Adam (7 page)

Adam's kiss was fierce, and Tate was caught up in the roughness of his lovemaking. There was nothing brutal about his caresses, but they were not gentle, either. His kisses were fervent, his passion unbridled, as he drove her ruthlessly toward a goal she could only imagine.

Tate was hardly aware when Adam freed himself of his clothes. She was so lost in new sensations that the feel of his hard naked body against hers was but one of many delights. The feel of his hands…
there
. The feel of his lips and tongue…
there
.

Tate was in ecstasy bordering on pain. She reached with trembling hands for whatever part of Adam she could find with her hands and her mouth.

“Adam, please!” She didn't know what she wanted, only that she desperately needed…
something
. Her body arched toward his, wild with need.

Just as Adam lifted her hips for his thrust, she cried, “Wait!” But it was already too late.

Adam's face paled as he realized what he had done.

Tate's fingernails bit into his shoulder, and she clamped her teeth on her lower lip to keep from crying out. Tears of pain pooled in the corners of her eyes.

Adam felt her muscles clench involuntarily around him and struggled not to move, fearing he would hurt her more. “You didn't sleep with Buck,” he said in a flat voice.

“No,” she whispered.

“You were still a virgin.”

“Yes,” she whispered.

“Why did you make me think—Dammit to hell, Tate! I would have done things differently if I'd known. I wouldn't have—”

He started to pull out of her, but she clutched at his shoulders. “Please, Adam. It's done now. Make love to me.”

Tate lifted her hips, causing Adam to grunt with pleasure.

Now that he knew how inexperienced she was, Adam tried to be gentle. But Tate took matters out of his hands, touching him in places that sent his pulse through the roof, taunting him with her mouth and hands, until his thrust was almost savage. He brought them both to a climax so powerful that it left them gasping.

Adam slid to Tate's side and folded her in his embrace. He reached down to pull the covers over them and saw the blood on the sheet that testified to her innocence.

It made him angry all over again.

“I hope you're pleased with yourself!”

“Yes, I am.”

“Don't expect an offer of marriage, because you're not going to get it,” he said bluntly.

Tate fumbled for a sheet to cover herself. She sat up and
stared at Adam with wary eyes. “I don't think I expected any such thing.”

“No? What about all those dreams of yours—meeting the right man, having a nice home and a gaggle of children playing at your feet?”

“Geese come in a gaggle,” she corrected. “And for your information, I don't think my dream is the least bit unreasonable.”

“It is if you have me pictured in the role of Prince Charming.”

Tate flushed. She toyed with the sheet, arranging it to cover her naked flank.

Adam watched with regret as her tempting flesh disappeared from view. “Well, Tate?”

She looked into eyes still darkened with passion and said with all the tenderness she felt for him, “I love you, Adam.”

“That was lust, not love.”

Tate winced at the vehemence with which he denied the rightness of what had just happened between them.

“Besides,” he added, “I like my women a little more experienced.”

Adam did nothing to temper the pain he saw in Tate's face at his brutal rejection of her. He couldn't give her what she wanted, and he refused to risk the pain and humiliation of having her reject what little he could offer.

“If what you want is sex, I'm available,” he said. “But I'm not in love with you, Tate. And I won't pretend I am.”

Tate fought the tears that threatened. She would be
damned
if she would let him see how devastated she was by his refusal to acknowledge the beautiful experience they had shared.

“It wasn't just sex, Adam,” she said. “You're only fooling yourself if you think it was.”

His lips curled sardonically. “When you've had a little more experience you'll realize that any man can do the same thing for you.”

“Even Buck?” she taunted.

A muscle jumped in Adam's jaw. She knew all the right buttons to push where he was concerned. “You get the hankering for a little sex, you come see
me
,” he drawled. “
I'll
make sure you're satisfied,
little girl.
”

Tate pulled the sheet free of the mattress and wrapped it around herself as best she could. “Good night, Adam. I think I'll sleep better in my own bed.”

He watched her go without saying another word. The instant she was gone he pounded a fist into the mattress.

“Damn you, Tate Whitelaw!”

She had made him wish for something he could never have. She had offered him the moon and the stars. All he had to do was bare his soul to her. And take the heart-wrenching chance that she would reject what little he could offer in return.

T
HE TEARS
T
ATE HAD
refused to let Adam see her shed fell with a vengeance once she was alone. But she hadn't been raised to give up or give in. Before long Tate had brushed the tears aside and begun to plan how best to make Adam eat his words.

If Adam hadn't cared for her at least a little, Tate reasoned, he wouldn't have been so upset by her taunt that she would seek out Buck. She was certain that Adam's jealousy could be a powerful weapon in her battle to convince him that they belonged together. Especially since Adam had admitted that he was willing to take extreme measures—even making love to her!—to keep her away from Buck. Tate intended to seek Buck out and let the green-eyed monster eat Adam alive.

It was with some distress and consternation that Tate realized over the next several days that Adam had somehow turned the tables on her. He was the one who found excuses to send her off alone with Buck. And he did it with a smile on his face.

