After The Music. Diana Palmer
she confessed, showing the bottle. “I don’t drink, you see. Jessica hides some soft drinks for me, so I don’t have to look repressed in front of Al’s guests.”
He cocked his head. “You don’t look repressed.” That faint smile was still playing on his firm mouth. “Al’s secretary must be a friend of yours.”
“A very good one.”
“Jessica’s all right. Al said he couldn’t get anyone else to hostess for him, and she’s doing a pretty good job.”
Faint praise, she thought, and a bit condescending, but he had a right to his opinion. “You’re going to have a gorgeous shiner, there,” she remarked.
“You ought to see the other guy,” he mused.
She sighed. “Poor Hamilton Regan Thorndon the Third. I hope you didn’t hit him too hard.”
His dark eyebrows arched, and his eyes widened. “Poor Hamilton…?”
“Al said the two of you were competing for an oil refinery,” she volunteered, grinning impishly. “Why don’t you just leave the oil in the ground and pump out what you need a little at a time?”
He chuckled softly. “You’re impertinent, miss.”
“Why thank you, Mr. Henton. You are Beck Henton, aren’t you?” she persisted. “You certainly couldn’t be Al’s brother. You don’t look like a man with a mile-long name.”
“I don’t? And what do you imagine Al’s brother looks like?”
“Dark and chubby and slightly graying,” she said, fascinated by his faint smile.
“My God, I never knew Al to lie.”
“But he didn’t. I mean, he didn’t ever describe his brother.” She poured ginger ale into her glass, lifted it up and peeked at him over its rim. “You really shouldn’t have hit Al’s brother. Now he’ll leave and I won’t get a shot at him.”
One eye narrowed. “Why did you want to?”
“Well, he’s got an oil company,” she said. “And there’s a project…”
Before she could tell him why, his expression grew stern and he laughed unpleasantly. “There’s always a project.” He moved closer. “Why don’t you have a shot at me, honey? I’ve got an oil company myself.”
“Aren’t you…with someone?” she asked nervously. He was so close that she could feel the vibrant energy of him, smell his expensive cologne. He towered over her.
“I’m always with someone,” he murmured, letting his fingers toy with strands of her soft hair. “Not that it matters. They all look alike, eventually.”
“Mr. Henton…” she began, trying to move away.
He backed her against the counter and pinned her there with the delicate, controlled weight of his body. He was almost touching her, but not quite. Her hands shook as he took the glass from her and set it aside on the counter.
“Shh,” he said softly, touching her mouth with one long finger. He wasn’t smiling now. His eyes were darkening, intense. He tossed the towel and ice aside, and framed her oval face in his big, warm hands. They felt callused, as if he used them in hard work, and she felt threatened.
“You mustn’t…”
“We’re cutting a corner or two, that’s all,” he whispered, bending. “You’re very lovely.”
She should move, she should push away! But her hands flattened helplessly on his shirtfront, and she felt hard muscle and warmth against her cold fingers. His breath teased her lips as he poised his mouth over hers.
“No,” she protested weakly and tried to move away.
His hips pressed her into the counter, and the twisting motion of her body provoked a shocking reaction. He drew in a sharp breath, and his fingers tightened on her face. “My God, it’s been years since that’s happened so quickly with a woman,” he said curtly and then his mouth was on hers.
She stiffened, feeling the shock from her head to her toes, which tried to curl up in her high heels as his lips relented. He seemed to feel her uneasiness, her reticence. He drew away and searched her face with odd, puzzled eyes. Then, slowly he lowered his head again and traced her bottom lip with his teeth, slowly, gently in masterful exploration that was years beyond her experience of men. Her fingers clung to the lapels of his jacket and her breath came quickly. She could taste him, the smoky and minty warmth of his mouth doing wild things to her pulse.
“Yes, like that,” he whispered into her slowly parting lips. “A little more, honey…yes. Kiss me back this time. Kiss me…”
He incited her in wild, reckless ways. It was like some wild fantasy, that she could be standing in an intimate embrace, kissing a man whom she’d only just met in a deserted kitchen. He was no ordinary man, either; he was an expert at this; he knew ways of using his mouth that she’d never even imagined.
She gasped as his tongue probed and his mouth demanded. All at once the hunger broke through her natural reserve and she felt warmth spread through her body. A tiny, surprising moan broke from her lips as she went up on tiptoe and gave him her mouth hungrily. Her hands reached up to the thick, cool waves of his hair and she held his head to hers.
“God!” he groaned. His arms lifted her and the room seemed to whirl away. It was the wildest, deepest, hungriest kiss she’d ever shared with a man, and it didn’t seem as if he had any intention of stopping. She should be fighting him. Why couldn’t she fight?
A long minute later, he set her back on her feet and looked down into her wide gray eyes with curiosity and caution. One of his blue eyes narrowed, and a warning bell rang somewhere in her mind, but her body was throbbing wildly and she hardly connected the telltale sign.
“You’re gifted, lady,” he breathed, studying her. “Not very experienced yet, but I can take care of that. Come home with me.”
Her face burned and her lips trembled. “I can’t,” she whispered shakily.
“Why not?” His eyes blazed down at her body.
“I…What about Al?” she began.
He made a rough sound under his breath. “What about him, for God’s sake? Have you got some wild crush on him? You won’t get to first base, I promise you. Al’s bringing that damned rock singer he’s courting. I came because of her, but I can deal with her later.” He touched her cheek gently and seemed oddly hesitant, mistaking her frozen posture for fear instead of the shock it really was. “I won’t hurt you,” he said mildly. “I won’t rush you, either. We can discuss…projects.”
The words began to take affect on her numb brain, and she stared up at him with dawning comprehension.
“Rock singer?”
He looked utterly dangerous, the tender lover suddenly growing cold and businesslike and threatening. “Al’s got himself a new girl. But not for long,” he added on a short laugh. “That’s got nothing to do with you and me. You said you need money—let’s go talk about it.”
“You’re…Hamilton Regan Thorndon the Third,” she said.
He cocked an eyebrow. “Smart lady. Does it make a difference? I told you I had an oil company. Come on, honey, let’s get away from this crowd.” He touched her shoulder lazily, caressingly. “You won’t go away empty-handed, I promise.”
She felt sick all over—sick that she’d let him kiss her, that she’d responded. She felt as her mother must have years ago, but with one major difference: she wasn’t desperate. She’d never be desperate enough, and her kindling eyes told him so. She began to tremble with the force of her anger, her disgust.
“Hey, what is it?” he asked suddenly, frowning.
“You