Satin Doll (40 page)

He lowered his head, running his warm, firm mouth gently along the side of her face, his lips brushing the corner of hers, then softly nibbling the graceful line of her chin. “Did you let that sonofabitch make love to you?” he repeated.
 

The feel of Chip’s hard, warm mouth, and the whisper of his breath against the sensitive shell of her ear sent a shudder of electricity vibrating through her body. “Ah—ah,” she breathed, distracted. “Ah—no, he couldn’t.”
 

“
Couldn’t?
” He raised his head to look down into her eyes. “Couldn’t what?”
 

Oh, why had she ever mentioned it? she thought, trapped under that probing stare. And why did she always blurt out the truth, anyway? “I—ah—you’d never understand how a person could make a mistake, would you?” she flared. “Besides, what business is it of yours? Let me go. I want to get out of this bed!”
 

He wouldn’t let her go. “Did des Baux have you?” he repeated.
 

“Oh, for pete’s sake, let me go! I wasn’t in love with him, and he had some sort of a—a problem from drugs, I think. It was a”—her voice slid down to a whisper—”a relief when he couldn’t ... do anything,” she added quickly before he could ask again.
 

He was still staring at her with narrowed eyes. His hands held her upper arms, holding her away from him slightly, and his grip on them tightened. “You mean you got into bed with des Baux, and the only reason nothing happened was that he was impotent?”
 

Sam turned her head away. “Well, no, I really didn’t want to go to bed with him.” She felt mortified thinking of that evening. “It’s—ah, difficult to explain, I mean, yes, but no. Actually—I just thought I did. Now, does that make you happy?”
 

“When did you think you were going to change your mind?” He sounded grim. “After he’d made love to you?”
 

“Yes—no! I don’t know!” She wished he would let go of her—her arms were hurting. “Anyway, I couldn’t let you make love to me anymore, could I?” she yelled. “It was getting out of hand!”
 

“Oh, was it?” His voice was deadly soft. “How was it getting out of hand, Samantha?”
 

“Because I can’t have anything going with you. It just messes me up! It makes me feel things I don’t want to!”
 

He waited a long moment and then said in the same grim tone, “I can’t get through to you, Samantha. You always have such a wall up that it’s hard to know what’s going on in that beautiful head of yours. But do you have any idea what it’s like to share you with another man when I’m making love to you? Or two? Or is it none at all, perhaps, not even me?” he said, suddenly shaking her impatiently. “Or is it whomever you want to conjure up in your stubborn mind?”
 

She looked up at him, startled. He knew about Jack, she was sure. And he’d always known about Alain des Baux. “That’s a crazy thing to say!”
 

“How was it getting out of hand, Samantha?” he asked again, softly.
 

“I told you!” She tried to push him away with both hands, but he yanked her to him. “Just like this, if you want to know. You see what you’re doing, don’t you? You don’t give me a chance! And I—uh, just go to pieces when I’m around you. I’ve worked too hard,” she cried, “to let this sort of thing happen to me. It’s stupid! I don’t want to be in love with you—I won’t!”
 

Horrified, Sam stared at him, realizing what she had said.
Love
. She didn’t know where she’d got that idea.
 

“I’m going to a hotel,” she yelled, starting to climb out of bed.
 

Powerful hands dragged her back. “No, you’re not. You’re going to stay right here.” He pulled her down beside him, his arms wrapped around her shoulders and waist, gripping her tightly. “I’ve worked too hard to let this sort of thing happen to me, too,” he murmured, his lips brushing her mouth. “I didn’t count on it either, Samantha. But I think I could get used to the idea. Now,” he said, settling himself comfortably against her, “tell me again that you go all to pieces.”
 

“Let go of me!” His hand was leisurely moving up her wrist to her elbow, his thumb caressing her racing pulse in stroking circles. She caught her breath when his forearm brushed the curve of her naked breast. “I don’t want anything to do with you, you big, s-sleazy h-hunk.”
 

