Diana Palmer Texan Lovers: Calhoun / Justin / Tyler / Sutton's Way / Ethan / Connal

His mouth covered hers. His tongue teased, probed, withdrew, probed again and began a taunting invasion that was every bit as intimate as his huge, softly moving body on hers. She moaned. She grasped him. She bit at his firm, chiseled lower lip. Her tongue shyly grasped him. She bit at his firm, chiseled lower lip. Her tongue shyly encountered his and began to fence with it. She began to shudder, and so did he, and just when she was going under for the third time he slid away from her and gathered her against his side, holding her cheek to his shoulder while the trembling grew.

“Calhoun.” Her voice broke.

“It’s all right,” he whispered. “I’ll make it bearable.”

His big hands found her jacket and eased it off. He unfastened the sweater where it buttoned over one shoulder, and levered it up lazily, unfastening the hooks of her lacy bra and tugging the whole of her upper covering over her head and moved it aside.

She started to cover herself, but his mouth was suddenly on her breasts, and what he did to them was too sweet, too addictive to protest.

She gave in, arching toward his mouth, drowning in his ardor. He knew exactly what to do, how to arouse her to a fever pitch. She let him, welcomed him, her body fluid in his hands, her voice softly inciting him.

He sat up for just a minute, long enough to strip off his jacket and shirt. Then he was poised over her, vibrantly male with his hair-roughened chest bare and muscular, his eyes glittering with desire as they caressed her own bareness.

“I can’t stop you,” she whispered shakily, tears stinging her eyes as she watched him come to her. “I don’t want to stop you.”

“I want to hold you like this,” he whispered, levering his chest over her bare, aroused breasts, rubbing softly against her body. “Isn’t it sweet, Abby? Skin against skin. Breast to breast in the darkness, mouth to aching mouth…Kiss me, sweetheart. Open your mouth and kiss me until you can’t bear the wanting any longer.”

She did. Her arms held him, trembling, her body welcomed the crush of his. The mattress moved under them and the air washed over her body while his mouth fed on hers, seduced hers, intimate and ardent and tender.

His mouth lifted seconds later, and he looked into her eyes in the faint light from the hall. “I don’t think I can stop,” he whispered, his voice oddly husky.

“I don’t want you to stop,” she moaned. “Oh, Calhoun, please, please…please!”

His mouth slid down to her breast, taking it inside. His hand went to the fastening of her skirt and loosened it. His lean fingers slid onto the soft skin of her belly, pressing there, savoring the soft skin.

“The…risk,” she whispered shakily.

“Of a child?” he murmured against her breasts. He nuzzled her soft skin with his cheek, his eyes closed, the scent of her all around him, in his blood. His hand slid under her hips, lifting them hungrily into the hard contours of his own, holding her there with undisguised passion. “For the first time in my life, I’m not afraid of the consequences, Abby.”

His mouth was over hers again, and she wasn’t quite sure she’d heard him. Her mind was on fire, her body was burning. Her legs moved helplessly against his. She wanted him. She wanted all of him. She moaned as she tried to get closer, to absorb him, possess him. She felt savage and wild. She wanted to join with him, to be a part of the massive, muscular body that was slowly driving her mad.

Her arms reached up, her fingers tangled in his thick blond hair as she moved her hips sensually under his in movements that made him cry out.

“Abby—!” he bit off, shuddering.

“I love you,” she sobbed.

His mouth was over hers, and he began to remove her skirt with unsteady hands. It was going to happen. Here, now, she was going to know him in every way there was.

But in the middle of her feverish pleas, there was the sudden, unexpected pealing of the doorbell.

He paused, his body racked by shudders. “Oh, my God,” he said, choking.

“Don’t answer it,” she whispered tearfully.

He lifted his head, pushing back sweaty hair. He was gasping for breath, his body vibrating with frustrated need, driving urgency. He shuddered. “I can’t get up,” he whispered with a hollow laugh. He pushed away from her and lay on his stomach, groaning, his lean hands speared into the pillow, crushing it.

Abby didn’t know what to do. She knew better than to touch him. She lay there, not moving, sanity coming back slowly. She concentrated on trying to breathe while her heartbeat shook her.

The doorbell kept ringing. After a moment, Calhoun managed to sit up. He looked a little foggy as he got to his feet, but he was breathing almost normally.

