Friends and Lovers by Diana Palmer Page A

just in front of him while he studied her.
    “Don’t…do that,” she whispered unsteadily. His callused hands made magic where they touched.
    “Live with me,” he whispered. He bent, touching his hard mouth to hers, kissing it softly while she struggled to maintain any sanity at all.
    “I can’t,” she breathed.
    “You want to,” he countered. “Don’t you?” He lifted her in his big arms while his mouth nibbled at her parted lips, his teeth nipping them gently, his smoky breath mingling with hers as he walked toward the bed. “Do you remember how it was, Madeline?” he whispered sensuously. “You begged me…”
    “No!” She struggled with him, hating her own weakness, hating his easy victory. All he had to do was touch her and she capitulated!
    “Yes,” he ground out against her mouth. She felt the bed under her back, John’s huge body pressing her deep into the mattress as his hungry mouth invaded hers and knocked the resistance right out of her.
    She felt herself go deliciously limp as his hands smoothed away the towel and made slow, sweet patterns against her bare back, her hips, her thighs.
    “You’re…heavy,” she whispered shakily when he finally lifted his mouth from her swollen lips.
    “It’s all these damned clothes,” he murmured with a faint smile, “not me.” He kissed her closed eyelids, her nose, her cheeks, the corner of her mouth. “You smell of wildflowers,” he whispered. “And you taste like honey.” His breathing quickened as he shifted, letting his lips wander down her throat, over her collarbone, onto the silken skin of her shoulders and lower, to softly rounded flesh that tautened traitorously under the caress. “Help me undress,” he whispered sensuously.
    Her fingers reached up to hold his face so that she could see his eyes. They were dark with desire, smoldering.
    “We’ve got to talk,” she said in a trembling voice, her body tingling, aching, from the total contact with his.
    “We can do a better job of it without words,” he murmured gruffly. His long forefinger traced the soft line of her mouth, his eyes studying it intently. “Oh, God, I missed you! All I could think about the whole time was how it was between us, the feel of your skin against mine, those sweet, wild little cries….”
    “Don’t!” she groaned, turning her face away as the memory made her want to cry.
    He tautened above her, then forced her to look at him again. “You’re ashamed of it,” he whispered incredulously.
    Her eyes closed. Her mouth trembled. “Yes, I’m ashamed,” she ground out. “Let me go, John. Please.”
    Without another word, he rolled away and got to his feet with the grace of a big cat. He stared at her as she rewrapped the towel and sat up, her face the shade of dawn roses.
    His hands were jammed deep in his pockets, his eyes glaring at her. “Talk to me, damn it! What was there to be ashamed of?”
    She stared down at the carpet, hating herself, hating him. “We had something rare,” she managed. “And it all fell apart. Why did you do it?” Her voice broke. “Why did you have to spoil it!”
    “I didn’t rape you,” he reminded her, his voice icy.
    Her eyes closed. “No,” she admitted, “you didn’t. You just took advantage of what I felt for you. You’re just like every other man, John Durango, you only care about what you can get! I’m surprised that you had the patience to wait two years for me, when there were so many Melodys around, just dying to give out!”
    His face paled under its tan. His big body tensed. “Was that all it meant to you?”
    She laughed mirthlessly. “What else?” she asked, although it tore her heart open to dismiss that devastating beauty in two contemptuous words. She couldn’t let him see how vulnerable she was, she couldn’t wind up as just another conquest to be enjoyed for a little while, and then tossed aside. He’d said for years that he’d never marry again. Not that she wanted to marry him,