleep with a stranger in order to prove a point to her father, but Erin knew she was reckless enough to follow blindly wherever this might lead. Or maybe it wasn't recklessness. Maybe it was conviction. All she knew for sure was that she had to be in his arms. She
had
to.

It wasn't a first kiss, a seeking, tentative thing; he kissed her with stark desire, the force in him that was vital and compelling, sweeping over her in a tidal wave of demand. She had believed she wanted no demands, no expectations, but everything in her rose explosively now to meet his passion.

Her arms slid around his lean waist as she pressed herself even closer, something in her delighting in the sensation of being small and enclosed in his powerful embrace. His body was so hard, and hers fit so well against him. Heat spread through her in pulsing bursts and all her senses seemed to come rawly alive as though nothing had ever touched them before.

If she had been granted a moment to think then, Erin might well have run from this, from him. She was, ordinarily, a woman of mild feelings, unaccustomed to violent highs and lows; if it had been otherwise, she could never have accepted her father's control over her life for so long. She had never understood turbulent emotions because she had never felt them, had never believed herself capable of such wildness, and the very thought of losing control emotionally was frightening to her.

But she was given no time to feel wariness or fear, no chance to turn away from this and run. The force of him overwhelmed everything except the instant, searing strength of
her own
response.

With her senses so vibrantly alive, she heard a faint little sound and felt it in her throat, a purr of pleasure that was alien and dimly shocking because she had never before made a sound like that. Her fingers were exploring the hard muscles of his back, and her breasts throbbed almost painfully against his massive chest as if all the veins had expanded and filled with hot blood. The thrust of his tongue was a small possession she welcomed eagerly, and her body moved unconsciously, seeking and inviting a much greater intimacy.

Keith hadn't meant for this to happen. With what little coherent thought left to him, he told himself that his own lack of control was due to his tension, the pressure he was under, and the long months of obsessive planning that had left no room for a personal life of any kind. He was a sensual man by nature, not accustomed to denying himself, and
that
was why... It was just physical desire, only lust.

Nothing else made sense.

But the same thread of reason to which he grimly clung insisted there was more to it than simple lust.
Much more, even though he couldn't put a name to it.
What his body demanded wasn't mere release—it was joining. He wanted, needed, to become a part of her, to merge the two of them together until there was no separateness, until they were bound immutably together. And he thought she wanted the same thing. She was so alive in his arms, so utterly responsive, and he wanted her with a reckless, heedless need almost impossible to fight.

Almost.
But the thread of sanity held in his mind, and it was enough—barely—to give him the will to end that scorching kiss and set her away from him. He kept his hands on her hips, holding her away, trying to control his ragged breathing enough to say something,
anything, that
would stop them before it was too late... before he pulled them both over the edge.

She was staring at him, her eyes wide and dazed,
her
parted lips a little swollen from the fierce pressure of his. Pushed back away from him, she had grasped handfuls of his shirt as if unconsciously determined not to let go of him.

"No," he said finally, his voice little more than a hoarse rasp.

"Why?" she whispered, not even vaguely surprised that she was, quite definitely, throwing herself at him now. It didn't make any sense, none of it did, but she was caught up in something that was rushing forward and she couldn't stop it, couldn't stop herself. She couldn't even stop the naked words, "I want you too. You know that. You have to know it."

Keith managed to get his breathing under control, but his willpower was still hanging by a mere thread and she wasn't helping any. "Erin, you don't know what you want. You've cut one tie to a domineering
man,
don't be so quick to form another."

"Is that what you are?
A domineering man?"
She wondered why he was doing this, because that didn't make sense either. He wanted her, but was obviously determined that they wouldn't be lovers, and she didn't understand why.

"Bet on it."

"I don't think so." She shook her head as if it didn't really matter, but her beautiful face expressed puzzlement and hurt, a dawning realization. "You just don't want—complications. Is that it? You're afraid I'd cling." She seemed to notice her deathgrip on his shirt for the first time, and slowly released the material. "Maybe you're right. I don't seem to have any pride at all."

"Erin—"

In a very steady voice, she said, "Tell me you've got a wife and kids back in Topeka. Or that you're a convicted ax murderer or gunrunner or something. Tell me something, Keith. Tell me why."

He forced his hands to let go of her. In the most even voice he could manage, he said, "Erin, this is happening too fast, you know that. You aren't thinking clearly."

"But you are?"

"I have to. I don't want to hurt you, and I think that's what would happen. I wouldn't be good for you. I wouldn't be good for anyone right now."

"Would I be good for you?"

"I don't know."

"Is there a wife?
Kids?"

Keith shook his head, angry at himself because he was unable to tell her the one thing that would probably make her run from him in horror.
The truth.
I came here to destroy two men.
He couldn't tell her that. He couldn't stand here and see her face change if he told her that.

Erin crossed her arms beneath her breasts, almost hugging herself as she stared up at him. The rosy flush of desire had faded, leaving her pale. "You wouldn't be good for me. Why can't I simply accept what you say?" She chuckled, the uncertain sound of someone stranded in a boat that had lost its rudder.

He instinctively lifted a hand toward her, but she stepped back quickly.

"Damn you, don't be kind." Her voice was low and rapid. "I feel enough of a fool without that. I—I'm sorry. Sorry about the whole thing. Goodbye, Keith."

