Valley Of The Vapours: Arkansas Part 9

Tisha took two angry strides in his direction. On the third the material tangled about her feet and catapulted her forward. Her arms reached out ahead of her to break the fall, but her hands encountered Roarke's arms and chest as he tried to catch her. Off-balance, they both tumbled to the floor, Roarke's body acting as a cus.h.i.+on as Tisha fell on top of him.

"Are you hurt?" he asked, gently rolling her off him on to the carpeted floor.

"No," she gasped, momentarily winded by the shock of the fall. "No thanks to you."

"Was I supposed to let you dive head first on to the floor?" he muttered.

"You shouldn't have made me put on these stupid pyjama bottoms," she retorted, suddenly conscious of the heat of his body against hers. "I told you they were too big, but you wouldn't listen to me."

"Well, that's spilt milk now," Roarke declared angrily, reaching over her to place his hand on the floor and lever himself upright.

His arm accidentally brushed her breast. Tisha sharply drew in her breath at the intimate contact. That jellylike weakness spread through her bones as he turned his enigmatic gaze on her. He was propped inches above her, his bared chest with its curling dark hairs intimidating her with his closeness. The desire to touch him came dangerously near the surface and Tisha turned her head sharply away, a solitary tear trickling out of the corner of her eye.

"Tisha-"

"Oh, go away and leave me alone!" Her voice crackled slightly on the last word.

His fingers closed over her chin and forced her head around to where he could see the angry fire blazing in her eyes.

"Haven't you humiliated me enough?" she demanded hoa.r.s.ely.

"You green-eyed little witch," Roarke muttered.

His gaze was focused on her parted, trembling lips. A horrified "No!" escaped her mouth as she brought up her hands to ward him off.

The instant her fingers touched the burning hardness of his naked chest, Tisha knew her body was going to betray her again. When his mouth closed over hers, she succ.u.mbed to the rapturous fire that swept through her veins. The hands that had moved to resist him twined themselves around his neck while his hands trailed down to her waist deftly arching her towards him.

Her nerves were attuned to every rippling muscle of his body as they responded to his searching caress. It was a seduction of the senses, mindlessly destroying all cognizance of her surroundings except for his touch. An almost silent sound of shuddering ecstasy came from her throat as he pushed the pyjama top away from her shoulder and started a liquid trail of fire over her skin while his mouth sought out the hollow of her throat.

"You're a witch," he murmured against her lips, then moved to nibble her ear lobe.

Tisha moved protestingly beneath him, her breath stolen by his ceaseless caresses yet needing the fire of his lips against hers. Her hand began a sensuous exploration of his back and shoulders, their nakedness inflaming her desire. His mouth moved over hers, lingering for precious seconds before he raised his head, his hands closing over her arms and pulling them away.

In one fluid movement, Roarke was on his feet, grasping her hands to pull her to his side, leaving the oversized pyjama bottoms on the floor. Her rounded green eyes raised their lashes to look at him, afraid of the cold rejection of before, but this time finding smouldering fires that threatened to blaze again.

"Do you have any idea what you do to a man?" he asked. His fingers closed over her shoulders, holding her in front of him while keeping her safely away.

Tisha was still trembling from the shock waves he had produced and could only look at him numbly. With one part of her mind, she seemed to sense the effort he was making to control his emotions.

"Drink your cocoa and go to bed." A finger lightly touched her lips as he walked determinedly towards the door. He stopped midway up the steps and looked back. "When I leave, put the chair under the doork.n.o.b. There isn't any lock."

"I trust you," she whispered.

"Thanks," he answered dryly, "but at the moment I don't trust myself, so do as I say."

"Yes, Roarke," Tisha nodded, surprised by her own meekness.

"Another thing," his gaze moved possessively over her, "there's no need to bother wearing the rest of those pyjamas, I already know what you look like without them."

She smiled timidly, not wanting him to leave but afraid to have him stay. "Good night."

"Good night, Tisha."

"Have a nice night."

"More than likely I'll go quietly out of my mind." A lazy smile moved across his face as he opened the door. "And don't forget about the chair."

"I won't," she promised.

But she did. Somehow she knew it wouldn't be necessary.

Chapter Seven.

TISHA rolled over on her stomach, burying her head in the pillow to fight off the wake-up call of her conscious. A deliciously warm sensation of contentment was enveloping her and she didn't want to break its spell. An eyelid flickered open of its own volition and a green eye focused on the cranberry silk material covering her arm.