“He didn’t want you, Samantha.” His fingers stroked her collarbone and then slowly descended to cover her breast. She felt her flesh go hard, her nipples contracting, and she gasped. “Des Baux took you off to Fontainebleau because they had to move the heroin. They were getting desperate. So was des Baux, poor sod, if he knew he couldn’t do anything when he got you there.”
 

“No, that’s not true,” she cried. She shuddered when his mouth explored the hollow in her throat tenderly. “He really wanted me, I know he did! He—uh, said he adored me.”
 

“Ah, hell, who wouldn’t adore you, love? You set me on fire.” His mouth was at the side of her face now, nuzzling her softly. “Samantha, I want you,” he muttered, “so much. I used to dream of you up in that apartment, all alone in that damned black bed and I couldn’t sleep for remembering what it was like, making love to you. Des Baux drove me crazy. I wish I’d known he was useless. It would have made life much easier.”
 

“You’re really rotten, saying things like that.” She moaned when he bent his head and ran his lips and tongue against the pouting curve of her breast. “He had a problem. You can’t make fun of him.”
 

But her fingers curled in his soft, springy hair and then her body arched up to him on a quivering, drawn breath. Slow liquid fire from the touch of his mouth ran through her veins, down her legs and into her swelling flesh. He was big and heavy and powerful, one arm under her holding her tightly so she couldn’t move, the other sliding under her arm, down her waist and over the curve of her hips. She felt her body writhe helplessly, following his touch.
 

“He was a damned drug dealer,” he murmured against her breast. “He deserved what he got.” He lifted his head, his black, glowing eyes close to hers. “Samantha, say you love me.”
 

“Are you crazy?” she breathed. Her body was trembling with desire. She slid one long leg against him, wanting to curl it over his sprawled legs, but she held back. “Why would I want to say that?”
 

“Then why are you here, in my arms?” he demanded. “You’re not the sort for a casual lay, Samantha. I know you better than that. It’s there in your eyes.”
 

“No, no, it’s just sex,” she groaned. “I-I’m attracted to rich, powerful men!”
 

She heard him laugh softly. “It’s wonderful to have someone as reluctant as you in my arms, darling. At least it’s totally honest. But you can’t deny me, can you?”
 

Sam abruptly lifted his hand away from her hip and slapped it down on his chest. “Now, listen, we both know how great you are, that you’re just so sexy you have to scrape crowds of women off your body all the time. But believe me, I can resist you!”
 

He let his hand stay where it was. “Crowds of women?” he said thoughtfully. “Ah, you mean Solange.”
 

She propped herself up on her elbow to glare at him. “And I’m a big attraction because I’m not exactly crazy about making a fool of myself over some—some international cop? Is that why you come on so strong to me?”
 

His hard face turned stony. “No, your big appeal, Samantha, is that I’m mad about arguing. And fighting. You’re the first woman who’s ever attacked me physically with intent to do me bodily harm rather than in a spirit of lust. That had its own peculiar charm, I admit.” When she opened her mouth in an O of outrage, he went on evenly, “I also find you cantankerous, confused, a snob easily led astray by specious displays of so-called aristocratic cultivation, more than a little self-deluding in a particularly American manner, clumsily ambitious and possibly vengeful. And you’re one of the most enchanting women I’ve ever seen. I’ve been randy as hell since I first set eyes on you.”
 

“Why, you bastard!” she cried, sitting up.
 

“Don’t hit me, Samantha,” he said quickly. “My side is hurting.”
 

She scowled at him. She supposed she could have felt something for Chip, given half a chance, except that he was so infuriating. He’d called her a snob led astray by, she supposed, Alain des Baux. And a self-deluding American. Then what in heaven’s name was she doing in bed with him?
 

Sam hesitated. The lines around Chip’s mouth and nose were deeply grooved, faintly pale. “Does it really hurt?” she said reluctantly.
 

