Read Online Rawhide and Lace by Diana Palmer - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Diana Palmer
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older, worn; and there was pain in every line of his hard face. "Honey, I've been lonely all my life," he said, his voice deep and quiet, the endearment curiously exciting to Erin because it was so unlike him. "My upbringing and my looks have been two strikes against me with women ever since I can remember."
She blinked. "Your looks?"
"Don't be coy," he muttered. "I know I'm no prize."
"If you think looks make any difference, you're no prize mentally, and that's for sure," she said slowly, deliberately. "I've never known anyone who was more a man than you are."
His eyes widened, as if the compliment had shocked him. He stared at her, the cigarette forgotten. "I hurt you-"
"I was a virgin," she said softly. "Sometimes it's difficult for women the first time. You couldn't have helped that."
His jaw tensed. "Coals of fire, Erin."
She remembered the quotation from the Bible, about heaping coals of fire on an enemy's head by being kind to him. "It isn't flattery," she told him. "I don't like you enough to flatter you."
He actually laughed. "Aiding and abetting the enemy, then?"
She shrugged. "The enemy's managed to bring me back to life. I think I owe you a compliment or two."
"You won't think so when I start on that hip," he assured her. He lifted his chin imperiously and smiled. "Drill instructors will look like pussycats when I get through with you."
"You were a marine, weren't you?" she shot back. "'Once a marine, always a marine'-isn't that what they say? Well, you won't break me, mister. I'm tough!"
He liked her spirit. He always had. But the woman he'd found in that New York apartment hadn't shown any. It had taken this trip and a lot of goading, but he'd managed to shake her out of all that self-pitying apathy. And he was pleased with the result.
"You're pretty like that," he remarked, noting the color in her cheeks, the emerald depths of her eyes, the provocative disorder of all that black hair curling around her elfin face. "Scars and all. In no time at all, you'll never know where the cuts were."
"My hip will never look the same without skin grafts," she muttered, brought back to painful reality. "And I don't really want to go through any more surgery."
"Once a man got you undressed, a scar on your hip would be the last thing he'd be staring at," he said bluntly.
She'd forgotten that he'd seen her by the firelight without her clothing. She remembered that frank appraisal, as if he'd never seen a nude woman before and wanted to memorize every soft line and curve. Her breasts had fascinated him. He'd touched them so gently, caressed them, whispered how beautiful they were. Without warning, her face went scarlet.
"Yes, you remember too, don't you?" he asked, his voice low and sensuous. "It was right where I'm standing, and I looked at you until I got drunk on the sight. And you let me. You lay there all soft and sweetly moving, and you let me."
"It was new," she said defensively, lowering her eyes to her dress.
"It was heaven," he corrected. "The closest I ever expect to get in my lifetime. If it hadn't been for Bruce..." He turned and threw his cigarette into the fire, closing his eyes against the pain. "Oh, God, I'll never forgive him!"
His tone of voice disturbed her. It was bitter, yet filled with the anguish of loss...profound loss. She got up, unconsciously walking without the cane, limping a little as she paused beside him.
He was so tall. Towering. She had to look up to see his dark face, and the warmth and strength of him drew her like a magnet. It had been so sweet that afternoon to lie in his arms again and feel his mouth; and those memories were her undoing.
"It doesn't matter anymore," she said gently. "He's dead. Let him rest in peace. He had so little of it in life, Ty."
"How much do you think I have?" he demanded, staring down at her with tormented eyes. "It's eating me alive!"
She held him
She blinked. "Your looks?"
"Don't be coy," he muttered. "I know I'm no prize."
"If you think looks make any difference, you're no prize mentally, and that's for sure," she said slowly, deliberately. "I've never known anyone who was more a man than you are."
His eyes widened, as if the compliment had shocked him. He stared at her, the cigarette forgotten. "I hurt you-"
"I was a virgin," she said softly. "Sometimes it's difficult for women the first time. You couldn't have helped that."
His jaw tensed. "Coals of fire, Erin."
She remembered the quotation from the Bible, about heaping coals of fire on an enemy's head by being kind to him. "It isn't flattery," she told him. "I don't like you enough to flatter you."
He actually laughed. "Aiding and abetting the enemy, then?"
She shrugged. "The enemy's managed to bring me back to life. I think I owe you a compliment or two."
"You won't think so when I start on that hip," he assured her. He lifted his chin imperiously and smiled. "Drill instructors will look like pussycats when I get through with you."
"You were a marine, weren't you?" she shot back. "'Once a marine, always a marine'-isn't that what they say? Well, you won't break me, mister. I'm tough!"
He liked her spirit. He always had. But the woman he'd found in that New York apartment hadn't shown any. It had taken this trip and a lot of goading, but he'd managed to shake her out of all that self-pitying apathy. And he was pleased with the result.
"You're pretty like that," he remarked, noting the color in her cheeks, the emerald depths of her eyes, the provocative disorder of all that black hair curling around her elfin face. "Scars and all. In no time at all, you'll never know where the cuts were."
"My hip will never look the same without skin grafts," she muttered, brought back to painful reality. "And I don't really want to go through any more surgery."
"Once a man got you undressed, a scar on your hip would be the last thing he'd be staring at," he said bluntly.
She'd forgotten that he'd seen her by the firelight without her clothing. She remembered that frank appraisal, as if he'd never seen a nude woman before and wanted to memorize every soft line and curve. Her breasts had fascinated him. He'd touched them so gently, caressed them, whispered how beautiful they were. Without warning, her face went scarlet.
"Yes, you remember too, don't you?" he asked, his voice low and sensuous. "It was right where I'm standing, and I looked at you until I got drunk on the sight. And you let me. You lay there all soft and sweetly moving, and you let me."
"It was new," she said defensively, lowering her eyes to her dress.
"It was heaven," he corrected. "The closest I ever expect to get in my lifetime. If it hadn't been for Bruce..." He turned and threw his cigarette into the fire, closing his eyes against the pain. "Oh, God, I'll never forgive him!"
His tone of voice disturbed her. It was bitter, yet filled with the anguish of loss...profound loss. She got up, unconsciously walking without the cane, limping a little as she paused beside him.
He was so tall. Towering. She had to look up to see his dark face, and the warmth and strength of him drew her like a magnet. It had been so sweet that afternoon to lie in his arms again and feel his mouth; and those memories were her undoing.
"It doesn't matter anymore," she said gently. "He's dead. Let him rest in peace. He had so little of it in life, Ty."
"How much do you think I have?" he demanded, staring down at her with tormented eyes. "It's eating me alive!"
She held him
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