He took two steps after her before he could stop himself,
then
stood gazing across the little garden at nothing. He felt like the worst kind of bastard because of what he'd done to her.
And to himself.
No matter how many times he told himself it was better this way, that he would surely have hurt her even if the danger of the situation around him had never touched her, the emotional certainty he should have felt was absent.

It was against his very nature to avoid facing anything, no matter how disturbing or painful, and in pushing her away so forcefully he was trying to evade something that promised to be both. But what choice did he have? Even assuming that Erin could be content not knowing where he disappeared to every evening, that she wouldn't eventually expect the truth from him, what right did he have to become her lover when a single misstep could mean his death? It was his risk, not hers, and he couldn't make her a part of his life when any future at all was so uncertain, when even the present was dangerous and unpredictable.

Even setting that aside, the violent emotions trapped inside him—the grief and fury and bitterness—made his temper brittle, and the role he had to play left him so edgy he could hardly live with himself. All his emotional energy was bound up in maintaining his balance in that other life he was leading; there was very little left for a normal life. What would that do to her? How could he be a lover when so many of the emotions driving him were negative ones?

She was vulnerable, he knew. Hers was a gentle heart, and he'd never forgive himself if he did anything to damage her. He had felt her surprise at the intensity of her own response to him, and it told him more than she probably realized. For whatever inexplicable reason—and he didn't pretend to understand either her feelings or his own—his reckless desire triggered hers in a way she'd never felt before, and the sheer power of her desire had overwhelmed her.

He knew that was true, because it had happened to him too. The difference between them was that he knew all the odds against them—and she didn't.

After a while, realizing his weariness was making thoughts chase each other around in his head uselessly, Keith went back into the hotel and up to his room. He wasn't planning on going out tonight, but knew it was smarter to sleep when he could just in case.

Needing to sleep, however, was one thing; being able to was something else. It was past noon before he finally slipped into a restless, uneasy sleep, and when he woke around six he wondered if it had been worth the effort. A shower chased away most of the cobwebs and coffee scattered the rest, but he found it no easier to think now than he had that morning.

Even though common sense told him to, he knew for certain he couldn't leave things the way they were between him and Erin. Leaving it alone, just letting it end so abruptly, was impossible for him. He couldn't stand the thought of knowing he had hurt her. Yet she was too firmly in his head, distracting him until he could hardly think of anything but her; she had gotten too close.

Unfortunately for both of them, pushing her away physically had done nothing to change the situation. In fact, it was worse now, because there was a beautiful face and haunting eyes to go with the sweet voice, and all of her was so damned unforgettable.

He didn't go to the connecting doors, but out into the hallway to her door. He thought as he knocked quietly that she had every reason to tell him to go to hell, and no reason at all to want to see him again. But the door opened.

"May I talk to you?" he asked. She was wearing some kind of lounging outfit, pants and a loose, peasant-type top made of terrycloth, the same pale green as her eyes. With her creamy skin and bright hair she was a heartbreakingly gorgeous sight. For the first time, he wondered if her absence from his side was why there had been a constant ache in his chest since this morning. Quickly, he pushed the thought aside.

Erin hesitated, then stepped back to allow him to enter. He went into the sitting room, absently noticing a large sketchpad on the table near the balcony doors and remembering that she had decided to take up artwork. There was a charcoal drawing on the top page, but he didn't go near enough to see what it was. He turned to face Erin, and she spoke before he could.

"You didn't have to come here, you know." Her voice was soft, her face expressionless. "I've already decided to leave, so—"

"Don't," he said involuntarily.

She shook her head. "What was it you said about me, that I didn't know what I wanted? That seems to be your problem."

"I know what I want. I also know what I can't have."

Erin's chin lifted slightly and a spark of anger showed in her eyes. "Do you mind? I really don't want to hear that kind of statement again. I don't know what game you're playing, Keith, but you can count me out. I may have thrown my pride to the winds with you this morning, but I've stopped that now. I'm not a masochist."

Keith shoved his hands into his pockets, fighting the insane urge to reach out and yank her into his arms. "I'm sorry, Erin. I never meant to hurt you. And it wasn't—isn't—a game. You have to understand."

She didn't understand, and hours of grappling with her own emotions had left Erin in a precarious balance on the edge of control. She was baffled by him, by the contrast between his words and his actions. He kept saying no and yet he couldn't seem to stay away, couldn't close the door between them. She had the consolation of knowing that this was difficult for him, but it didn't help at all because she didn't understand why he was fighting so hard.

And complicating the whole thing was her confused certainty that he really was concerned about
her,
that he was convinced he would hurt her, and was determined not to. His sensitivity argued against his own words. If he cared so much about not hurting her, then how could he be capable of doing it? Erin had held her own with men who had made careers of being enigmatic, but Keith had her totally bewildered.

During the last hours, she had told herself he'd been right this morning; she didn't know what she wanted. He was the first man she had felt so—so overwhelmed by, and thinking clearly about him seemed beyond her. All her instincts told her there was a great deal of anger in him, that he was a dangerous man, and yet she didn't feel the least threat from or fear of him. What she felt, more than anything else, was a sense of certainty, of conviction.