Untamed

She pulled back and looked up at him with anguish in her face.

“No,” he whispered, wincing as he read the apprehension there. “I meant it. I swear to God, I won’t hurt you, Tat. Not with words, not any other way. I give you my word.”

That was serious business with him. If he made a promise, you could bet money on his keeping it. She searched his hard face. “Why?”

He let out a breath from between chiseled, very masculine lips. His gaze went over her head to the wall beyond. “I...heard some gossip, years ago. Malicious gossip. Long story short, I thought we were related by blood.”

She stopped dancing. She gaped at him. “Wh...what?” she asked, and started to jerk away from him.

His arm curled her into his tall, muscular body and held her there. “It wasn’t true,” he said. “I had it checked out. Your mother’s blood type was O positive,” he said through his teeth. “And your father’s blood type was B positive. I’m AB Negative, like K.C. You’re B positive.” He hesitated. “I had a covert DNA scan done from a sample of your blood. Don’t ask how I got it,” he said when she opened her mouth. “I’m a spy. I have ways. I spoke to a geneticist. There is no way in hell we could be related. Not even in the most distant way.”

She was standing very still. All of a sudden the past eight years made absolute sense. He’d behaved sometimes as if it was tormenting him to be near her, as if he wanted her but he wouldn’t permit himself to touch her, or her to touch him.

The realization made her face change, made her expression change.

His jaw tautened as he looked down at her. “Oh, God, don’t you think I wanted you, too?” he whispered in anguish. “Wanted you, ached for you, for years! And I couldn’t... I didn’t dare even touch you...!”

Tears welled up in her eyes. It was like dreams coming true. She couldn’t believe it.

“Oh, baby,” he whispered, and suddenly dragged her body against his, holding her. He started shivering, from the force of desire, so long denied.

She pulled back abruptly, her eyes horrified. “Are you all right, Stanton?” she asked at once. “You’re shivering! It isn’t the malaria recurring?” He’d had it years ago. She’d nursed him through one bout of it when she was a child, in Africa. She reached up hesitantly to touch his face. “You do feel a little warm...”

He was almost in shock. He was shivering with desire and she didn’t know it. But she was experienced. She’d had men. How could she be ignorant of something so basic?

He scowled. Impulsively, his hand slid down to the base of her spine and pulled her very close, letting her feel the sharp, immediate arousal of his body.

She went scarlet and tried to get away from him, struggling to escape the intimate contact, which she’d only ever felt once, the Christmas Eve that she’d almost given in to his ardor. No man had been allowed to touch her that way since. It was still embarrassing.

Rourke felt as if Christmas had come. He let her move away, but his one good eye was brimming with joy, with exultation.

He bent his head a little, so that he was looking right into both of her eyes. “You’re still a virgin, aren’t you, Tat?” he asked in a rough whisper.

“Stan...ton!” she choked, and averted her eyes.

He slid his cheek against hers. He shivered again. “I don’t have malaria,” he whispered. “That part of me is looking for a soft, warm, dark place to hide in.”

It took her a minute to work that out. When she did she colored even more. She hit his chest. “Stanton!”

He laughed softly, with utter delight, nuzzling his face against hers. “You couldn’t do it with anyone else, could you, Tat?” he teased.

And there it was. Assumptions. Arrogance. He knew how she felt. He’d said it would be a truce, but it really wasn’t. He was moving in for the kill. Now that he knew what she really was, he’d never relent. He’d stalk her until he seduced her. He might sound pleasant; he might even sound as if he cared about her. But at the end of the day, he just wanted sex. He’d desired her for years, but thought he couldn’t have her. Now he knew that he could. And it was true. She had no defense. Except one.

“Ruy asked me to marry him,” she said quietly, without looking up at him.

He went very still. “What?”

She swallowed. “He may be much older than I am, but he’s a good, kind man.” She closed her eyes. “I said yes, Stanton,” she lied. It was the only protection she could give herself from a one-night stand that she didn’t want, couldn’t bear. She loved him too much. “So if you’re thinking in terms of a night in bed with me, think again. I won’t cheat on my fiancé.”

His whole world exploded. He stared at her with anguish that he couldn’t even hide. He started to speak, but before he could get a word out, General Machado appeared beside them with Maddie beaming at his side.

“We are getting married,” Machado said, laughing softly as Maddie actually blushed. “I wanted you both to know.” He shrugged. “I am years too old for her, but what the hell. I love her.” He looked at the pretty brunette with eyes that worshipped her.

“Almost as much as I love him,” Maddie tried to joke, but her eyes were eating him.

“Congratulations,” Rourke said, hiding his own misery. He shook hands with the general and kissed Maddie on the cheek. “I’m happy for both of you.”

“So am I,” Clarisse choked, repeating his gestures. “I hope you’ll be so happy together.”

“Same here,” Rourke added.

They smiled, then laughed, then talk revolved around the awards and how they came to be. The general mentioned that his son, San Antonio police lieutenant Rick Marquez had wanted to come, but his wife was in the early stages of pregnancy and wasn’t doing well; Rick couldn’t bring her with him, or leave her, so he sent his regrets via Skype. The general and his son spoke often these days.

Rourke went through the motions of paying attention, but he was dying inside. He was too late. Tat had finally given up on him. She was going to marry the damned doctor in Manaus.

* * *

He wandered away. Tat noticed him dancing with a ravishing blonde, laughing down at her. She smiled sadly to herself. Why did she ever expect things to change? There was Rourke, being himself, coaxing women to his bed. She imagined the ravishing blonde would give him what Clarisse wouldn’t, a single night of pleasure.

It disturbed her that he’d found a replacement so quickly. Well, what had she expected? That when he realized she wasn’t a blood relation, he’d declare eternal love and produce a wedding ring? Fat chance of that ever happening. She’d had a lucky escape, because it wouldn’t have been possible for her to refuse him. She loved him too much, despite everything.

She turned with a sad little smile and went out of the building, caught a cab and went back to her hotel room. It was just as well not to trust in dreams.

* * *

She was sleeping. She woke suddenly, just after an attack of some sort, bombs going off, a rifle shot. She was wet with sweat, even in the air-conditioned room. She still had nightmares from her ordeal in Barrera. The phone was ringing off the hook.

She answered the phone, noting that it was three o’clock in the morning. “Yes?” she asked, surprised at the call at this hour.

“Miss Carrington? It’s O’Bailey. You remember me?”

She searched her memories. “You’re the computer hacker. You were with us when General Machado led the counterrevolution.”

“That’s me, ma’am.” He cleared his throat. “The general said you were here for the awards ceremony. I was, too, but I arrived late. I heard a commotion downstairs and when I looked in the bar, well, it’s really bad. He’s going to kill somebody or get himself arrested. That would really upset the general with all the international press here, and I thought...”

“He?” Clarisse asked.

“Rourke,” he replied. “He’s totally out of control. I’ve only ever seen him drunk a time or two, and he’s dangerous when he drinks. Somebody has to get him out of there, or the general’s policemen are going to arrest him and put him in jail.” He hesitated. “There are reporters in the hotel, too. If one of them sees him...”

“Rourke is drunk?” She was dumbfounded. “O’Bailey, he doesn’t drink hard liquor. Well, maybe he drinks, but he never has enough to make him lose control...”

“Ma’am, he just threw one of the bouncers through a glass window.”

“Oh, good Lord!” she exclaimed.

“I was wondering if you could come down here and maybe talk to him.”

She hesitated. She was afraid of Rourke in a temper.