Every time he touched her, she seemed to have less and less resistance, Leya thought dazedly.
"Can't you give me the words, Leya?" he begged a little thickly, lowering his head to drop the tiniest of shivering kisses on the back of her neck.
Leya flinched, as she had known she would, but she couldn't bring herself to step away from the implicit danger.
"And hand you your victory on a silver platter?" she asked, sensing his arousal and the control he was exerting over himself. It touched a chord of excitement deep in her body, emboldened her in some strange fashion.
"It's not a question of victory or challenge," he whispered, once again touching his lips to her nape. She knew he must have sensed her inner tremor. "When you realize that, you'll realize you're only hurting both of us by being so stubborn."
His hands went to her waist, settling there lightly, with no compulsion. Slowly, she turned within the circle of the embrace and met his eyes with a searching gaze.
"Am I hurting you, Court?"
"You're driving me crazy!" he gritted before taking her lips in the most feather-light of kisses. "And, yes, it hurts!"
Of their own accord, Leya's arms wrapped themselves around his neck, her body urging a closer contact with this man who could inflame her senses so easily. It would be safe tonight, she told herself silently. He wouldn't dare risk forcing her beyond the limits she wanted to set. He wouldn't want to jeopardize the future victory. Would he?
But he was leading her on again, his mouth persuasive, coaxing, cajoling, but not demanding. As she had the night at the inn, Leya felt herself responding to the safe lovemaking he seemed to promise.
Her body inclined toward his and she felt his hands slide down the length of her spine, seeking the intimate feel of her. He stood braced, his feet slightly apart and gently urged her hips against his lower body, inviting her into his warmth.
She groaned against his mouth and parted her lips, luring him into the sensual investigation he sought.
"Leya!"
Her name was a husky whisper as she moved against him and his hands tightened perceptibly. She moved her head, seeking the tanned column of his throat and felt him tremble as she scorched kisses down to the opening of his khaki shirt.
She loved this, she realized dimly. She loved the feel of him, she loved making love to him. She loved his response . . .
"You really are intending to drive me crazy, aren't you?" he growled, his fingers digging erotically into the curve of her derriere.
"And if I am?" she taunted, alive with the scent and feel of him.
"I'll just have to endure the punishment, won't I?" he mocked gently.
He moved, taking a step backward and sinking into the sofa, pulling her into a gentle sprawl on top of him.
She met his eyes, saw the deep male need there and responded to it. Slowly, she bent her head and kissed him, drawing out the teasing, provocative caress until she felt him shudder beneath her.
His hands held her more tightly against him, his legs stretched out so that she lay between them. Her own inner urgency grew as she began to explore the warm skin that disappeared beneath the collar of his shirt, and she was so engrossed with undoing the first button she encountered that she was hardly aware of it when his hands slid under the material of her yellow blouse.
Then, quite suddenly, his fingers were circling her breasts, seeking the sensitized nipples, and she knew he had undone the clasp of her bra. The electric shock of his touch brought her temporarily back to reality.
"Court, I don't—"
"Hush, Leya," he breathed, his fingers sliding under the small, full weight of her breasts while his thumbs probed the tips. "This is the way it was meant to be between us. We've both known that from the beginning."
"Court, I won't let you push me into bed!" she cried softly, almost beseechingly.
"Are you sure about that?" he half-smiled, some of his natural arrogance seeping through to alarm her.
"Some victory that would be!" she taunted desperately, knowing the precariousness of her situation now.
"What makes you think you'd be unwilling?" he charged roughly, eyes glittering as he raked her features. His fingers moved again on her breasts, and when she trembled in response, satisfaction flared in his gaze.
"You might succeed in forcing a response," she conceded, knowing it was useless to protest that fact. "But that wouldn't give you the victory you'd have if I were to admit I trusted you again, would it? I think you like your challenges completely conquered, Court Tremayne, not just partially!"
