Untamed

“Oh.”

“Why in the hell do you think I went out and got drunk?” he asked at her ear.

“Because I wouldn’t go to bed with you,” she bit off.

He lifted his head. He sighed. “We’ve got a long way to go,” he said after a minute. “But, then, I knew it wouldn’t be easy.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Dance,” he said, smiling. “There’s only tonight.”

“Really?”

“Well, not really. I thought I’d take you on a tour of Manaus tomorrow,” he added. “We’ll go look at the opera house and see some of the street performances. We might take in a show. I’ll see what’s in town.”

“You’re not going right back to Africa, then?”

“No.”

She followed his steps so easily, as if she could read his mind and knew exactly what he was going to do next. But it wasn’t that way except for dancing. “When?” she asked.

“How long is your fiancé going to be out of town?” he asked.

“Three weeks, he said.”

He lifted his head and looked into her eyes. “I’m going to be here for three weeks,” he said.

“Stanton...”

“When I take you home tonight, I’m going to leave you at your front door,” he said quietly. “But I’m going to kiss you in such a way that you’ll lie awake all night wanting me.”

Her lips parted on a husky breath.

“Of course, I’ll also lie awake all night wanting you,” he mused, and laughed to break the tension.

The music ended. He took her back to their table and ordered champagne.

“Are we celebrating something?” she asked when the waiter poured it into flutes.

“Yes,” Rourke replied, smiling tenderly. “To beginnings.”

Well, that was innocuous enough, she supposed. He didn’t really look threatening. She smiled and raised her glass to touch to his.

* * *

Domingo waited in the car while Rourke walked Clarisse to her door.

He paused just in front of her, producing her house key. She unlocked the door, leaving the key in it.

“I had a lovely time,” she said. “Really lovely. Thank you.”

“I did, too. I don’t get out much these days,” he confessed. “Never dancing. I’m usually up to my neck in some project overseas.”

That brought back to mind what he did for a living, and she felt uneasy. “You’re always at risk.”

He shrugged. “I can’t live without it, sweetheart,” he said softly, smiling when she flushed a little at the unaccustomed endearment. He never used them to her. Not in the past. “I have to have those adrenaline rushes.”

“I suppose it’s like men who play sports or go into law enforcement work.”

“Something like that.”

She searched his face with quiet, resigned eyes. “Try not to get killed. I hate funerals.”

He chuckled. “I’m sure I’d hate my own. But you’d look gorgeous in black lace, Tat. I used to dream about you in a long, lacy see-through black gown. I’d wake up sweating.”

That was surprising. “You dreamed about me?”

“Just as you dream about me,” he said, as if he knew.

“It was eight years ago,” she began.

“No. It was yesterday.” He looked down at her. “This may get a little rough,” he said apologetically as he drew her slowly to him. “I don’t mean it to, okay?”

“I don’t understand,” she faltered, already on fire from just the contact with his powerful body.

“I’ve kept to myself...for a while,” he whispered as he bent to her mouth. His hands slid to her hips and drew her against him. He shivered as his body reacted immediately, explicitly, to just the touch of her. “Sorry,” he added unsteadily.

“It’s all right,” she said. She stood very still as his head bent, his mouth coming to brush hers very softly. He nudged her top lip away from the lower one and teased it with brief, soft little kisses that made her body go tense.

He felt that. He felt her nails biting into his upper arms as she held him.

“I’ll bet—” he breathed into her mouth “—that your nipples are like little stones right now, Tat...”

She opened her mouth, shocked, and his went down against it with furious hunger. His hands on her hips were hurting but he didn’t move them, he didn’t try to bring her closer. He just kissed her, with hunger, almost with desperation.

He groaned against her lips. “I’m going to die when I have to step away from you,” he said huskily.

He pulled back, shuddering.

“I’m sorry,” she said.

“What for?”

“Making you hurt,” she said, wincing at the strain on his face.

He straightened a little jerkily. “It will go down eventually,” he said with graveyard humor. “An ice pack might help...”