And the Desert Blooms (6 page)

“Be sure of it,” he said dryly. He untied the belt of the velour robe and took it off. It was almost dark in the room now, and he was only a sleek shadow as he moved to the other side of the bed and slipped beneath the sheet. “Go to sleep.”

“I will.” She was almost asleep already. The physical and emotional release she’d experienced was having an almost narcotic effect on her. “Thank you for letting me stay,” she murmured like a polite little girl.

“It’s only for tonight,” he growled. “Don’t make so much of it.”

“Whatever you say,” she said drowsily.

He lay there on his back, separated from her by the width of the large bed, yet imagining he could still feel her warm, yielding flesh. His own body was rigid as he brought up his arm to rest it beneath his head, his eyes staring straight ahead into the darkness. “Did I hurt you?” he asked jerkily.

“What?” She tried to struggle up out of the cocoon that was wrapping her in the silken fibers of sleep. “No, not very much.”

“Well, I might have,” he said harshly. “It would have been entirely your own fault, you realize. I’m not a gentle man, but I don’t enjoy hurting women. If you’d had any sense, you would have told—” He broke off. His tirade was falling on deaf ears. He could tell by Pandora’s deep, even breathing that she was asleep.

“Damn!” It was just like the maddening brat to drift peacefully off to sleep, leaving him in this aching void of frustration. He had just had her, but he was as hard and throbbing as when he’d held her on his lap in the chair and . . . He drew a long, shuddering breath and closed his eyes. He couldn’t think about it. He had to think about how she’d tricked him, about the way she’d manipulated him as if he were a blasted puppet. He had always had control over his emotions. He would just have to practice that control now.

He was infinitely careful as he slid into her warmth. First she was empty and then she was full of his hardness. From the deepest reaches of sleep she was conscious of his gentleness as he began to move. How beautiful it was, she thought dreamily. Not like before, when it had been hard and fast and breathlessly exciting. This was slow and lazy and sweetly fulfilling. She tried to open her eyes. “Philip . . .”

“Shhh . . . I didn’t mean to do this. I lay there half the night fighting it. But I can’t help myself.”

“S’all right.” Her words were slightly slurred. “I like it.”

He chuckled. “I’m glad one of us approves.” He bent down and lightly kissed one eyelid and then the other. The tempo of his thrusts escalated. She could hear the heaviness of his breathing above her and feel the tension building in him. She tried to help, but his hands were immediately at her hips, preventing her from moving. “No, I’m trying to hold on to what control I have left. I don’t want to hurt you. I shouldn’t be doing this again tonight.”

“You should be doing whatever you want to do,” she whispered. “I’ll always want you, Philip.”

He went still. “Will you?” He bent forward to kiss the delicate blue tracery of veins at her temple. “I think the only thing you want right now is to go back to sleep.” With a flurry of powerful thrusts, he gained a fiery release from the tension that had tormented him for the past hours. Then he was gone, shifting off, but not away from her this time. He pulled her close, cradling her against his shoulder so that her hair fell on his chest in a silken silver veil. Gradually his breathing grew steady and his heartbeat slowed.

“Did I help?” she asked sleepily.

“I didn’t mean to do that to you.” His words were stilted, his voice thick with disgust. “Pandora, I’m . . . sorry.”

“Did it help?” she asked again.

“Yes. Oh, Lord, yes, it helped.”

“Then that’s all that’s important.” She gave his shoulder a drowsy kiss. “I like helping you. Good night, Philip.”

He didn’t answer for a moment, and when he did his voice was a little husky. “Good night, Pandora.”

He wasn’t sure she had heard him. She was asleep again.

He found it impossible to follow suit. He should have been pleasantly relaxed, but he found himself charged with a mysterious tension that had nothing to do with desire. Tenderness. Dear heaven, he had never felt such tenderness before. It was like an immense tidal wave sweeping through him. He didn’t want to feel like this. Not about anyone or anything. He
wouldn’t
feel like this. He liked his life the way it was.

Pandora would belong to him, but it would be in the way he chose. What that way would be, he hadn’t the wildest idea at the moment. But one thing was certain: Making love to her again any time soon would be a mistake. He wanted her too much. That desire would give her a power he wasn’t willing to yield to anyone. He would just have to stay away from her until that fever cooled. It shouldn’t take long. No woman had ever managed to hold his interest for more than a few weeks.

