Lacy by Diana Palmer

She
couldn't face him.
    "You little fool," Turk muttered. He
knelt beside her, forcing her onto her back with hands that had no gentleness.
He glared down at her, feeling impotent, hating the indignity of her behavior
for both of them. "This won't help, Katy."
    "Leave me alone," she whispered,
shaking. She rubbed her eyes with the backs of her hands. "Go away and let
me be by myself."
    He caught her wrists and pulled her up, holding
her in front of him, his gray eyes fierce as they held her tear-soaked green ones.
"Listen to me, young lady. I came out of the war alive—when more than any
damned thing, I wanted to die. Your brother forced me to go on; he got me off
the bottle and gave me a job and I owe him for that. He said hands-off where
you're concerned, and by God, hands-off it's going to be. Do you understand
me?"
    "You don't need that for an excuse,"
she shot back. "We both know you don't want me!"
    "Do we?" he asked under his breath.
    The way she looked was tearing him apart.
Loyalty to Cole stopped him only for a second. He'd watched her, too, although
he hated admitting it. He'd watched her and wanted her for a long time, and
only his conscience had kept him from running screaming to her room in the
darkness. He wanted her. God, he did! And she wanted him, too. He could see it,
almost taste it. Would it be so wrong, just one time, just once to hold her and
touch her and end the exquisite torment of desire she aroused in him?
Afterward, would she hate him? He tried to think of afterward, but the scent of
her—the vulnerable tenderness in those big green eyes—made him reckless. Oh, to
hell with it! She was going to give in to somebody, maybe that lousy gangster.
So why should he hold back? At least, he wouldn't hurt her....
    His hands went out to her hips. In his kneeling
position, he drew her roughly to his body and pressed her belly into his. He
watched the shock in her eyes dilate the pupils until they were black, and he
laughed bitterly as he felt her body stiffen in the blatantly intimate embrace.
    "Do you feel that, Katy? Has your Chicago gangster taught you what it means?" he asked suggestively, dragging her hips
slowly against the hard thrust of his to let her feel graphically the tangible
proof of his desire.
    Her nails bit into the hard round muscles of his
arms through his brown-patterned shirt and she trembled. Her eyes were on his
mouth now, because what he was showing her embarrassed her.
    "I've seen you in your room at
night,"he said his lips against her forehead, his voice husky and rough,
"standing in front of the curtains to undress, your arms lifted, your
breasts straining against those thin gowns you wear. And I've gone running into
town to have a woman, to forget, to get rid of what you've done to me."
    "I didn't.. .know," she whispered, her
voice as unsteady as his. She could feel her breasts swelling against him, even
through the two thin layers of fabric. His chest was warm and hard, and she
felt the cushy springiness of hair that must cover it.
    "Does he make love to you, that slick
gangster?" he whispered.
    "Not—not yet."
    "Are you going to let him, Katy?" he
asked under his breath.
    "Yes!" she said recklessly. "Yes,
because you won't!"
    "Oh, but I will, tidbit," he breathed,
bending. His hands slid down her hips to her waist, then up still farther to her
unbound breasts. He cupped their small softness, taking their warm weight, his
thumbs teasing the nipples hard. She bit back a cry, and he slid his mouth down
to hers to take it into the warm darkness past his lips.
    It was the first kiss, the very first one she'd
ever shared with him. Her eyes closed, her head went back to give him full
access. Her mouth opened hungrily, eagerly, letting his tongue probe inside,
letting it tangle with her own in the hot, still darkness of the barn.
    His fingers had a faint tremor now. She felt
them on the buttons of her dress. She stiffened, but she didn't stop him. This
was all she'd have of him when