As if shaken, she swayed unsteadily and he set her away from him. “Don’t you know how to say stop?” he asked her, his voice a gravelly whisper. She reached for him as she reeled backward, and he caught her, holding her just a little too long.
“Amanda, the way things were going, I would have been inside of you in minutes. I don’t think that’s what you want, and I know it isn’t what I want. We’re both tired and strung out. I’ll see you tomorrow night.” He headed down the hallway.
She ran after him, amazed that he could turn his feelings off at will, while she still staggered under the impact of the first genuine loving she’d ever had. “What’s with you? You may be tired and unstrung, mister, but I’m not.”
He paused, his expression bland, as though his energy had been sapped. “Unless angels come down here, Amanda, we’re going to separate on April eleventh. You know it, and I know it and, if we ignore that fact, we will both regret it. So let’s not fool ourselves. We could easily step across that line and then find the consequences intolerable.” His voice softened. “I won’t risk it, and neither should you.”
“You’re not willing to try?”
“Amanda, a sensible man won’t stick his bare hand in the fire twice, no matter that the flame is a different color. I can’t risk it. I thought I could, but then I remember what is was like…I’m sorry.”
Amanda climbed the stairs with difficulty. She couldn’t say she was sorry that he’d kissed her that way, but she knew she would go through hell reliving it for the rest of her life. What a man he was, she mused. He had stood there in all his ebony male glory, a faultlessly crafted colossus, surrounding her with his consummate male magnetism, beguiling her senses. He had shown her the strong, but loving, gentle and tender man that he was so clever at hiding. Then he had gently, but firmly pushed her away. She didn’t think she could tolerate eleven more months of it.
Amanda got ready for bed and reached for the light to turn it out. Her gaze caught a reflection of herself in the mirror and she walked toward it. What did he see in her? Why had he kissed her and held her like that? She knew he hadn’t wanted to do it and had given in to it against his will. Maybe he just needed a woman, and she was there. That doesn’t make sense, she reasoned; a man who looked like Marcus Hickson didn’t have problems getting a woman. If he needed a woman, there was probably one waiting somewhere.
Agitated and, for the first time, uncertain that she could handle living with Marcus on their agreed-upon terms, she slipped on a cotton robe and walked out on the porch. She listened for the lapping and sloshing of the waves and heard it, but for once, the tune that had nourished her since birth failed to comfort her. Cool, salty air whipped in from the Albemarle Sound, bringing goose bumps to her arms, and the brisk wind that brought it trapped her long thick hair in the branches of a ficus tree that stood behind her in a corner. She looked out toward the Sound for a few minutes and turned to go back into the house, but she couldn’t free her hair. She looked over her shoulder at the tree. I’ll never be able to move it, she thought, declining to panic.
Amanda had been alone for so much of her life that her next thought was whether she could scream loud enough to attract attention. She relaxed when a light flickered on in Marcus’ room. Amused at herself that she could have forgotten his presence after what he’d done to her only minutes earlier, she took a deep breath and called him.
Marcus stepped out on the porch and looked around. “Amanda, did I hear you call me?”
“I’m over here.” She disliked the plaintive sound of her voice; after all, any husband could do what she was about to request of him. Any husband! “The wind blew my hair into this tree, and I can’t get it out.”
“Don’t you have a light out here somewhere. It would be a pity if you had to stand there until daylight.” She told him where to find the switch, and he turned on the light and walked over to her.
“I can’t get between you and the tree, so this will take a while.” Heat suffused her cheeks, and excitement raced through her when he reached over her and began to free her hair strand by strand. He must have noticed her unsteadiness, because he tried to put her at ease.
“Hold on to me, Amanda. If you lean back, you’ll be in a worse pickle than you are now.” Apparently searching for levity to abate the rising sexual tension, he added, “And don’t act so scared; I don’t usually bite.”
“I notice you said, ‘usually.’” She folded her arms across her middle in an effort to create a buffer between them. But he leaned over her to unthread some of her hair from around a branch, and she felt his chest against her face. She couldn’t stop herself from inhaling deeply the scent of his male body. Strength and power emanated from him, and she stifled a rising resentment that it should have such a heady effect on her even as she squelched an urge to wrap her arms around him and let herself soak up the sweetness and know again the torment of holding him close.
He stepped back and looked down at her, his mouth pursed in a rueful smile. “Are you getting the impression that something or somebody is playing tricks on us?” She didn’t answer at once and nearly stepped back, but he quickly prevented it, holding her head with his hand.
“You want to undo all this tedious work I’ve done? You didn’t answer my question.” Amanda couldn’t think of a reason for the dazzling grin that spread across his face, unless it was from a desire to bamboozle her more than the scent of him and the heat of his body had already done.
“How about you’re a human trip-hammer, and I’m standing over a trapdoor? Where’s the trick in that?” she asked him, unwilling to pretend. He let several recently freed strands of hair cascade over her shoulder.
“You wouldn’t be fooling, would you? If you aren’t, let me tell you, lady, that kind of joking is dangerous. And if you are…” He shook his head. “It’s still dangerous.” She wanted him to move away from her, but he didn’t give her an inch, just continued unravelling her hair from the ficus branch.
“Have you almost finished?” she asked him, embarrassed by the quake in her voice. “Maybe you ought to get a pair of scissors and whack it off.”
“Come on, now. Much as you love this thick wooly stuff, you’d cut if off just to get rid of me? That’s hardly flattering.” Let him think what he liked. She had learned that Marcus mastered his emotions with the ease of a glider. She didn’t know much about men, much less how to handle herself around them. But she figured that even if she’d been an expert on them, Marcus Hickson would still be an enigma to her. That is in the past, though, she assured herself. She had just begun to learn that he could have the kind of feelings he generated in her and she knew that, if he were a different kind of man, she’d be in his bed right then. In court, whose word would have the greater weight? Blood rushed to her face, neck and ears, and she lowered her head to prevent his seeing her telltale facial expression. He reached around her and began to untangle some strands from a branch below her waist.
“Marcus…Marcus, would you…please…”
“Would I please what?” He released her hair, grasped her shoulders and took a step back. She looked up into eyes that burned with want and struggled not to let her gaze drift down to his beguiling lips. His rugged breathing tempted her to test her feminine power, and excitement sent shivers through her, as he seemed to weigh her in some way, to anticipate her next move. His hands tightened on her shoulders.