Diana Palmer - Lacy

He rocked furiously above her, his breath dragging out in gasps, his thighs shuddering as he arched down again and again, his eyes on her, his jaw clenched with the most exquisite pleasure he’d ever had.

“Take me inside,” he whispered, his voice strained, deep with mingled arousal and passion. “Take me, Katy!”

It happened to her again. The whispered words, the rough motion of his body, the feverish rhythm with which he drove into her made it happen again.

She closed her eyes and arched her head back with a peculiar little cry, her nipples hard and pointing. One of his hands swallowed one of them roughly. His mouth forced hers open and penetrated it in the same motion, with the same rhythm, as his body. She heard the noise of the sliding hay under them, smelled the hot, pungent smell of their union, heard his heart slamming in his chest, felt the wiry roughness of his body hair against her soft skin. And then he cried out, with such achingly wild pleasure that her eyes opened and she looked up, seeing him arched above her, his neck corded with muscle, his face violently red, his eyes closed, his teeth clenched. He convulsed again and again with rippling muscle, and she looked down to where they were locked together and watched as he suddenly drew back and covered her body with his. She felt a wetness on her belly after his body shuddered and then collapsed on top of her, gasping for breath. “Oh, God,” he breathed unsteadily. “I hope it was in time! I couldn’t stop…!”

Her hands touched him with wonder. He’d said that he wouldn’t and then he had, suddenly, as if he hadn’t been able to hold back. Her eyes closed as she drifted in the soft aftermath, a little sad because she knew that this would be the last time, the only time. Because she loved him, and would lose him. He had no heart to give her, only a body that knew no emotion past fulfillment; any woman would have done.

“Are you all right, Katy?” he asked, lifting his sweaty head to look at her with soft concern.

“Yes, I’m all right,” she replied, with the shreds of her pride. She even managed a smile, but she couldn’t quite look at him.

“And this is why I wouldn’t touch you before,” he said gently, watching her move slowly away and start putting her clothes on again. “Because afterward comes shame…and then guilt.”

He was being tender, and she hated it. Hated what was only pity mingled with conscience. She drew her underpants back on and her garter belt over them. There was no self-consciousness left, at least. Danny would like that. He didn’t know she was a virgin. He’d even said that he wouldn’t want one. So all her problems were solved at once. She’d given her virginity to the only man she’d ever love—to pave the way for the only man who loved her.

“Say something,” he said quietly, watching her, vaguely ashamed of his own loss of control. He hadn’t meant to let it happen. His big body still trembled softly with the force of his fulfillment. Was it because she’d been a virgin that it had been so intense? he wondered dazedly. He’d never felt it like that.

“I’m all right!” she said roughly. Would the shame never stop? She knew he didn’t love her, but she’d thought the experience with him would be profound, reverent. And it had only been sex. Very pleasurable, very nice. But without his love, it was only physical. She wondered if she’d always remember it with the same degree of bitterness.

She pulled the chemise over her head and then pulled on her dress. Behind her, she heard him putting his own clothes back on and tried not to remember the beauty of his body without them. Hard muscles covered with dark blond hair, strength and beauty in every sinew. She’d never forget this. He would, of course. There would be other women. Her eyes closed; she didn’t want to know about them. She was only one in a line, and that’s all she would ever be. Now she wouldn’t even have the dignity of being the one that got away. And when it was too late, she finally understood why he’d kept his distance. He’d wanted her to keep her illusions. Now she had none left.

With her hand on the last button, she stepped into her wide-heeled shoes and turned to face him with her chin proudly lifted.

“Thanks for the lesson,” she said quietly.

He actually winced. “No,” he said under his breath, searching her dark, wounded green eyes. “No, don’t make it into something cheap. It wasn’t.”

Her lower lip trembled, threatening to leave her defenseless. She forced herself to smile. “Okay.”

He moved forward, catching her arms as she tried to get away, to run.

“Don’t go,” he said. “Don’t let that man make you into a plaything. He’ll use you and throw you out.”

She looked up, loving him with her eyes. “So long, cowboy.” She smiled faintly, sadly. “I loved you, Turk,” she whispered. She touched his hard face, feeling the muscles harden. “I always will, until I die. I may have other men, but I’ll never give all of myself again.”

“He’ll hurt you!” he ground out, hating this, hating the pain. He hadn’t expected that it would hurt when she left, that he wouldn’t be able to take her in his stride and walk away.

She touched her fingers to his firm mouth. “No. You’ve seen to that,” she said, her voice exquisitely tender. “No one could possibly have made it as perfect as you did. He won’t hurt me.” Her eyes searched his one last time, sad and resigned. “I’ll love you until I die, Turk.”

She turned and moved quickly away, so that he wouldn’t see the tears. It was good-bye. They both knew it.

Long after she’d left, Turk sat on the steps of the barn loft, smoking a cigarette, his eyes blank and sad. After Lorene, he’d never wanted anyone else, not permanently. He’d wanted to have Katy; he couldn’t deny that. He’d only kept his distance so long because he’d promised Cole. But now…

His body ached. Despite the feverish fulfillment he’d had with her, a completion he’d never known with another woman, ever, he was hungry all over again. He remembered her small, taut breasts under his chest, the nipples arousing him as they rubbed against his muscles….

He got up abruptly and took the cigarette outside to grind it out under the heel of his boot. His face set into harsh lines, he went back toward the house. He owed Cole so much, but there had to be a way out of this. Maybe he could talk to her, maybe they could work something out.

It had only been thirty minutes or so since she’d left the barn, long enough to smoke three cigarettes. So it came as a shock when he got to the house and found it empty.

Cassie came back into the kitchen from the pantry to find him staring toward the staircase.

“If you looking for Miss Katy,” she said shortly, “she ain’t here. She done gone, luggage and all, with that Chicago gangster.”

He felt his heart sinking. He turned, his eyes dark, quiet. “When?”

“Not five minutes ago.” She sighed. “Mr. Cole going to be like a wild man. And how is I going to tell Miss Marion?” Her tired, lined eyes misted. “My baby, gone off with that—that man! How come you let her go, Mr. Turk?” she demanded.

“She’s of age,” he said harshly, when all his fighting instincts were screaming for him to go after the man and kill him. But what could he offer her? He didn’t want to get married. And after what had happened, it would be impossible all the way around if she stayed here. His friendship with Cole would be at risk; Katy would grow to hate him. And that Chicago man did seem sincere enough, explaining patiently to Turk the night before that their late arrival had been innocent. He cared about Katy, he’d told Turk. He wouldn’t do anything to hurt her. Perhaps he’d marry her…