Gentle Pirate (11 page)

"You see how useful mind-reading can be? I know, for example, that you're lying. Kirsten, you're no good at it, so don't even bother to try. Not with me, at any rate."

Kirsten was as far as she could go, the path of further retreat being blocked by the couch. Simon came to a stop a foot away and stood gazing down at her, an amused expression on his rugged features.

"It's not fair for you to try and overwhelm me like this," she snapped waspishly, frowning darkly up at him.

"I wasn't aware we were playing by anyone's rules but mine," he observed, right hand reaching out to catch her chin and thereby trap her gaze. "Let's try this question and answer session one more time. Will you dine with me Friday?"

"No," Kirsten said very bravely.

"Townsend?"

She nodded mutely, her whole being waiting for his reaction. When it came it was so mild she immediately grew bolder.

"And if I ask you not to date him?" he queried dryly.

She licked her lip and said as determinedly as possible, "I'm going to go out with him, Simon, and that's final!"

"Does your action strike you as having all the earmarks of a kitten rushing into the lion's den and tweaking the bigger cat's nose?" he asked interestedly.

"Not in the least!" she protested, angered now. "I'd say it's more like one individual human being letting another human being know she will not be ordered about!" No! That wasn't what she meant to say, Kirsten realized abruptly! She wasn't going out with Townsend to teach Simon a lesson! She merely wanted to spend a pleasant evening with an intelligent, civilized man! Didn't she? She bit her lip, distressed and wishing she could recall her words. But as is usually the case with rash words, they had already done their damage.

Simon nodded. "Just what I said. We agree on your motives at any rate, even if we don't describe them the same way. Okay, Kirsten. You can have Friday night to prove your point, but you'll have to be prepared to take the consequences."

"Such as?" she retorted, her stomach tightening.

"Such as the fact that I'm claiming Saturday night."

Not so bad, Kirsten told herself in relief. She wasn't certain what dire threat she had been expecting, but an evening out with Simon didn't seem unduly dangerous now. In fact, Simon didn't appear nearly as menacing as he had this afternoon. It was almost as if he had come to some conclusion… Regally, she nodded her head in acknowledgment of his invitation.

"Good." He accepted what surely was a very small victory with a rather inordinate amount of satisfaction, she thought. Almost as if he'd gotten everything he wanted, instead of just one date. "Now let's finish putting this oversized fish bowl together," he concluded.

Feeling somewhat victorious herself at having salvaged Friday night, Kirsten agreed, wishing her voice didn't carry such an overtone of relief.

Half an hour later they finished filling the tank and she watched as Simon expertly netted the last male guppy.

"Be careful of that gorgeous tail of his," she instructed unnecessarily, "It's his pride and joy!"

Simon tossed her an unfathomable look. "I'm quite capable of handling small things without breaking them," he told her quietly and then flipped the guppy into the tank.

Embarrassed, because she hadn't even been thinking about his one-handedness, Kirsten seized on the first thing that came to mind as a way of apologizing.

''You deserve a reward for washing all that yucky gravel," she said briskly. "Will you have a glass of wine? I've got an interesting bottle that I've been looking for an excuse to open." She headed toward the small pantry where her tiny collection of wine was stored.

Simon was on her heels in an instant. "Sounds great," he announced with more enthusiasm than she had expected. For some reason Kirsten was touched.

When she opened the pantry door he was looking over the top of her head expectantly.

"Behold my wine cellar," she smiled, indicating the small racks with their carefully placed contents. "I was thinking I'd try the California Cabernet Sauvignon from '74," she suggested. "I realize it wouldn't impress someone from California too much, but you have to remember that a lot of labels never make it outside the state."

"I know. You're fortunate in having gotten hold of this one," Simon nodded agreeably, stepping around her to lift the bottle from its rack. "Your wine merchant must have connections!"

"He had a friend smuggle it out of California along with a few other bottles," Kirsten explained, chuckling. With a jolt, she realized that it was pleasant to see Simon so pleased.

"We'll enjoy this, Kirsten," he went on, studying the label. Then he walked over to a kitchen drawer, opened it with his hook, and rummaged around for a corkscrew.

