His Virgin Wife: The Wedding in White / Caught in the Crossfire / The Virgin's Secret Marriage. Diana Palmer
material, I do know,” she told him. “It was just a question of reviewing my notes every day. But this biology was a nightmare. I never thought I’d grasp it. You have a knack for making it sound simple. It isn’t.”
“I use a lot of it in my breeding program,” he said on a lazy stretch. He flexed his shoulders. “You can’t get good beef cattle unless you breed for specific qualities.”
“I guess not.” Her eyes went involuntarily to his high cheekbones, his straight nose, and then down to that disciplined, very sensuous mouth. It made her tingle to look at it.
“You’re staring,” he murmured.
“I was just thinking,” she replied absently.
“Thinking what?”
She shifted a little and lowered her eyes, smiling shyly. “I was thinking that you’ve never kissed me.”
“That’s a lie,” he returned amusedly. “I kissed you last Christmas under the mistletoe.”
“That was a kiss?” she drawled.
“It was the only sort of kiss I felt comfortable with, considering that my brothers and my sister were staring at us the whole time,” he said with a twinkle in his dark eye.
“I guess they’d run you ragged if you made a serious pass at someone.”
“I’ve made several serious passes at you,” he replied, and he didn’t smile. “You don’t seem to notice them.”
She colored, and her voice felt choked. “I notice them, all right.”
“You run,” he corrected. His gaze fell to her soft mouth and lingered there. “I’d enjoy kissing you, Nat,” he added quietly. “But a kiss is a stepping-stone. It leads down a road you may not want to walk right away.”
She frowned, puzzled. “What sort of road?”
“I don’t want to get married,” he said simply. “And you don’t want to have intercourse.”
“McKinzey Killain!” she exclaimed, outraged, sitting straight up.
“There’s another word for it.” He grinned wickedly. “Want to hear it?”
“You say it, and I’ll brain you with your own boot!” she threatened, making a grab for one of the highly polished pair lying just past his hip.
He was too quick for her. He caught her arm as it reached his abdomen and jerked her down on the other side of him, turning her under a long, powerful leg and arm with speed and grace.
She found herself flat on her back looking into his taut, somber face. She’d expected laughter, amusement, even mocking good humor. None of those emotions was evident. He was very still, and his good eye held an intimidating expression.
She could feel the powerful muscle of his thigh across hers, the pressure vaguely arousing. She could feel the hard, heavy beat of his heart against her breasts in their light covering. She could taste his breath on her mouth as he stared at her from point-blank range. She began to feel hot and swollen all over from the unfamiliar proximity. She didn’t know whether to try to laugh it off or fight her way off the carpet.
He seemed to sense her internal struggle, because that long leg moved enough to pin her in a position that was just shy of intimate.
She jerked and moved her hips. He caught them with one big, lean hand and held her down hard.
“Don’t do that,” he said huskily, “unless you’re in a reckless mood.”
She stilled, curious.
He let go of her hip and slid his hand into her hair, tugging off the band that held it in place behind her ears. He smoothed her hair over the carpet and looked into her face with an expression that bordered on possession.
His fingers trailed down the side of her neck to the opening of her blouse and lingered there, tracing a deliberate pattern on the soft skin that provoked a shiver from her responsive body.
His long leg moved, just barely, and her lips parted on an audible sound as her body arched involuntarily.
His hips shifted, pinning her, and his face hardened. “Do you know what that does to me? Or are you experimenting?”
She swallowed, and her eyes searched his. “I don’t know what it does,” she confessed huskily. “I feel very odd.”
“Odd how?”
His intent gaze made her heartbeat quicken. “I feel swollen,” she whispered, as if she were telling him a secret.
His gaze dropped to her parted mouth. “Where?” he breathed. “Here?” And his hand slid under her hips and lifted her right into the blatant contours of his aroused body.
She did gasp then, but she didn’t try to get away. She looked straight at him, enthralled.
“I want you,” he said in a rough whisper. “And now you know what happens when I want you.” His hand contracted, grinding her against him. “You’d better be sure what you want, before I go over the edge.”
Her body seemed to dissolve under him. She made a husky little sound deep in her throat and shivered as delicious sensations rippled through her body.
He groaned. His hand moved into the thick fall of her hair and pinned her head as he bent down. “I should be shot,” he ground out against her parted lips.
“Why?” she moaned, lifting her arms around his neck.
“Nat…”
The sound went into her mouth. He kissed her with a barely leashed hunger that made every secret dream of her life come true. She relaxed under him, reached up to hold him tight, moved her legs to admit the harsh downward thrust of his hips. She moaned again, a sound almost of anguish, as the kiss grew harder and slower and more insistent. He tasted of hot chocolate and pure man as he explored her soft, willing mouth. She’d been kissed, but never like this. He knew more about women than she ever expected to learn about men. She matched his hunger with enthusiasm rather than experience, and he knew immediately that she was in over her head.
He lifted his mouth, noticing with reluctant pleasure that she followed its ascent, trying to coax it back over her lips.
“No,” he whispered tenderly, holding her down with a gentle arm right across her hard-tipped breasts.
“Why not?” she asked miserably. “Don’t you like kissing me?”
He drew in an unsteady breath and ground his hips against hers. “Does that feel as if I like it?” he asked with black humor.
She just looked at him, a little shy but totally without understanding.
He shifted so that he was beside her on the carpet, arched across her yielding, taut body. “I don’t keep anything in my wallet to use,” he said bluntly. “If you want to make love, I have to go to town and buy something to keep you from getting pregnant. Does that make it any clearer?”
Her eyes seemed to widen impossibly for a few seconds. “You mean…have sex?”
“A man has sex with a one-night stand. You’re not one.”
She studied him quietly, with open curiosity. “I’m not?”
He traced her mouth with a lean forefinger, watching it open hungrily. “I want you very badly,” he whispered. “But your conscience would beat you to death, with or without precautions.”
She still hesitated. “Maybe…”
He put his finger across her lips. “Maybe not,” he said with returning good humor. “I came over to teach you biology, not reproduction.”
“You don’t want babies,” she said, and she sounded sad.
He grimaced. “I don’t want