Iris Johansen - Dark Rider

She had not even considered not coming to him. She had been drawn as inevitably, blindly, as if answering a siren call. It was night… and he was waiting. "Tonight is no different from any other."

He took her hand and pulled her toward the bed. "Wrong. You're an intelligent woman, and you realize that one response requires another."

"I suppose you're saying you're angry with me."

He pushed her down on the bed. "Extremely."

"There's no reason."

"I can be an unreasonable man. Turn over."

"What?"

"You appear confused. You were eager to turn your back on me this afternoon. Why not now?"

"Because I don't know why-" She stopped and rolled over on her stomach. "Satisfied?"

"No, but I will be." He sat down beside her and began to stroke her. He started at her shoulders and moved slowly down her spine. Her stomach muscles clenched; his callused palm was a sensual abrasion against the softness of her own flesh. The darkness made him a stranger, and yet his touch had the same familiar mesmerism. He asked in a low voice, "Why did you turn your back on me?"

Her heart was beating so hard and fast she could barely breathe. "You know why."

"Perhaps. You think I broke those damnable rules you set." His hand moved down to her buttocks, stroking, squeezing. "But don't ever do it again. Do you understand?"

She didn't answer.

He muttered a curse and his hands were suddenly beneath her, lifting her to her hands and knees.

"What are you doing?" she asked, startled.

"You seem to have taken a dislike to facing me." He moved behind her on the bed. "I thought you'd prefer accepting me this way."

He held her hips steady as he positioned himself. Then carefully, slowly, he slid into her.

She gasped as the tightness resisted and then gave way. His hands were on her buttocks again, squeezing, petting. The position was incredible; her breasts hung heavy, ripe, and she was so full of him, she couldn't move.

He bent over her, pushing, letting her feel all of him. "Do you know how I felt when you turned your back on me?" he whispered. "It was as if you'd slapped me and then pushed me away."

It was what she had meant to do, she thought in despair. To push him back where he belonged.

"I wanted to come down from the bridge and bend you over the rail." He started to move, punctuating each word with a deep thrust. "I wanted to lift up the skirt of your gown and come into you like this… and this… and this…"

Her mouth was open as she tried to breathe. Her arms were so weak they could barely hold her as waves of pleasure struck her with every touch, every stroke.

Wildness. Fever. Possession without surcease and without mercy. She didn't want mercy. She wanted him .

But, suddenly, she didn't have him. He was gone. No, he was there in the darkness, plucking at her breasts, arousing her to fever pitch but not giving her the fullness she needed.

"Jared…" She started to turn over but he stopped her.

"No, stay where you are." He was in her again, moving, caressing her stomach, folding her around him. "I want it like this."

Arousal and withdrawal and then arousal again. Madness. It went on until she thought she could bear no more. When he finally allowed them both the explosion they craved, she was sobbing with frustration and need.

The climax was without parallel.

She collapsed onto the bed, exhausted, nerveless, and totally helpless. She could not have lifted a hand if she'd tried.

He lay beside her, his breathing as labored as her own. "Don't do it again."

She felt a frisson of annoyance through the haze of pleasure enveloping her. "Was this supposed to be punishment? I thought you'd learned you couldn't succeed in chastising me in this manner. I enjoyed it very much."

He stiffened.

"And I think when I regain my strength, we will do it again."

"The hell we will." He was silent and then suddenly began to chuckle. "I can't believe you. You're not like any woman I've ever met." He pulled her into his arms. "Thank God."

He wasn't angry any longer. She relaxed against him. "Don't the other women you bed like this way? I found it very interesting."

He kissed her temple. "But, then, you like everything I do to you. You're delightfully pagan… Kanoa."

He had not called her by that name since the first night. She felt a pagan when she was with him. This wild coming together in the erotic dimness of the underworld was becoming a sensual ritual she found irresistible. "But I don't believe I like to be taken in anger. It will be better next time."

"Will it, indeed? You'll have to wait awhile for me to recover. I'm not sure it wasn't myself I was punishing." He added dryly, "Someday I'm going to find a way to avoid being the victim in our encounters."

"It's very simple. Don't become angry without reason. I only turned my back on you. Why should it matter?"

"It mattered. It hur-It bothered me." He stroked her hair. "I found my response as peculiar as you do. I must be growing weary of this damnable arrangement."

She felt a pang at his words. "I don't have to come to you."

"Yes, you do." His arms tightened around her. "Every damn night." He paused. "But that's not enough. I want you to move your things to my cabin."

She went still. "No." She pushed him away and sat up. "I told you that-"

"I know what you told me. I don't care. I want you here when I want you." He pulled her back down beside him. "I want to reach out and touch you. I want to be able to have you when-" He kissed her roughly. "God, I wanted you this afternoon."

"Let me go," she whispered.

"You don't want to go."

No, she didn't. She wanted to stay and be one with him. But if she didn't leave now, she might give in to him, and that must not happen.

You won't betray him if you get up and walk away.

Lani's words. True words. Darkness and sunlight. Already bits and pieces of their lives were becoming revealed to each other. A casual comment, a question, every word brought them closer. She must not cross the line from passion into intimacy, or she would be lost.

She pushed him away again, sat up, and swung her legs to the floor.

For an instant she thought he would try to hold her, but he did not. She stood up, searching for her sarong in the darkness.

"Someday you'll stay." His quiet voice followed her. "Every time we come together, you yield a little more."

She found her sarong and hurried to the door, trying to shut out his words and his certainty, which frightened her more than any boast would have done. "I can wait."

"I love your hair. Sometimes in the middle of the night long after you've left me, I think I feel it brush me." He spread her long hair over his shoulders and pulled her down on top of him. He was silent a long time, and then his voice came out of the darkness. "It's not going to matter, you know."

"What?" she asked. The beating of his heart sounded like golden thunder beneath her ear, she thought dreamily.

"This. I can't let it matter." His hands stroked her hair. "Delilah…"

She was jarred from the euphoria. Papa. He was talking about Papa. Jared never mentioned her father, and neither did she. He was always there in the background, but as time passed, he seemed to fade in and out of her memory like a phantom. Everything was blurred by the fever of her coming together with Jared. "I'm not Delilah."

"So you said." His hands moved down her back. "Then why can't I let you go? I thought I'd grow tired…"

That had been her hope also. After that explosive night two weeks ago she had tried to convince herself the hold Jared had on her senses was lessening, but she knew it wasn't so. Lani had said passion seldom lasted, but she could not get enough. Perhaps there was something wrong with her. She had only to catch a glimpse of him on deck, and she began to tremble. She couldn't wait until she walked through his door, and she knew it was the same for him. He took her each time as if he were starved for her.