Vividly her mind recalled the events of the night before when Roarke had aroused the latent core of pa.s.sion within her, then had left without satisfying it. Was she glad? she wondered, blinking open both eyes as she s.h.i.+fted on to her back. She stared at the sunlight sifting through the curtains. Yes, she decided, she was glad. There was no doubt in her mind that she had disturbed Roarke physically. But was it because she was an attractive woman or because she was Patricia Caldwell?

A little sigh escaped her lips at the unanswerable question. For the moment she didn't want to try to figure out the whys and wherefores. There was time enough for that later. At the moment she wanted only to find Roarke, to see if the bright light of day would change her reactions towards him and vice versa.

A little reluctantly she slipped out from under the covers and padded into the bathroom. Her clothes from the night before were dry and she hurriedly put them on. It took several minutes to untangle the sleep-caused snarls in her hair. There was too much electricity in it for her hair to lie neatly about her shoulders and the scarf was much too wrinkled from last night's drenching. A search of her pockets revealed a pair of fasteners, and Tisha divided her hair into pigtails.

Softly humming a happy tune, she hurried from the bedroom, alertly listening and looking for a sign of Roarke. An overhead light shone from the open doorway of his den, slowing her steps as she neared it. When she glanced into the room, she saw Roarke slouched over the drafting table, his head cradled in his arms and a blanket thrown over his shoulders. The song in her throat died as her feet carried her into the room.

There was a compelling urge to walk over and push back the wayward strand of light brown hair from his forehead. In sleep he looked less formidable and, if possible, more attractive. As her hand closed over the railing to guide her up the steps, Tisha saw him move. The carpet had m.u.f.fled the sound of her footsteps and she knew he couldn't have heard her enter. Still he wakened, propping his hands up with his elbows while they wearily rubbed his face. Any moment now he would notice her presence in the room.

"Good morning," Tisha greeted him brightly.

Her legs were no longer able to carry her up the steps as he turned a scowling face towards her.

"Is it?" he mumbled testily as he stiffly moved his protesting shoulders.

"It's not raining," she added hesitantly.

But he seemed not to hear her. A large hand rubbed his mouth and chin. "I don't suppose you've made any coffee," he grumbled.

"I've only just got up," Tisha defended herself.

"Well, go and make some."

The fragile bubble of happiness burst. Except for one frowning glance, he hadn't even looked at her.

"I will make coffee because I would like a cup," she declared icily. "If you want one, you can come out to the kitchen and get it!"

She spun angrily around and stalked from the room. The slamming of a few cupboard doors later, she had filled the electric percolator with water, found the coffee, plugged it in, and was sitting stiffly in a chair listening to the bubbling sound.

The coffee pot was heaving its last dying sigh when Roarke entered the kitchen. Without looking directly at him, Tisha noticed he had shaved, restored his hair to some semblance of order, and donned a brown silk s.h.i.+rt to go with his pale tan slacks.

"The coffee's done," she announced, rising to pour herself a cup and carrying it over to the table, but she didn't offer to pour him one.

"Do you want juice, toast, or anything?" he asked. "No, thank you," she answered coldly.

"Well, don't bite my head off," Roarke shot back.

"Don't snap at me, then," darting him an angry glance. "If you sat up all night working instead of going to sleep, don't take it out on me!"

His gaze pierced the air between them. "The couch happens to be five and a half feet long. My driver's license says I'm six feet two. You try sleeping in those circ.u.mstances."

"It's not my fault," she shrugged airily.

"As I recall, you were sleeping in the only available bed," he pointed out, leaning negligently against the kitchen counter while he sipped at the steaming coffee in his cup.

"You could have-"

"I could have what?" he asked with deadly quiet.

Tisha rose hastily to her feet, hot colour was.h.i.+ng over her cheeks as she moved past him to refill her cup. "You could have slept in the bed and I could have taken the couch," she finished.

He set his cup on the counter and reached out to halt Tisha in front of him. That aching void returned to the pit of her stomach as his eyes wandered over her.

"Or I could have slept in the bed with you," Roarke murmured.

"I didn't say that," she breathed.

His hands moved to her waist, drawing her closer to him. "But I could have stayed with you, couldn't I?"

A chill of longing quivered through her at the husky, caressing quality in his voice. Her head bowed in mute affirmation of his statement.