"I thought I remembered replacing this last weekend," he told her, drawing the device forth triumphantly. Holding the bottle in the crook of his left arm, he expertly uncorked it and poured it into the glasses Kirsten set out.

"We can let it breathe while I scrounge some cheese and crackers," she told him.

Two glasses later they were successfully discussing the first thing Kirsten. thought they had found in common.

Unashamedly waxing eloquent over wines they had known and loved, she discovered Simon was well ahead of her in knowledge but attributed that to the extra few years of age he had on her. His background on the subject was considerably beyond that of most amateurs and he was well versed in matters of soil and climate, blending methods, and the mysteries of vinification. Kirsten was fascinated. It wasn't until he rose to leave two hours later that she realized she had somehow lost a great deal of ground in her struggle to remain free of the man. She blamed the wine and lateness of the hour for what happened when he stepped close and gathered her into his arms.

His slow, lingering kiss completely sapped her will to escape. She simply stood complacently and allowed herself to enjoy the whole thing. Simon's strong fingers worked their way down her back in a sensuous, massaging pattern until they reached the end of her spine, and then they suddenly applied an irresistible pressure, thrusting her hips against his, arching her back over his left arm. The shock of the close contact rolled through Kirsten like a tidal wave, leaving her sharply aware of his male need and desire, and still she couldn't find the energy to resist. Too much wine, she thought feebly, letting her arms twine upward around his strong neck.

Simon didn't hesitate to take advantage of her lack of effort to free herself, some portion of Kirsten's mind noted. His right arm circled her waist and she was hoisted lightly into the air. Closing her eyes against the momentary giddiness, her next sensation was that of the cushions of the couch beneath her. And then Simon was beside her, his weight sprawled half on top of her and half alongside her slender body. Faint alarms were ringing at the back of her head, but when Simon lifted his mouth from hers to gaze down on her reddened lips and shining eyes, she was clinging to him like a vine to a large, solid tree. A warm and passionate tree, Kirsten reflected, meeting his eyes dazedly. For a few magical moments she completely forgot her fear of his size and strength, finding the feeling of being totally engulfed new and exhilarating beyond her most elaborate fantasies.

Kirsten felt her eyes held in bonds of hazel heat and passion as his hand moved with slow deliberation to the buttons of her shirt. She couldn't resist. It had become overwhelmingly important to satisfy the need raging in the almost-green depths. Because satisfying this huge man was the only way she could satisfy the unfamiliar level of desire welling up inside her own body. It had never been like this with Jim, she realized dimly. She moaned breathlessly as strong, rough fingers undid one button with teasing, probing fingers that slipped briefly inside her shirt and then back out to attend to the next button. Why was he taking so long? Kirsten wondered, straining against him until her legs were caught and held still by his strong thighs.

Then, when Kirsten felt she could stand no more teasing, her small, swelling breasts were free and thrusting against the palm of his hand with an eagerness of their own.

"Touch me, Simon," she said huskily, her whispered words filled with pleading desire that she didn't even recognize in herself.

"How shall I touch you, sweetheart?" he murmured against her lips. "Like this?" He took a nipple between thumb and forefinger and tugged with infinite gentleness. Kirsten gasped and clung more closely.

"Oh, yes," she whispered in a sibilant tone.

"Or this?" he suggested, mouth descending to cover hers as his hand released her breast to trail tantalizingly down to the waistband of her jeans. He let his fingers dip inside and she instinctively sucked in her stomach at his touch.

"Simon!" Kirsten ground out against his lips, opening her teeth and feeling his tongue rush inside.

"What, darling?" he prompted.

"Simon, I don't think I can stand it!" she wailed, a shudder going through her.

"Do you want me, sweetheart?" His mouth moved to her throat and she gave a small cry of joy.

"Yes, Simon. Please!" Was this really her? Kirsten wondered, amazed.

"I'm all yours, honey," he promised soothingly. "But there's a price tag attached," he added. There was a moment of silence while Kirsten tried to rouse herself enough to understand his meaning.