However, it wasn’t desire that was putting his every nerve on edge. It was the tenderness. That emotion was far more dangerous than sexual arousal. He would have to take great care to guard himself against Pandora and that bewildering gentleness she inspired in him. He wasn’t aware that even as the resolve was made, his arm tightened around her in protection.

He was still holding her in his arms when she opened her eyes the next morning. The gray light of predawn was filtering through the windows, showing her his face, so close to her own. She lay there in blissful contentment for a little while, just letting the wonderful intimacy of the moment seep into her. How many times in the last six years had she daydreamed about Philip holding her like this?

He looked so tired. Dark shadows were painted beneath his eyes, and his cheeks were hollow. At the moment he looked every day of his thirty-eight years. When he was awake he was so filled with energy and strength that she had never been aware he could be as vulnerable as this. She felt a rush of tenderness that flowed into every part of her. She had loved him for so long, yet she had never felt this maternal protectiveness before. She dropped a light kiss on his cheekbone and reluctantly slid out of his embrace.

She tucked the sheet carefully around his shoulders and moved swiftly to the door. She mustn’t push too hard. She had given Philip enough to digest.

It was probably her fault that he looked as if he had slept very little the night before. Poor Philip. He wouldn’t like the disruption that she was about to make in his life. Well, that was just too bad. It was all for his own good, and it was up to her to prove it to him. But, for now, she’d back off and give him breathing room.

The sun was beginning to streak across the sky in a burst of pink and lavender as she crossed the stableyard. She paused for a minute to breathe in the fresh scents of earth and grass. She could feel the coolness of the breeze against her cheeks and the joy rising up in her. Dear God, how good it was to be alive on a morning like this!

She was about to turn and go into the stables when she heard a soft neigh. She glanced casually toward the fenced pasture and then froze. Oedipus! The black stallion gleaming in the first light of dawn had to be Oedipus. She was over the high fence in seconds and running along the edge of the pasture. He was so beautiful, with his clean, powerful lines and a wild pride that was evident in every muscle and tendon. She slowed to a walk as she approached him. She mustn’t startle him. Oedipus had always been only half tamed, and he was easily spooked.

“Hello, boy! Have you missed me?” Her voice was a soothing murmur as she approached him. “I’ve missed you. It’s been a long time, hasn’t it? I’ve been around a lot of horses since I’ve been gone, but there’s never been one like you.” He was looking straight at her, but she couldn’t tell if he remembered her or not. With Oedipus, she might never know. He certainly wasn’t sloppy about revealing his affections, she thought ruefully. Everything about his nature was difficult and challenging. In that way he reminded her of Philip. Perhaps that was why she had always been so crazy about Oedipus.

“What are you doing out here all by yourself, instead of lazing in your nice warm stall?” She was next to him now and reaching out a careful hand to stroke his nose. It was velvet beneath her palm. He looked at her as if he understood every word she was saying. “But then, you never did like to be inside, did you? Neither do I. It’s always better to be out in the open, running with the wind in your hair.” She moved slowly to his side, her hand shifting from his muzzle to his mane. “What do you say we do that now, boy?” Then, using the fence as a mounting block, she was on his back, gripping strongly with her knees. As she expected, he put up a fuss, but it was only a token protest. After she had ridden it out he settled down beautifully. “You want it, too, you devil.” She laughed softly. “You just wanted to give me a hard time. Now let’s
go
.”

She started out at an easy canter, graduated into a gallop, and then they ran flat out, circling the large pasture as if it were a racetrack. She bent low over his mane, talking, urging him on. Oedipus was silk and fire beneath her, and the wind was tearing at her hair with cool, careless fingers. It was glorious!

“Pandora!”

She flinched. Oh dear, Philip. She cast him a glance. He looked just as grim as he sounded. He was dressed in riding clothes, and his hair was slightly rumpled. That was unusual in a man as meticulously groomed as Philip and boded no good. He must have guessed what she was up to as soon as he had awakened and dashed down here to catch her in the act. Drat it, Philip always seemed to know when she was doing something that wouldn’t meet with his approval. She slowed Oedipus and headed him toward the fence. “Good morning, Philip. Didn’t Oedipus look beautiful? He runs like he’s still a two-year-old.”

