Against the Rules Read online

  It took a supreme effort of will, but she pulled her mouth away from his and protested in a fierce whisper, “Stop it! You promised! Monica—”

  “Damn Monica,” he growled, the sound rumbling up from deep in his chest. His hard hand cupped her chin and lifted it. “Damn Ricky, and damn everyone else. I’m not some tame gelding you can prance in front of without expecting to be taken up on what you’re offering, and I’ll be damned if I’ll watch you waltz off with some other man.”

  “There’s nothing like that between Glenn and me!” she almost yelled at him.

  “And I’m going to make damned sure there never is,” he said roughly.

  Abruptly he reached out and snapped on the light, and Cathryn saw with astonishment that she was in her own bedroom. She had been so confused by the darkness that she had thought they were still in the hallway. Swiftly she stepped back from him, wondering uneasily if she could talk him out of his dangerous mood. He looked more than dangerous; with his eyes narrowed, his nostrils flared, he reminded her for all the world of one of those blooded stallions in the paddocks. He began unbuttoning his shirt with silent intent and she rushed into speech. “All right,” she gave in shakily. “I won’t see Glenn if that’s what you want—”

  “It’s too late for that,” he cut in with that soft, almost soundless tone that told her he meant business.

  She had never seen a man undress so fast. He shed his clothing with a few economical movements and tossed the garments aside. If anything, he was even more menacing naked than he was clothed, and the sight of his hard, muscle-corded body stifled any further arguments in her throat. She put out a slim, useless hand to hold him off and he caught it, turning it palm up and bringing it to his mouth. His lips seared her skin; his tongue danced an ancient message against her sensitive palm. Then he pressed her hand to his hair-roughened chest. Cathryn moaned at the heady sensations aroused by touching him, unaware that she had even made the sound. Already the rising heat of desire was making her forget that she hadn’t wanted this to happen again. He was so beautiful, so dangerous. She wanted to stroke the panther just one more time, feel his sleek muscles flex under her fingertips. She moved closer and put her other hand on his chest, spreading her fingers out and flexing them against his hard, warm flesh. His chest was rising and falling with increasing speed as his breath began to race out of his lungs, and his heart was thudding wildly against her palm, slamming against the strong rib cage that protected it.

  “Yes,” he moaned. “Yes. Touch me.”

  It was a sensually loaded invitation that she would never be able to resist. She sought out his small, flat male nipples with her sensitive fingertips and teased the tiny points of flesh into rigidity. He made a sound deep in his throat that was half purr, half snarl, and reached behind her to find the zipper of her dress. In half a minute she stood before him wearing only the bracelets on her wrists and the blossom in her hair. The sight of her soft, womanly body broke his control and he snatched her hard against him, crushing the soft fullness of her breasts to the hard planes of his body. His lips were on hers and his tongue penetrated her mouth and conquered a foe that didn’t resist. The panther was no longer lying down to be stroked.

  “Gardenias are my favorite,” he muttered, releasing her long enough to pluck the flower from her hair. Her breasts were still pressed against him by the hard circle of his right arm around her, and he tucked the creamy flower into her cleavage, trapping it between their bodies. Then he was moving her backward and the bed touched the back of her knees; she fell onto it and he fell with her, never letting their bodies separate.

  “I want you so much,” he said on a groan, sliding down to bury his face in the sweet valley of her breasts, laden with the rich perfume of the crushed gardenia. His lips and tongue roamed over the rich mounds, sucking the pink nipples into taut buds; and wild shivers began to race through her body. Why did it have to be like this with him? Not even David had been able to persuade her to make love with him before their marriage, but with Rule it seemed that she had no will, no morals. She was his for the taking, whenever he wanted. The bitter self-knowledge in no way diluted the strength of her response to him. Heavy need was throbbing in her loins, making her entire body ache with an intimate pain that only he could assuage. She arched against him and he left her breasts to come fully over her, his hairy legs rough and heavy on the graceful length of hers. “Say you want me,” he demanded harshly.

  There was no use in denying it when her own body would make her a liar. Cathryn ran her palms down his muscled sides and felt his entire body tense with desire. “I want you,” she said freely. “But this doesn’t solve anything!”

  “On the contrary, it solves a major problem of mine,” he said, nudging her thighs apart. He fit himself solidly against her and Cathryn closed her eyes on a spiral of delight. Instantly he was shaking her, making her open her eyes again. “Look at me,” he directed from between clenched teeth. “Don’t close your eyes when I’m making love to you! Look at me; watch my face while I enter you.”

  It was so erotic that she couldn’t bear it. She slowly took him inside her while she watched his face mirror the same sensations that were swamping her. His eyes were dilated; waves almost of pain washed again and again over his features as he initiated the rhythm of lovemaking. Tears flooded her eyes as she felt herself arching helplessly closer to fulfillment. “Stop it!” she wept, begging, digging her nails into his side. “Rule, please!”

  “I’m trying to please you. Cat—oh, Cat!”

  She heard the cry that was wrenched out of him, then it was all too much. Dying had to be like that, the utter loss of self, the gathering intensity, then the explosion of senses, followed by a drifting, a growing weaker, a falling away from reality. It was the most frightening experience of her life, yet she embraced it completely and let herself be conquered by it. She was aware, on the fringes of perception, of the demands his powerful body was making on hers as he also reached completion, and for a moment that physical perception was her only link with consciousness. Her full range of senses returned gradually and she opened her eyes to find him above her, stroking her hair away from her face while he softly crooned to her and enticed her back to him. His entire body was glistening with perspiration, his dark hair plastered to his skull, his dark eyes gleaming. He was the quintessential male, primal and triumphant in his renewed victory over the mystery of woman.

  But his first words were tenderly concerned. “Are you all right?” he asked, disentangling their bodies and cradling her close to his side.

  She wanted to shout that she couldn’t possibly be all right, but instead she nodded and turned her face into the damp hollow of his shoulder, still too stricken to attempt speech. What could she tell him, anyway? That she needed him with a need that went beyond rational thought, beyond the control of a will that had held her proudly upright even during her husband’s death? She couldn’t understand it herself, so how could she explain it to him?

  His palm gently cupped her chin and tilted it up. She didn’t open her eyes, but she felt the kiss that he placed on her soft, bruised lips with a touch as delicate as a whisper. Then he wrapped his arms around her and settled her more closely against him, his breath stirring the hair at her temple. “Go to sleep,” he ordered in a soft growl.

  She did, exhausted by the night of dancing, the late hour, and his steamy, demanding lovemaking. It felt so perfect to sleep in his arms, as if she belonged there.

  Yet she woke with the certain knowledge that something was wrong. She was no longer in his arms, though her hand was lying on his chest, the fingers buried in the curly hair that decorated it. The room was dark, the moon no longer lending its meager light. There were no unusual sounds, nothing was stirring, yet something had awakened her. What?

  Then, as she came more fully awake, Cathryn became aware of the unnatural rigidity of Rule’s body beneath her hand, the fast and shallow breathing that made his chest rise and fall. She could feel the perspi