"Price tag?" she questioned. The alarms in her head sounded louder now.

"Ummm."

"What-what price?" she asked fearfully, a foreboding feeling beginning to push aside the passion of a moment earlier.

"You must surrender to me completely first," he said, his words thick and rough against her throat. "I won't allow you to taunt me with other men, honey. You can't lie with me tonight and then see another man this weekend…"

Reality came rippling back, bringing Kirsten out of her passion with a crash. For an instant she stared at him, gray eyes mirroring the fire his words had ignited deep within her just now.

"You did this deliberately!" she accused, struggling to free herself.

"I always make love to a woman deliberately," he agreed, the passion fading quickly from his own eyes. Apparently he had not been as aroused as she, Kirsten thought, and the knowledge angered her further.

"Still going to be busy Friday night, honey?" he whispered coaxingly, right hand stroking her hip.

"Yes!" she blazed. "I'm still dating Roger Friday night! How dare you think you can control me like this with-with…"

"With sex? Why shouldn't a man be able to control his woman with sex? Women don't hesitate to use it to keep men in their power."

"Let me go!" she hissed, scrambling out of his embrace and wishing she had something large to use against his mocking, smiling face. He let her go, surprisingly, watching as she rebuttoned her shirt with trembling fingers and thrust the ends back into her jeans. "This was a low, mean, underhanded…"

"You look cute with your hair pinned on top of your head like that," he remarked as if he wasn't listening to her at all. "And when you frown like that you look like a little gray-eyed owl!"

"Very romantic! Since you've finished with the lovemaking this evening, will you kindly remove yourself from my apartment?" Kirsten bit out.

He sighed and got slowly, lazily to his feet. He looked barely rumpled, she decided, her fury rising to new heights. How dare he look so neat while she felt totally disheveled! Use sex to control her!

"I get the impression I'm not going to be invited to spend the night," he said with mild amusement. "What's the matter, Kirsten? Is the price too high?"

"Get out!"

"I'm on my way." He started toward the door, snatching up his coat in passing. "One more item," he added, the door open. "Being the soul of honesty that I am, I feel obliged to give you due notice that if you insist on going out with Townsend, matters between us will change considerably."

"Damn it! What's that supposed to mean?" she spat. "That you'll cease favoring me with your
attentions
if I go out with him? Because if it does, I'll enjoy every minute of Friday night to the hilt!"

"No, sweetheart," he grinned wolflshly. "It doesn't mean that at all. It means I shall rescind a few of the female privileges I have been allowing you. We'll start doing things my way." Before Kirsten could find a suitably sharp retort, he was gone.

By Friday night she had passed through a number of emotions but the predominant one was a determination not to be brought to heel as Simon seemed intent on doing. Kirsten no longer even tried to pretend she was going out with Roger Townsend because he seemed a man from the "middle ground." The date had become an exercise to show Simon Kendrick that she would not allow herself to be intimidated. While instinct told her he wouldn't allow the blatant disregard of his wishes to go unnoticed, logic insisted there wasn't all that much he could do about it. After all, she reminded herself with forced cheerfulness, she wasn't married to the man. Which thought was immediately followed by the memory that Simon had never once mentioned marriage. Only a "relationship."

When Roger knocked on her door she greeted him in her most feminine dress, a vivid red number that made her feel almost vampish. This was not a night for yellow. Kirsten could tell the gown met with his approval by the way he ran his eyes over her from bead to toe.

"I have the feeling this could be the start of a beautiful friendship," he said, guiding her into the Cadillac.

Kirsten couldn't stop herself from glancing over her shoulder at apartment number twenty-five, but there was no sign her departure was being observed. She heard herself making a polite reply to Roger's comment and set out to enjoy the evening if it killed her!

Things started out well enough, she decided. Roger certainly didn't stint and even took her somewhere else to eat instead of the River Inn. Then they did the rounds of the few nightclubs in town. All the while Kirsten managed to maintain light, bantering, chattering conversation that appeared to be all that Roger required from a date. It wasn't until almost midnight, when they ran into Liz Wilford sharing a table with Simon, that the evening truly turned sour for her.