Where was the green-eyed monster? Was it possible Adam really
didn't
care? He was obviously pushing her in Buck's di
rection. Was this some sort of test? Did he expect her to fall into Buck's arms? Did he
want
her to?

If Tate was unsure of Adam's intentions, he was no less confused himself. He had woken up the morning after making love to Tate and realized that somewhere between the moment she had first flashed that gamine smile at him and the moment he had claimed her with his body, he had fallen in love with her. It was an appalling realization, coming, as it had, after he had insulted and rejected her.

Loving Tate meant being willing to do what was best for her—even if it meant giving her up. He had made the selflessly noble—if absurd—decision that if, after the way he had treated her, she would rather be with Buck, he would not stand in her way. So he had made excuses for them to be alone together. And suffered the agonies of the damned, wondering whether Buck was taking advantage of the time to make love to her.

One or the other of them might have relented and honestly admitted their feelings, but they weren't given the chance before circumstances caused the tension-fraught situation to explode.

Adam had gritted his teeth and nobly sent Tate off with Buck to the Saturday night dance at the Grange Hall in Knippa, not realizing that they were stopping to pick up Velma on the way.

Tate didn't lack for partners at the dance, but she was on her way to a wretchedly lonely evening nonetheless—because the one person she wanted to be with wasn't there. She refused a cowboy the next dance so she could catch her breath. Unfortunately, that gave her time to think.

She found herself admitting that she might as well give up on her plan to make Adam jealous, mainly because it wasn't working. If he truly didn't want her, she would have to leave
the Lazy S. Because she couldn't stand to be around him knowing that the love she felt would never be returned.

An altercation on the dance floor dragged Tate from her morose reflections. She was on her feet an instant later when she realized that one of the two men slugging away at each other was Buck Magnesson.

She reached Velma's side and shouted over the ruckus, “What happened? Why are they fighting?”

“All the poor man did was wink at me!” Velma shouted back. “It didn't mean a thing! There was no reason for Buck to take a swing at him.”

When Tate looked back to the fight it was all over. The cowboy who had winked at Velma was out cold, and Buck was blowing cool air on his bruised knuckles. He was sporting a black eye and a cut on his chin, but his smile was broad and satisfied.

“Guess he won't be making any more advances to you, honey,” Buck said.

“You idiot! You animal! I don't know when I've ever been so humiliated in my entire life!” Velma raged.

“But, honey—”

“How could you?”

“But, honey—”

Tate and Buck were left standing as Velma turned in a huff and headed for the door. Buck threw some money on the table to pay for their drinks and raced outside after her.

Velma was draped across the hood of the pickup, her face hidden in her crossed arms as she sobbed her heart out.

When Buck tried to touch her, she whirled on him. “Stay away from me!”

“What did I do?” he demanded, getting angry now.

“You don't even know, do you?” she sobbed.

“No, I don't, so I'd appreciate it if you'd just spit it out.”

“You didn't trust me!” she cried.

“What?”

“You didn't trust me to let that cowboy know I'm not interested. You took it upon yourself to make sure he'd keep his distance.

“You're never going to forget the fact that I strayed once, Buck. You're always going to be watching—waiting to see if I slip up again. And every time you do something to remind me that you don't trust me—like you did tonight—it'll hurt the way it hurts right now.

“I won't be able to stand it, Buck. It'll kill me to love you and know you're watching me every minute from the corner of your eye. Take me home. I never want to see you again!”

Velma sat on the outside edge of the front seat, with Tate in the middle during the long, silent fifteen-minute drive west to Uvalde from Knippa. When they arrived in Velma's driveway, she jumped out and went running into the house before Buck could follow her.

Buck crossed his arms on the steering wheel and dropped his forehead onto them. “God. I feel awful.”

Tate didn't know what to say. So she just waited for him to talk.

“I couldn't help myself,” he said. “When I saw that fellow looking at her…I don't know, I just went crazy.”

“Because you were afraid he would make a move on Velma?”

“Yeah.”

“Is Velma right, Buck? Didn't you trust her to say no on her own?”

Buck sighed. It was a defeated sound. “No.”

There wasn't anything else to say. Buck had thought he could forgive and forget. But when it came right down to it, he would never trust Velma again. The risk was too great that his trust would prove unfounded.

“I don't want to be alone right now,” Buck said. “Would you mind driving up toward the Frio with me? Maybe we can find a comfortable place to sit along the riverbank and lie back and count the stars. Just for a while,” he promised. “I won't keep you out too late.”

Tate knew Adam might be waiting up for her, but Buck had promised he wouldn't keep her out late. Besides, Adam's behavior over the past few days—throwing her into Buck's company—suggested that he no longer cared one way or the other.

“All right, Buck. Let's go. I could use some time away to think myself.”

They found a spot beneath some immense cypress trees, and lay back on the grassy bank and listened to the wind whistling through the boughs. They tried to find the constellations and the North Star in the cloudless blue-black sky. The burble of the water over the rocky streambed was soothing to two wounded souls.