“Afraid so.” He grimaced. “Or I would have made love to you by now. Didn’t you notice?”
 

Sam frowned, then reached over him to pull back the sheet. The length of him, naked and splendidly virile, lay stretched out under her eyes. They had been talking about Alain des Baux and she couldn’t even remember what Alain looked like as she stared at Chip. Lord, he was sexy, she thought, confused.
 

“You’re not bleeding again, are you?” Her fingers touched the white gauze that was strapped with adhesive tape around his chest. The rusty stains were still dry. “I think I’d better call a doctor.”
 

His hand snaked out to close quickly around her wrist, holding her. “It’s just a cramp. Not important. On the other hand,” he said, the wicked gleam in his black eyes returning, “you could make love to me, Samantha. Would you want to do that?”
 

She jerked her hand away. “You see what I’m talking about? You’re really impossible!”
 

A slow, wicked smile accompanied the wicked gleam in his eyes. “I laid down my life for you, love,” he said huskily. “Quite literally on top of your luscious form, as I recall. I took the bullet and marble chips meant for you, sweetheart.” His hand slid around her waist, tugging her to him. “At least you could kiss me.”
 

She wished she could resist him, Sam thought, but he had this terrible power over her. She brushed the unruly curls back from his forehead with the tips of her fingers. “You’re such a snake,” she murmured. “You’re used to getting what you want from women, aren’t you?”
 

“Not always. Not what I want from you, at least.” His eyes were intense. “How about that kiss? Truce? Promissory note?”
 

She groaned, but she lowered herself down beside him again. He crooked a lazy arm around her neck and drew her to him, his body warm and hard against her. Sam lay quietly against his shoulder, thinking of what he’d said. “Why did you do that?” she said, finally. “Push me down on the floor and cover me when the shooting started?”
 

He twined his fingers in her hair. “It’s my job, and I meant it when I said I wanted to strangle you. That was the last thing I expected, to see you come up in that bloody lift.”
 

She turned her face to him, seeing the outline of his arrogant, bladelike nose, the hard set of his chin. Yes, she could feel something for him, she thought, but he was so tough. He kept throwing things back at her, like that business about her nightmares. He’d held her gently in his arms when she woke up screaming, but he’d made fun of her, calling her an orphan of the storm. He was a hard man—a cop, after all. “Was making love to me part of your job, too?” she whispered.
 

He turned his head to look down at her. “No, it was breaking a cardinal rule. And damned unprofessional.”
 

Her heart leaped. “You mean making love to me wasn’t supposed to happen?” Sam propped herself on her elbow and leaned over him, looking down into that handsome dark face. “Look at me,” she said, taking his chin between her fingers. “Speak to me, dammit.”
 

“Samantha, I want you. More than any other woman I’ve ever known.” The expression in his black eyes was very serious. “I worried like hell you wouldn’t come with me this morning. I’m glad you’re in London with me and not dashing off to take a plane somewhere to chase whatever it is you’re chasing.” His hand was at the back of her head, pulling her face down to him. “And I want you to kiss me before you change your mind.”
 

Suddenly his mouth was on hers, claiming her. It was the way it had been before, dark and thrilling, making the world spin. Her hair fell across his face like a veil, and she heard Chip make a low sound in his throat as he opened his mouth to her. He tasted faintly of toothpaste and coffee and himself, musky and mysterious, overwhelming.
 

“Samantha, my darling,” he murmured when she pulled her mouth away, gasping, “make love to me. Don’t let me lie here and ache for you.” His fingers touched her thighs softly, then smoothed across her bottom to the small of her back, pulling her body across him. “Come to me,” he urged her huskily. “My contrary, mixed-up sweetheart, give me your unwilling love.”
 

Sam trembled, unsure yet wanting to lavish him, suddenly, with everything she could give him. She was shaken with the power of her feelings. “Why do you want me to do this? I mean, why should I—”
 

“Call it gratitude,” he growled, lifting her over him. “But stop arguing.”