"And if I had," Roarke went on, "this morning you would have been trying to find a way to attach strings."

A cold chill seared her heart. "Is that why you didn't?" she demanded, tossing her head back with injured pride. "Because you were afraid I would turn into a clinging female?"

"Don't pretend experience where there is none," he admonished with a mocking tilt of his head.

"Since you prefer experience," she said sarcastically, her rigid body trembling with his dismissal of her abilities, "why did you bother to kiss me? Were you just making sure you hadn't lost the knack?"

"No." Roarke shook his head gently. "When a female becomes all soft and yielding beneath his touch, a man's reaction is instinctive. And for all the biting lash of your tongue, Red, you're a desirable woman."

"At least you don't find me totally objectionable," she snapped.

"I don't find you objectionable," he a.s.sured her calmly. "The truth is the exact opposite."

"You're talking in circles. I don't understand anything you're saying," she cried. "One minute you say I'm too nave for you and in the next you imply that you want me. Can't you make up your mind?"

"Yes, I can." His voice underlined the personal p.r.o.noun. "But what about you? How do you feel towards me?"

"At the moment I hate you!" she retorted angrily.

His hand moved in a suggestive caress over her hips. "Yes, last night you would have allowed me to make love to you."

A sigh of confusion broke from her lips as the anger dissolved away. Her troubled eyes sought his face, a helpless whirl of dismay in her own expression.

"It's crazy, isn't it?" she murmured. "I hate you and I-" The rest of the sentence became stuck in her throat.

"Careful," Roarke warned. The teasing glint left his eyes as they darkened with black fires. His hands automatically tightened, drawing her to him until the muscles of his thighs met the contact of her softer, feminine form. "I might hold you to any admission you make."

Tisha wasn't sure what that admission would have been. Love couldn't happen this quickly, nor allow her to feel such burning antagonism towards him.

"In one form or another, Roarke," she spoke softly, "we're a combustible combination."

"I couldn't agree with you more."

The smile on his face amplified the satisfaction in his eyes as his hands moved up her back, pulling her against him while his mouth started another fire against hers. The contact was tenderly possessive and intimate, and ended too soon. But the comforting warmth of his arms held her against him as he nuzzled her hair.

"Good morning, Tisha. I don't believe I've said that yet, have I?" he murmured.

"No." She smiled against his chest, no longer caring about her ambivalent reactions to him. She tilted her head back to look at him. "Are you always such a grouchy old bear when you get up in the mornings?"

"Only when I've had a girl running around half-naked in my bedroom the night before," he grinned. The look in his eyes turned her legs to rubber.

There was a click of a door latch and Tisha felt Roarke stiffen beside her. With a curious turn of her head, she glanced towards the door connecting the kitchen with the garage. Shock held her motionless for a full second.

"Dad!" she squeaked in disbelief, wrenching herself guiltily from Roarke's arms. She stared into the cold fury of her father's face, but he had eyes only for the man beside her. "What are you doing here?" she breathed.

His eyes shot her a look of chilling disgust and Tisha knew with cold certainty exactly what he was thinking. Red flames of embarra.s.sment scalded her cheeks.

"Dad, it's not the way you're thinking," she rushed. "I had to stay last night because there was a tree blocking the road and...and I couldn't walk home in that storm."

"That's funny," he murmured sarcastically. "There wasn't any tree in the road when I drove up here."

The challenge in his eyes was unmistakable as he glared at Roarke, who was still leaning calmly against the counter, his gaze frankly meeting the open hostility of her father's.

"A road crew was supposed to clear it this morning." Her hand moved nervously around her throat. "They...they must have already done it."

Blanche appeared in the doorway, her sympathetic eyes seeking Tisha out immediately. "I'm sorry, darling," she murmured. "He arrived this morning. I couldn't stop him." Her hands were upraised in a helpless gesture.

"Your name is Madison, isn't it?" Richard Caldwell demanded, and Roarke inclined his head in an affirmative movement. "Patricia, I want you to drive Blanche back to the house."

"Father, stop this!" she cried. "You're acting like some Victorian father. All you need is a shotgun! Nothing happened last night. Roarke, explain to him!"

"Yes," her father challenged, "I'm sure that intimate little scene I witnessed when I walked in was only a demonstration of your brotherly affection for my daughter!"

"It wasn't intimate!" Tisha protested, stamping her foot angrily on the floor. "He was only holding me in his arms."