The Protectors. Beverly Barton

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СКАЧАТЬ one night, the night she conceived Allen, she had given herself to the man she loved, and afterward he had told her he didn’t want her.

      “You can’t order me around. You can’t make me do something I don’t want to do.” She clenched her teeth and stared him straight in the eye.

      “You’re so damned stubborn.”

      His lips covered hers with hot, demanding urgency, the need to override her objections forefront in his mind. But his body’s needs overcame his intention to bend her to his will. He didn’t want to force her to do anything; he wanted her compliance.

      Deborah fought the kiss for a few brief seconds, then succumbed to the power of his possession, giving herself over to the feel of his arm around her, pulling her closer and closer, his fingers threading through her hair, capturing her head in the palm of his hand.

      Her breasts pressed against his hard chest. His tongue delved into her mouth. Slipping her arms around inside his shirt, she clung to him, her nails biting into the muscles of his naked back. Deborah and Ashe sought to appease the hunger gnawing inside them, their lips tasting the sweetness, their tongues seeking, their hands laying claim to the feast of their aroused bodies.

      Ashe felt hard and hot as Deborah ran her hands over his chest, across his tiny, pebble hard nipples, lacing her fingers through his dark chest hair.

      Ashe reached between their bodies, separating the folds of her silk robe, feeling for her breast. He eased the robe off her shoulder, then the thin strap of her gown, exposing her left breast, lifting it in his hand.

      When he rubbed his fingers across her jutting nipple, she cried out. He took the sound into his mouth, deepening their kiss. She curled against him. He dragged her onto his lap, lowered his head and covered her nipple with his mouth, sucking greedily. All the while he stroked a fiery path down her back, stopping to caress her hip.

      The taste of her filled him, urging him to sample more and more of her soft, sweet flesh. He hadn’t meant for things to get so out of hand, but once he’d touched her, he couldn’t stop himself, couldn’t seem to control his desire.

      Deborah’s breath came in strong, fast pants as she clung to his shoulder with one hand and held his head to her breast with the other.

      They wriggled and squirmed, arms embracing, hands caressing, lips savoring, legs entwined. Losing their balance in the fury of their passion, they toppled off the window bench and onto the floor. Ashe’s leg rammed against the mahogany tea table, knocking it over, sending the tea service crashing onto the Oriental carpet.

      Breathing erratically, Deborah glanced away from Ashe to the wreckage on the floor beside them. Reality intruded on the erotic dream. She shoved against Ashe’s chest.

      He wanted her to ignore everything around them, to concentrate on recapturing the raw, wild need that had claimed them, but he saw the hazy look of longing clear from her eyes.

      She pulled up her gown to cover her breast and lifted herself into a sitting position on the floor. Ashe rose to his feet, offered her his hand and lifted her, pulling her back into his arms.

      “You’re Ashe McLaughlin’s woman. I think we just proved that it won’t be difficult for us to carry off the masquerade for as long as it’s necessary.”

      He brushed her lips with his, then released her. Deborah staggered on her feet, but found her footing quickly, determined not to give in to the desire to scratch Ashe’s eyes out.

      Damn the man! He had gotten his way. He had proved that she was just as vulnerable to him as she’d been at seventeen.

      “I’d like for you to go now,” she said. “I’ll explain things to Mother and I’ll tell Allen what I think will pacify his curiosity.”

      “There’s less than two weeks until the trial. I think we can pretend for that long. Then for another week or so, if Buck Stansell decides to retaliate for your testifying against Lon Sparks.”

      “I suppose there’s always that possibility, isn’t there? If that happens, then this nightmare could go on forever.”

      “Let’s take it one day at a time. We’ll get you through the trial, then worry about what might or might not happen afterward.”

      Deborah nodded. Ashe glanced down at the overturned table, the scattered tea service, the spilled tea.

      “I’ll clean up this mess,” he said.

      “No, please.” She looked at him and wished she hadn’t. His gaze said he still wanted her. “I’ll take care of it. I’d like for you to leave. Now.”

      He walked out of her bedroom. She stood there trembling with unshed tears choking her. I will not cry. I will not cry. She knelt down on the floor, righted the tea table and picked up the silver service. A dark stain marred the blue-and-cream perfection of the rug. She jumped up and ran into the bathroom, wet a frayed hand towel and glanced into the mirror above the sink.

      Dear Lord. Her hair was in disarray, the long strands fanned out around her face. Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes overly bright. Her lips were swollen. A pink rash covered her neck and the top of her left breast, a result of Ashe’s beard stubble. She looked like a woman who’d been ravished. Suddenly she felt like a woman who’d been ravished.

      Tears gathered in her eyes. She laid her head against the mirror and cried.

      In the week since they had begun their pretense, Ashe hadn’t kissed her again, indeed he’d barely touched her, except in front of others—a part of their performance as lovers. In another week Lon Sparks’s trial would begin. But when it ended, would the threats end, too, or would they turn deadly? Ashe screened all of Deborah’s calls and her mail. The daily threats continued, meaningless threats since Deborah never heard the messages or read the letters. Two more little gifts had arrived, both of these delivered by unknown messenger to her home. One, a green garden snake, Ashe had taken outside and released. The other had been more ominous, one he’d made sure neither Deborah nor Miss Carol saw. A newspaper photograph of Deborah, singed around the edges, a book of matches laid on top and the words “Your house might catch on fire” scrawled in red ink across the newspaper.

      Nerve-racking threats to be sure, harassment to say the least, but not once had Deborah’s life actually been in jeopardy. Was Buck Stansell playing some sort of sick game or was he trying to throw them off guard, waiting to act at the last moment?

      “It’s been a long time since you’ve been in the country club.” Carol Vaughn slipped her arm through Ashe’s. He looked away from the living room window where he’d been staring sightlessly outside while he waited for Deborah. He smiled at Miss Carol. “Eleven years.”

      “The night Whitney announced her engagement to George.” Carol patted Ashe on his forearm. “She was such a selfish girl, but always so bubbly. Now she’s a very sad, selfish woman.”

      “Are you trying to warn me about something, Miss Carol?”

      “Do I need to warn you?”

      “I haven’t been carrying a torch for Whitney all these years, if that’s what’s troubling you.”

      “No, I didn’t think you had. You wouldn’t look at my daughter as if she were you favorite meal and you hadn’t eaten in a long time, if you were in love with СКАЧАТЬ