“Are you all right?” she whispered shyly.

“I’m all right,” he said softly. “Are you?”

At least he wasn’t angry. “Yes,” she replied, her tone equally soft.

He took a steadying breath and got to the door. Unexpectedly he switched on the light and turned to look at her, his eyes narrow, full of possession and something violent, dark, hungry.

Her breasts were mauve and peach, exquisitely formed, taut with arousal. Where he’d pulled her skirt down, he could see the graceful curve of her hips below her small waist.

“God, I could die looking at you,” he said huskily. “I’ve never seen a woman so perfect.”

She flushed, but the intensity of his delight in her was overwhelming. She sat up slowly, watching his gaze move to the firm thrust of her breasts, and she felt herself go hot with pride and pleasure.

He looked up then, catching the light in her eyes. “You belong to me now,” he said. “As surely as if I hadn’t stopped. We’ll work out the details later, but there won’t be anyone else for me from this night on. I’ll never touch another woman until I die.” And with that quiet, terse statement, he turned and left the room.

Abby wasn’t sure she hadn’t dreamed the whole thing. She got into her clothes in a daze, shaking with pent-up emotion. She wanted to cry and scream and laugh and dance.

He was talking to someone. His voice was curt and almost angry. Frowning, Abby stepped out into the hall, her mouth swollen, her hair in tangles, her silk skirt hopelessly wrinkled. As she went into the living room, she recognized Calhoun’s guest. It was the blonde from the restaurant, the one he’d taken out the night Abby had gone to dinner with Justin.

“So that’s why you didn’t have time for me,” the older woman said when she saw Abby. “My God, she’s barely out of school!”

“Abby, go back into the bedroom,” Calhoun said.

“Yes, Abby, go and hide,” the blonde added viciously, although tears were visible in her big eyes.

But Abby didn’t. She went quietly to Calhoun and slid her hand trustingly into his.

“I love him with all my heart,” Abby told the other woman. “I guess you probably do, too, and I’m sorry. But I’d rather die than lose him.”

The blonde looked at her for a long moment, and then at Calhoun. “It would have served you right if she hated you, as many hearts as you’ve broken,” she cried, her lower lip trembling. “But that won’t ever happen, any more than you’ll ever love any one of us. Not even she can reach that stone you call a heart!” She turned to Abby. “You’ll never have all of him.” She laughed bitterly. “All he can give you is his body, and he’ll soon get tired of yours and go off to conquer new worlds. Men like him don’t settle down, honey, so if you’re looking for happy endings, you’d better run like hell.”

She gave Calhoun a final, bitter glance and was gone as quickly as she’d arrived.

Calhoun closed the door, his face hard, unyielding.

“I’m sorry you had to hear that,” he said quietly.

“So am I.” Abby searched his eyes sadly, wondering if the other woman was right about his lack of feeling. Perhaps she should run. But how could she, when she loved him?

His eyes narrowed as he saw the indecision and fear in hers. “You don’t trust me, do you?” he asked. “You think she might be right, that you can’t have a future with me.”

“You said yourself that you didn’t want to be tied,” she replied. “I understand.” She dropped her eyes. “Maybe I’m too young for marriage anyway. I’ve never been out on my own at all. I’ve hardly even dated. Maybe what I feel for you is just a crush and my first taste of desire.”

She didn’t really mean what she’d just told him, but it gave him an out if he wanted one. He’d wanted her in the bedroom, and perhaps he’d said things he didn’t really mean. She didn’t want him to feel obligated just because they’d almost gone too far.

But Calhoun didn’t realize that she was trying to save him from himself. He took her words at face value and felt their impact as if they were bullets. She was telling him that she wasn’t sure she loved him, and at the worst possible moment. When she’d put her slender hand so trustingly in his, he’d known for the first time what he felt for her. His feelings went deeper than lust, and they wouldn’t fade. But now he was afraid to tell her, to put the emotion into words. She was admitting that she might have mistaken infatuation and desire for something lasting. She was young, all right, and inexperienced. He might be taking advantage of a natural step in her progression to womanhood. What if he risked his heart and she kicked it aside when she got through this phase? She was young, and she’d bounce back. But Calhoun had never loved before, and the thought of being rejected terrified him.