Something dangerous flickered through him, communicating itself to her body, and she suddenly sensed the deep masculine instinct that wanted to have done with the taunts and defiance.
"For a woman who's intent on not offering me a challenge, you seem very good at throwing down the gauntlet," he finally rasped warningly. "What would you do if I chose to pick it up?"
His hands closed like steel bands around her waist, holding her immobile.
"What are you talking about?" she demanded, feeling the prickle of fear.
"What if I decided not to wait for the words and simply took what was offered? And it was offered, Leya," he reminded her with a touch of savagery. "Last night you were more than willing! Perhaps I should have carried matters a little farther. Another few minutes and you might have been willing to say anything I wanted you to say!"
"Well, I certainly didn't have to worry about that happening, did I?" she flung back, incensed. "You made it very clear that the only way you want me is the way most flattering to your ego! You were in a rage last night when you drove me home. I think you would have cheerfully thrown me out the door if you hadn't felt somehow obliged to take me back home!"
"Did that bother you, sweetheart?" he breathed, some of the impatience in him fading. "Did it hurt
your
ego to know I could call a halt, get dressed, and take you home?"
"I don't know what dazzling conclusion you think you've reached about my behavior," she began furiously, not liking the direction the conversation was taking.
"Did you think last night was easy on me?" he soothed, reaching up to toy with her dark braid as he smiled with affectionate amusement. "Don't you know how hard it was to take you home last night? Don't you know how I spent the remainder of the night staring at the ceiling of my room and thinking about how good you had felt in my arms? About the softness of your breasts and the way your nipples flower under my fingers like buds bursting into bloom? Don't you think I was in misery remembering the invitation in your eyes, the feel of your legs alongside mine?"
"Court!" she squeaked, turning several deepening shades of red at his totally unexpected verbal lovemak-ing. His eyes poured gold over her.
"Oh, I suffered last night, if that's what's worrying you," he assured her softly. "I wanted very badly to slip golden chains around you and listen to you make the sweet sounds of love."
"But you didn't want me badly enough to take me on my terms. You wanted a full surrender first!" she retorted accusingly.
"Maybe," he husked, cupping her face between rough palms and pulling her head down to his. "Maybe I do want to feel more certain of you. Is that so very strange?"
"Feeling certain of someone is not the same thing as ... as demanding a complete surrender!"
"In our case," he said quite steadily as he dragged her mouth down onto his, "I think it might be!"
He swamped her now with the force of his passion, unleashing all the uncompromising desire he had been holding in check. She felt the rising need in him and wanted to cry out. But her lips were captive to his.
He shifted his weight with a strong movement that reversed their positions on the sofa. In an instant he was covering her, letting her know the full weight of him as he began undoing the buttons of the yellow blouse.
"Court, no!"
"What's the matter, Leya?" he murmured into her throat as his hands once more claimed her breasts. "You have no need to fight me this time. I won't demand a confession of undying love and trust from you tonight!"
Pushing aside the fabric of the blouse, he bent his head to curl his tongue around the peak of her breast. Leya shuddered, her hands clenching in the thickness of his hair.
"Please! I don't want us to . . ."
"Last night you wanted it. You'll want it again tonight," he vowed.
She tried to move her legs, only to have him take advantage of the action and thrust his own between hers. Her senses spun.
"Oh!"
He ignored the small cry, his fingers sliding down the material of her jeans to find her hips in an urgent caress. She felt his tongue dip enticingly into her navel and her body arched upward instinctively.
"At least you can't hide your physical response!" he groaned, letting her feel his teeth on the softness of her stomach in an exquisite touch.
His fingers trailed down to play with the back of her knee, massaging it through the jeans in an amazingly erotic movement that brought small moans from Leya's throat.
Her hands glided down onto the muscles of his shoulders, and she dug in her nails with catlike intensity.
"Oh, my God, Court! Please!"