“He’s not two years old, he’s eight,” Philip said distinctly. “And he’s learned a good deal of devilry in those eight years. For your information, the fact that he’s out here and not in the barn does not indicate that the poor old nag has been put out to pasture. He has the unpleasant habit these days of trying to kick his stall down. Last year he tried to trample a stableboy.” His eyes were blazing. “And you’re riding him
bareback
!”

“He likes me,” she said defiantly. “He’s always liked me. He may be mean, but I know how to handle him.” She looked Philip in the eyes. “He reminds me of you.”

For a moment indignation and outrage conflicted on his face. “Why, you little scamp,” he said softly. “I ought to—” He was suddenly chuckling and reaching up to help her off Oedipus’s back. “I’ve never had a woman compare me to a horse before. Most particularly a nasty one.”

“It’s only at times that he reminds me of you,” she amended. “Sometimes he can be quite lovable.”

His hands tightened on her waist. “Brat. You’ve grown impudent over the years. You never would have had the nerve to insult me before.”

“If I had, maybe your arrogance would have been deflated a little.”

“I was never arrogant. I was merely always and inevitably right.” He slapped Oedipus on the rump and the stallion cantered off. “Exactly as I am now.”

“If Oedipus has become so violent, why do you keep him around?”

He didn’t look at her as he took her elbow and began to propel her across the pasture. “A whim, perhaps.” His lips twisted in a sardonic smile. “No doubt I feel a subliminal kinship for the devil.” He frowned. “Regardless of the reason, you’re to stay off him.”

She didn’t answer, but her face took on a mutinous look.

“Pandora,” he said warningly.

“I can handle him,” she burst out. “I understand him.”

“The way you think you understand me?” He shook his head. “Don’t count on it. All understanding is colored by one’s point of view. Both Oedipus and I are capable of acts that you can’t imagine.”

“No, I don’t believe—”

“Pandora, if I catch you on Oedipus again, I’ll get rid of him.”

“You can’t mean that. Not after all these years. He belongs here.”

“I mean it,” he said flatly. “You’ve made sure that I can’t send you away, but there’s nothing stopping me from getting rid of Oedipus.”

She gazed at him uncertainly. “You’d really do it?”

“Try me.”

She looked away. “You know I won’t do that,” she said huskily. “I couldn’t take the chance.”

“Wise woman. I wish you’d be as reasonable about your own welfare.”

“That’s another matter entirely.”

“And one you don’t want to talk about,” he finished dryly. “All right, my little ostrich, we’ll drop it for the moment.” He was silent until they had left the pasture and were crossing the stableyard. “That was a difficult stunt to pull off bareback,” he said abruptly. “You obviously haven’t lost any of your skill while you’ve been belting out rock songs to the panting populace.”

“I rode every day,” she said quietly. “The shows were only at night. That left all the daylight hours to do what I wanted to do. I’d ride for four hours in the morning and spend the afternoon working on college correspondence courses.” She grimaced. “It nearly killed me to stay inside all that time when I wanted to be at the stables.”

“Yet you did it anyway.” He was gazing at her thoughtfully. “Why?”

She shrugged. “I figured it was better to be miserable than stupid. I told myself the mornings at the stable were my reward for that blasted studying. A fair exchange. Something I needed for something I wanted. When I finally got used to the schedule it wasn’t so bad.”

“And horses were what you wanted?”

“Always,” she said simply. “I never wanted to do anything else. You know that.”

“No glamour of the footlights for you?” His eyes searched her face.

She shook her head. “I never liked performing. It was all right once I learned to cope with it. It was better than being hungry.”

His lips tightened. “You were hungry?”

“Of course.” She looked at him in surprise. “I was fifteen years old with no job experience and just four pounds and a few pence in my purse when I ran away from Abernathy in London.” She made a face. “The money lasted two weeks. I was lucky to stretch it that far.”

“And then?”

“I managed,” she said evasively. “You don’t want to hear all that dreary business.”