They talked about nothing, and everything. About childhood hopes and dreams. And adult realities. About wishes that never came true. They talked until their eyes drifted closed.

And they fell asleep.

Tate woke first. A mosquito was buzzing in her ear. She slapped at it, and when it came back again she sat up abruptly. And realized where she was. And who was lying beside her. And what time it was.

She shook Buck hard and said, “Wake up! It's dawn already. We must have fallen asleep. We've got to get home!”

Buck was used to rising early, but a night on the cold hard ground—not to mention the events of the previous evening—had left him grumpy. “I'm going, I'm going,” he muttered as Tate shoved him toward the truck.

Tate sat on the edge of her seat the whole way home. She only hoped she could sneak into the house before Adam saw her. She could imagine what he would think if he saw her with grass stains on her denim skirt and a blouse that looked as if she had slept in it—which she had. Adam would never believe it had been a totally innocent evening.

When Buck dropped her off, she ran up the steps to the front door—a better choice than the kitchen if she hoped to avoid Adam—and stopped dead when he opened it for her. Adam stood back so she could come inside.

“We fell asleep!” she blurted. “Oh, Lord, that came out all wrong! Look, Adam, I can explain everything. Buck and I did fall asleep, but we weren't sleeping together!”

“I wouldn't have let you sleep, either,” he drawled. “Not when there are so many more interesting things to do with the time.”

“I mean, we didn't have sex,” she said, irritated by his sarcasm.

“Oh, really?” It was obvious he didn't believe her.

“I'm telling you the truth!”

“What makes you think I care who you spent the night with, or what you did?” he said in a voice that could have cut steel.

“I'm telling you that absolutely nothing sexual happened between me and Buck Magnesson last night,” she insisted.

Adam wanted to believe her. But he couldn't imagine how Buck could have kept her out all night and not have touched
her. He didn't have that kind of willpower himself. His mouth was opened and the words were out before he knew he was going to say them.

“I made you an offer once,
little girl
, and I meant it. If you're looking for more experience in bed, I'll be more than happy to provide it.”

Tate's eyes widened as she realized what Adam's harsh-sounding words really meant. He was
jealous!
He
did
care! If only there was some way of provoking him into admitting how he really felt! Of course, there was something that might work. It was an outrageous idea, but then, as her brother Faron had always preached, “A faint heart never filled a flush.”

Tate sat down on the brass-studded leather sofa and pulled off one of her boots. When Adam said nothing, she pulled off the other one. Then she stood up and began releasing the zipper down the side of her skirt.

“What are you doing?” he asked at last.

“I'm taking you up on your offer.”

“What? Are you serious?”

“Absolutely! Weren't you?” She looked up at him coyly, batted her lashes, and had the satisfaction of seeing him flush.

“You don't know what you're doing,” he said.

“I know exactly what I'm doing,” she replied.

Her skirt landed in a pile at her feet, and Tate was left standing in a frilly slip and a peasant blouse that was well on its way to falling off her shoulder.

Adam swallowed hard. He knew he ought to stop her, but was powerless to do so. “Maria will be—”

“You know Maria isn't here. Sunday is her day off.”

Tate reached for the hem of her blouse and pulled it up over her head.

Adam gasped. He had never seen her in a bra before—if that's what you called the tiny piece of confection that hugged her breasts and offered them up in lacy cups for a hungry man's palate.

Tate watched Adam's pulse jump when she stepped out of the circle of her skirt and walked toward him. His hand was warm when she took it in her own. “Your bedroom or mine?” she asked.

“Mine,” he croaked.

Adam allowed himself to be led to his bedroom as though he had no will of his own. Indeed, he felt as though he were living some sort of fantasy. Since it was one very much to his liking, he wasn't putting up much of a struggle—none, actually—to be free.

“Here we are,” Tate said as she closed the door behind her, shutting them into Adam's bedroom alone.

“I've never been made love to in the morning,” Tate said. “Is there any special way it should be done?”

What healthy, red-blooded male could resist that kind of invitation?

Adam swept Tate off her feet. From then on she was caught up in a whirlwind of passion that left her breathless and panting. But now he led and she followed.

Lips reached out for lips. Flesh reached out for flesh. She was aware of textures, hard and soft, silky and crisp, rigid and supple, as Adam introduced her to the delights of sex in the warm sunlight.

This time there was no pain, only joy as he joined their bodies and made them one. When it was over, they lay together in the tangled sheets, her head on his shoulder, his hand on her
hip, in a way that spoke volumes about the true state of their hearts.

Tate was aware of the fact Adam hadn't said a word since she had closed the bedroom door behind them. She didn't want to break the magic spell, so she remained silent. But it was plain from the way Adam began moving restlessly, tugging on the sheet, rearranging it to cover and uncover various parts of her body, that there was something he wanted to get off his chest.

“I don't want you to go out with Buck anymore,” he said in a quiet voice.