"Please, what, Leya?" he challenged, edging slowly back along the length of her body. "Please make love to you? I will. And I won't make the mistake I made last night."
"What mistake?" she demanded hoarsely, delighting in the feel of him as she pushed her hands under his shirt and clung to his strong back.
"I won't make any demands you're not prepared to satisfy," he swore. "We'll try it your way!"
"My way? I don't understand! What are you saying?"
She didn't want to think, but some restless part of her mind kept forcing her to do so. Something was wrong. She had to get a grip on the situation and herself. She
had
to! Already his fingers were undoing the snap of her jeans.
"Stop it, Court! What do you mean you won't make any demands? That's exactly what you're doing!"
"No, I'm not. I haven't asked anything of you yet," he said tersely, his fingers gripping the waistband of her jeans as he prepared to drag them down over her hips.
"I haven't made you swear your trust or your faith in me or your undying love ..."
Leya began to panic, realizing he was intent on pursuing the sexual goal without any of the words that would make it right. She twisted, struggling to loosen his grip, but he leaned the full weight of his body against her.
"What's the matter, Leya?" he rasped, raising his head to meet her now frantic gaze.
"This was the way you wanted it last night, remember?"
"No! Not this way! You don't understand!"
"What don't I understand? You didn't want the words. AH right, I agree to accept your terms!"
She heard the thread of harshness in his voice, felt it in the way he was handling her, and wanted to cry. Desperately, she pushed against his shoulders.
"Please," she begged, her lips trembling as she watched him, wide-eyed and terribiy uncertain. "I don't want you to do this to me. Please, Court!"
"What do you want, Leya?" he demanded tightly, his hands stilling on her hips. "I'm trying to do this your way. Tell me what you want!"
"Damn you! Stop pushing me like this!" she wailed, doubling her hands into fists against the muscles of his shoulders. "I know what you're trying to do! You're trying to force me into a corner where I'll admit anything you want!"
"How can a man force a woman to say she trusts him?" he taunted bitterly.
"By pushing her to the point where she will say the words he wants rather than go through with the lovemaking without them!" Leya stormed furiously.
For a stark second, a curious silence hovered in the air. Then Court spoke very softly.
"Why should the words matter? Why can't you go through with the physical side of things without them? You were willing last night..."
"Last night—last night I was wrong," Leya returned in a heavy, unhappy whisper.
"Last night I hoped..."
"What did you hope, Leya?" he prodded.
"Nothing," she said dismally. How could she explain that last night she had somehow hoped making love together might put things right between them? It was the kind of illusion women had tempted themselves with forever. And it was just as false now as it had been thousands of years ago. It took the words to make it right.
The words of genuine commitment.
"You hoped that we would say all the right things to each other in the throes of passion?" he hazarded roughly.
"Yes!" she admitted with a hint of arrogant defiance. She would not let this man crush her spirit tonight!
His eyes blazed into hers for a long, unwavering moment, and then, so quickly that it startled her, he sat up, swinging his legs to the floor. His hand continued to rest on her vulnerable, naked stomach.
He turned his head to meet her questioning gaze. "Does it strike you," he began dryly, "that we think along the same lines? Now, all we have to do is get the timing coordinated!"
She edged carefully out from under his absently possessive hand, pulling her blouse around her and beginning to button it with unsteady fingers.
"You mean last night you wanted the words before the sex and tonight I wanted them," she agreed flatly, not looking at him.
"Tonight, I was the one who talked himself into thinking they could be put off until later," Court said
gently, putting out a hand to touch her dark braid. "With any luck, maybe we've both learned something."
She glanced up sharply and found the gold of his eyes warming her intently.
"Court . . ."
"Come on, Leya," he ordered gently, getting to his feet. "It's time you went home."
* * *
Instinctively, she knew that scenes such as the one she had just been through and the one the previous evening could repeat themselves indefinitely until one or the other of them succumbed to the lure of satisfaction without commitment and understanding.