Born in Shame
Page 39

“That’s nonsense.” But her own voice seemed to come from a long way off. “And this is crazy.” Even as she spoke, her hands were fisting in his hair to hold him close, closer, until the pleasure bounded past reason. “We can’t do this.” The purr of delight sounded in her throat, rippled wonderfully into his mouth. “It’s just chemistry.”
“God bless science.” Nearly as breathless as she, he dragged her to her toes and tortured himself. Only for a moment, he vowed. And plundered.
Explosions burst inside of her, one after another until her system was battered by color and light. On a wild spurt of greed, she all but clawed at him in a fight for more.
Touch me, damn you. The order erupted in her head. But his hands did no more than hold while her body ached to be possessed. She knew how his hand would feel. She knew, and could have wept from the power of the knowledge. Hard palm, gentle strokes that would build and build into brands.
With a feral instinct she hadn’t known lurked inside her, she dug her teeth into his lip, baiting him, daring him. At his violent oath, she flung her head back, her face glowing with triumph.
Then she paled, degree by degree. For his eyes were warrior’s eyes, dark, deadly, and terrifyingly familiar.
“God.” The word burst out of her as she struggled away. Fighting for air, for balance, she pressed her hands to her breast. “Stop. God, this has to stop.”
Teetering on the thin edge of control, Murphy fisted his hands at his sides. “I want you more than I want to take the next breath. It’s killing me, Shannon, this wanting.”
“I made a mistake.” She dragged her trembling hands through her hair. “I made a mistake here. I’m sorry. I’m not going to let this go any further.” She could feel herself being pulled toward him—negative to positive. Power to power. “Stay away from me, Murphy.”
“I can’t. You know I can’t.”
“We have a problem.” Determined to calm down, she walked unsteadily to the table and picked up her wineglass. “We can solve it,” she said to herself and sipped. “There’s always a way to solve a problem. Don’t talk to me,” she ordered, holding up a hand like a traffic cop. “Let me think.”
The oddest thing was she never considered herself a very sexual creature. There had been a few pleasant moments now and again with men she cared for, had respect for. “Pleasant” was a ridiculously pale description of what had erupted in her with Murphy.
That was sex, she thought, nodding. That was allowed, that was all right. They were both adults, both unencumbered. She certainly cared for him, and respected him, even admired him on a great many levels. What was wrong with one wild fling before she settled down and decided what to do with the rest of her life?
Nothing, she decided, except that foolish courting business. So, she sipped her wine again, set it down. They’d just have to get rid of the obstacle.
“We want to sleep together,” she began.
“Well, I’d find sleeping with you a pleasant thing, but I’d prefer making love with you a few dozen times first.”
“Don’t play semantic games, Murphy.” But she smiled, relieved that the humor was back in his eyes. “I think we can resolve this in a reasonable and mutually satisfying manner.”
“You’ve a wonderful way of speaking sometimes.” His voice was full of admiration and delight. “Even when what you say is senseless. It’s so dignified, you know. And classy.”
“Shut up, Murphy. Now if you’ll just agree that the idea of a long-term commitment isn’t feasible.” When he only continued to smile at her, she huffed out a breath. “Okay, I’ll put it simply. No courting.”
“I knew what you meant, darling. I just like listening to you. I’ve no problem with the feasibility of living the rest of my life with you. And I’ve hardly begun courting you. I haven’t even danced with you yet.”
At her wit’s end she rubbed her hands over her face. “Are you really that thick-headed?”
“So my mother always said. ‘Murphy,’ she’d say, ‘once you get an idea in that brain of yours, nothing knocks it loose.’ ” He grinned at her. “You’ll like my mother.”
“I’m never going to meet your mother.”
“Oh, you will. I’m working that out. But as you were saying?”
“As I was saying,” she repeated, baffled. “How can I remember what I was saying when you keep throwing these curves? You do it on purpose, just to cloud things up when they should be perfectly simple.”
“I love you, Shannon,” he said and stopped her dead. “That’s simple. I want to marry you and raise a family with you. But that’s getting ahead of things.”
“I’ll say. I’m going to be as clear and concise about this as I can. I don’t love you, Murphy, and I don’t want to marry you.” Her eyes went to slits. “And if you keep grinning at me, I’m going to belt you.”
“You can take a swing at me, and we can wrestle a bit, but then we’re likely to resolve the first part of this right here on the kitchen floor.” He stepped closer, delighted when she jerked up her chin. “Because, darling, once I get me hands on you again, I can’t promise to take them off till I’m finished.”
“I’m through trying to be reasonable. Thanks for dinner. It was interesting.”
“You’ll want a jacket against the rain.”
“I don’t—”
“Don’t be foolish.” He’d already taken one of his own off a peg. “You’ll just get that pretty blouse wet and chill your skin.”
She snatched it from him before he could help her into it. “Fine. I’ll get it back to you.”
“Bring it with you, if you think of it, when you come to paint in the morning. I’ll be walking by.”
“I may not be there.” She shoved her arms into the soft worn denim, stood with the sleeve flopping past her fingertips. “Good night.”
“I’ll walk you to the car.” Even as she started to object, he took her arm and led her out of the kitchen and down the hall.
“You’ll just get wet,” she protested when they reached the front door.
“I don’t mind the rain.” When they reached the car, he wisely swallowed a grin. “It’s the wrong side, darling, unless you’re wanting me to drive you home.”