Free Sweet Enemy by Diana Palmer Page B

wasn't like that," she
whispered. "I was fighting you, not…"
    "I hope you'll remember this the next time you decide to use
those formidable young hands on me," he remarked.
    "What do you mean?" she grumbled.
    He caught her eyes with a narrow, level gaze, and there was no
humor in it. "I want you," he said bluntly, with no warning.
"I don't take much encouragement, either, and that's something
you'd better remember. You're not the little girl I used to carry
around on my shoulders anymore. You're a woman, and you feel like a
woman, and, God, I like touching you!"
    She blushed to her toes. "If you think I'd let you…!"
    "You just did," he countered.
    "You didn''t… touch me!" she flashed.
    "We both know I could have," he said patiently. "You fought me
like a tigress at first, I'll give you that. But you didn't stop
me, did you?"
    She glared at him, but she didn't deny it. She couldn't.
    He took a long draw from his cigarette and studied her through
narrowed eyes. "I never thought there was any danger of this
happening, but I've just found out how wrong I was. Watch yourself, little girl. I know a hell of a lot
more about it than you do, and I'm not above using every dirty
trick in the book when I'm aroused. No man is."
    She avoided his glance. "You always used to say I didn't affect
you like that," she told the bedcovers.
    "Honey, you're not any more shocked about it than I am," he
replied tightly. "I was just teasing you that day by the stream,
the same way I'd been teasing you ever since you came here. But
when I laid you down under that tree, and felt that soft mouth
under mine for the first time… My God, Maggie," he breathed, "if
you hadn't drawn your hand back when you did, if it hadn't just
happened to hit me the wrong way…" His eyes narrowed as he moved
to stand beside the bed, looking down at her broodingly. "You
little fool, couldn't you feel my hands trembling, or did you just
not know what it meant?"
    She ducked her head so that the cloud of dark hair hid her face from him. "I didn't know what it
meant," she admitted miserably.
    "I'm not trying to embarrass you, little innocent," he said
gently. "I'm not trying to seduce you, either, but I'm not immune
to you. Maggie, you're not the kind of woman a man uses. You were
meant for a white wedding and children-and those things have no
place in my life. You know that, don't you?"
    She nodded. "I've always known it, Clint," she said quietly.
"You've never made any secret of the way you felt about
marriage."
    "I don't like being tied down," he said harshly through a veil
of smoke. "I can't bear possession, Maggie. In plain
language, I've never found a woman I wanted that much, and
I've never loved one. It isn't in me."
    Her eyes shot to his face. "I don't remember proposing to
you," she said.
    He chuckled, the seriousness gone from his dark face. "It's just as well, Irish. We'd kill each other
the first week."
    "Amen." She traced the pattern on the bedspread. "For what it's
worth, I don't like possession, either. Or being bullied," she
added impishly.
    He was quiet for a long moment. "Then why were you marrying
Philip?"
    "He didn't dominate me."
    "Didn't, or couldn't?" he challenged. "Could you lead him around
by the nose? Was that the attraction?"
    "You go to hell!" she told him.
    He only smiled, his lips mocking her. "You're going to take a
lot of taming," he said speculatively. "I almost envy the man
who'll get to do it."
    Only a man like Clint, though, would enjoy it, she thought,
would look on it as a challenge and make of it a pleasure that even
imagination couldn't do justice to.
    "The right man wouldn't have to fight me," she murmured
defensively.
    His face was quiet, solemn, as he searched hers. "What a waste,"
he said gently. "I don't like you submissive, Mar-garetta
Leigh."
    "How would you know?" she challenged. "You've never seen
me that way!"
    His eyes narrowed. "I don't think I'd want to," he replied
quietly. "You're fierce when you fight, Irish. I think