Further, would a few nights of ecstasy be worth the price—not only professionally but emotionally? She knew herself well enough to realize that she wouldn't be able to walk away from an emotional entanglement as easily as Derek could.
"You want to give in, Terri, I know you do," he continued in a husky voice. "And you won't be sorry—I can promise you that." Now the hooded look was gone; his eyes glowed triumphantly. There was no doubt that he thought he had won. No other woman had ever said no to him; why should she be any different? Well, she was!
She pulled her hand away, seeing irritation harden the dark centers of his eyes until they looked like nuggets of coal. He didn't like being opposed; he expected women to accept his domination.
"You ask me to trust you," she said bitterly. "Well, I trust you about as far as I would a copperhead!" She was suddenly shaking, the depth of her vehemence surprising even herself. "Do you know what you are, Derek Storm? You're a male chauvinist. They ought to do a psychological study on you. You're the classic example of the type. You
use
women! They're nothing but objects to you. Once and for all, Derek, I'm not interested in what you have to offer!"
With a sudden jerk of the wheel, he pulled the car onto the grass alongside the road, braking abruptly. Terri barely kept her head from hitting the windshield by quickly bracing her hands against the dash.
Stunned, she turned to look at him. His dark eyes burned into hers and his face twisted into such harsh angles that the transformation made him almost a stranger. Yet, even more frightening than his expression was the knowledge that she had driven him to the edge of some dark emotional precipice.
"So, I'm a male chauvinist, am I? Well, you, Terri, are the original ice maiden!" His lips twisted. At what instant his hands had taken hold of her, Terri didn't know. She was too dizzy with fright to think straight. "What does it take to puncture that solid wall of defenses you have erected around yourself?" he demanded with a vicious shake, his long fingers digging into her arms.
She wanted to cry out for him to stop hurting her; she wanted to pour out stinging insults. But shock and fear stayed her tongue. She merely stared at the triangle of his chest where his shirt was open, seeing sweat glistening on the dark curling hairs. She did not know if the pounding she heard was the sound of her own heart or his.
He pulled her closer, and she looked into the fire that was deep in his eyes. Defiantly, she tossed her head. "You t-talk about passion," she quavered. "But it's all a g-game to you. I am not a toy, Derek! I can't be wound up and set into motion at your whim!"
A subtle change came over his face as his burning gaze settled on her soft mouth. "No." A trace of a smile touched his lips as he drew in a deep breath and exhaled slowly. "You're not a mechanical doll, Terri. You're all warm flesh and blood." His gaze wandered slowly over her flushed face, down her neck, and over the soft skin exposed by the low neck of her shirt.
She sat frozen as one brown hand strayed from her arm to trace the curve of her cheek, to explore the pulse that beat in the hollow of her throat, to move slowly, dangerously, toward the firm fullness of her breast, to find what it sought and close over it, sending a jolting shock through her. Weakly, she tried to pull away, but he held her with one hand, while his other hand tilted her chin, forcing melting blue eyes to meet smoldering brown ones.
While his eyes held her mesmerized, his hand continued its daring exploration, learning the contours of her body, memorizing every secret line. His caressing fingers slid into the low neck of her shirt, stroking, tantalizing, until a soft moan escaped her. Her body was aglow with the pleasure of his touch.
With a low, husky cry, he crushed her softness against his hardness, his mouth claiming hers with such fierce intensity that there was momentary pain as her lips
"You want to give in, Terri, I know you do," he continued in a husky voice. "And you won't be sorry—I can promise you that." Now the hooded look was gone; his eyes glowed triumphantly. There was no doubt that he thought he had won. No other woman had ever said no to him; why should she be any different? Well, she was!
She pulled her hand away, seeing irritation harden the dark centers of his eyes until they looked like nuggets of coal. He didn't like being opposed; he expected women to accept his domination.
"You ask me to trust you," she said bitterly. "Well, I trust you about as far as I would a copperhead!" She was suddenly shaking, the depth of her vehemence surprising even herself. "Do you know what you are, Derek Storm? You're a male chauvinist. They ought to do a psychological study on you. You're the classic example of the type. You
use
women! They're nothing but objects to you. Once and for all, Derek, I'm not interested in what you have to offer!"
With a sudden jerk of the wheel, he pulled the car onto the grass alongside the road, braking abruptly. Terri barely kept her head from hitting the windshield by quickly bracing her hands against the dash.
Stunned, she turned to look at him. His dark eyes burned into hers and his face twisted into such harsh angles that the transformation made him almost a stranger. Yet, even more frightening than his expression was the knowledge that she had driven him to the edge of some dark emotional precipice.
"So, I'm a male chauvinist, am I? Well, you, Terri, are the original ice maiden!" His lips twisted. At what instant his hands had taken hold of her, Terri didn't know. She was too dizzy with fright to think straight. "What does it take to puncture that solid wall of defenses you have erected around yourself?" he demanded with a vicious shake, his long fingers digging into her arms.
She wanted to cry out for him to stop hurting her; she wanted to pour out stinging insults. But shock and fear stayed her tongue. She merely stared at the triangle of his chest where his shirt was open, seeing sweat glistening on the dark curling hairs. She did not know if the pounding she heard was the sound of her own heart or his.
He pulled her closer, and she looked into the fire that was deep in his eyes. Defiantly, she tossed her head. "You t-talk about passion," she quavered. "But it's all a g-game to you. I am not a toy, Derek! I can't be wound up and set into motion at your whim!"
A subtle change came over his face as his burning gaze settled on her soft mouth. "No." A trace of a smile touched his lips as he drew in a deep breath and exhaled slowly. "You're not a mechanical doll, Terri. You're all warm flesh and blood." His gaze wandered slowly over her flushed face, down her neck, and over the soft skin exposed by the low neck of her shirt.
She sat frozen as one brown hand strayed from her arm to trace the curve of her cheek, to explore the pulse that beat in the hollow of her throat, to move slowly, dangerously, toward the firm fullness of her breast, to find what it sought and close over it, sending a jolting shock through her. Weakly, she tried to pull away, but he held her with one hand, while his other hand tilted her chin, forcing melting blue eyes to meet smoldering brown ones.
While his eyes held her mesmerized, his hand continued its daring exploration, learning the contours of her body, memorizing every secret line. His caressing fingers slid into the low neck of her shirt, stroking, tantalizing, until a soft moan escaped her. Her body was aglow with the pleasure of his touch.
With a low, husky cry, he crushed her softness against his hardness, his mouth claiming hers with such fierce intensity that there was momentary pain as her lips