own fate. She drew away from him. "I'm sorry. You're right. I'm being foolish."
"It's not the first time," he said grimly.
She gazed up at him. Even speckled with cake and frosting, he looked fiercely magnificent and utterly terrifying. Just like the tiger. She found herself fearing him in a new way, one she didn't entirely understand except to know that it had a dimension that went beyond the threat of the physical. It was more elusive than that. Somehow she feared he would damage her soul.
She had reached the limits of her endurance. There had been too many changes, too much conflict, and she had no more fight left. Her weariness reached all the way to the marrow of her bones, and she could barely find the strength to speak.
"I suppose you're going to threaten me with something terrible now."
"Don't you think you deserve it? Children throw things, not adults."
"You're right, of course." She shoved a shaky hand through her hair. "What's it going to be, Alex? Humiliation? I've already had a big dose of that tonight.
How about contempt? Lots of that, too. Dislike? No, that won't work; I've gotten numb to dislike." She paused, her voice faltering. "I'm afraid you'll have to come up with something completely different."
As Alex gazed down at her, she looked so unhappy that something inside him loosened. He knew she was afraid of him—he'd made sure of it—and he still couldn't believe she'd found the nerve to throw that cake. Poor little feather head. She hadn't yet figured out that snapping those baby-cake eyes at him and going after him with those kitten claws wouldn't do her a bit of good.
He felt her shiver beneath his hands. Her claws were sheathed now, and her eyes showed only despair. Did she know she wore every one of her feelings on her face?
He wondered how many men she'd had. She probably didn't even know.
Despite that open-eyed innocence, she was a natural pleasure seeker. She was also a scatterbrain, and he could well imagine her ending up in more than one playboy's bed with only the vaguest idea how she'd gotten there.
At least that was one thing she'd be good for. As he watched her, he had to fight the sudden urge to pick her up and carry her back to the trailer, where he would lay her on his bed and satisfy every one of the questions that had begun to nag at him. How would those flyaway curls feel spread out like dark ribbons against his pillow? He wanted to gaze at her naked in the rumpled sheets, see the paleness of her flesh against his darker skin, test the weight of her breasts in his hands. He wanted to smell her and feel her
and touch her.
Just yesterday at the wedding ceremony, he'd told himself she wasn't the kind of woman he'd choose
as a sexual companion, but that was before he'd glimpsed her round bottom peeking out from under the bottom of his T-shirt as he woke her up. That was before he'd watched her in his truck, crossing and uncrossing those sweet legs of hers, dangling that silly little sandal from her toe. She had pretty feet, small and well-shaped with a high, delicate arch and nails painted the same red as the gown on a
Signorelli madonna.
He didn't like the fact that other men knew more about her sexual appetites than he did. But he also knew it was too soon. He couldn't touch her until he was sure she understood the way things were going to be between them. And by that time, there was a very good chance she would have packed up her suitcase and left.
He took her arm and steered her toward the trailer. For a moment she resisted, and then she gave in.
"I'm really starting to hate you," she said dully. "You know that, don't you?"
He was surprised that her words hurt, especially since this was exactly the way he wanted it. She wasn't cut out for such a hard life, and he had no desire to torture her by drawing this out endlessly. Let her realize right now that she couldn't cut it here.
"That's probably for the best."
"Up until this very moment, I've never hated any other
"It's not the first time," he said grimly.
She gazed up at him. Even speckled with cake and frosting, he looked fiercely magnificent and utterly terrifying. Just like the tiger. She found herself fearing him in a new way, one she didn't entirely understand except to know that it had a dimension that went beyond the threat of the physical. It was more elusive than that. Somehow she feared he would damage her soul.
She had reached the limits of her endurance. There had been too many changes, too much conflict, and she had no more fight left. Her weariness reached all the way to the marrow of her bones, and she could barely find the strength to speak.
"I suppose you're going to threaten me with something terrible now."
"Don't you think you deserve it? Children throw things, not adults."
"You're right, of course." She shoved a shaky hand through her hair. "What's it going to be, Alex? Humiliation? I've already had a big dose of that tonight.
How about contempt? Lots of that, too. Dislike? No, that won't work; I've gotten numb to dislike." She paused, her voice faltering. "I'm afraid you'll have to come up with something completely different."
As Alex gazed down at her, she looked so unhappy that something inside him loosened. He knew she was afraid of him—he'd made sure of it—and he still couldn't believe she'd found the nerve to throw that cake. Poor little feather head. She hadn't yet figured out that snapping those baby-cake eyes at him and going after him with those kitten claws wouldn't do her a bit of good.
He felt her shiver beneath his hands. Her claws were sheathed now, and her eyes showed only despair. Did she know she wore every one of her feelings on her face?
He wondered how many men she'd had. She probably didn't even know.
Despite that open-eyed innocence, she was a natural pleasure seeker. She was also a scatterbrain, and he could well imagine her ending up in more than one playboy's bed with only the vaguest idea how she'd gotten there.
At least that was one thing she'd be good for. As he watched her, he had to fight the sudden urge to pick her up and carry her back to the trailer, where he would lay her on his bed and satisfy every one of the questions that had begun to nag at him. How would those flyaway curls feel spread out like dark ribbons against his pillow? He wanted to gaze at her naked in the rumpled sheets, see the paleness of her flesh against his darker skin, test the weight of her breasts in his hands. He wanted to smell her and feel her
and touch her.
Just yesterday at the wedding ceremony, he'd told himself she wasn't the kind of woman he'd choose
as a sexual companion, but that was before he'd glimpsed her round bottom peeking out from under the bottom of his T-shirt as he woke her up. That was before he'd watched her in his truck, crossing and uncrossing those sweet legs of hers, dangling that silly little sandal from her toe. She had pretty feet, small and well-shaped with a high, delicate arch and nails painted the same red as the gown on a
Signorelli madonna.
He didn't like the fact that other men knew more about her sexual appetites than he did. But he also knew it was too soon. He couldn't touch her until he was sure she understood the way things were going to be between them. And by that time, there was a very good chance she would have packed up her suitcase and left.
He took her arm and steered her toward the trailer. For a moment she resisted, and then she gave in.
"I'm really starting to hate you," she said dully. "You know that, don't you?"
He was surprised that her words hurt, especially since this was exactly the way he wanted it. She wasn't cut out for such a hard life, and he had no desire to torture her by drawing this out endlessly. Let her realize right now that she couldn't cut it here.
"That's probably for the best."
"Up until this very moment, I've never hated any other
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