Free That Tender Feeling by Dorothy Vernon

rippling strength of him tingled her fingertips. They reveled in the flexing muscles of his back as the soft curve of her mouth concurred with the insistence of his and invited a kiss that carried its vibrant sweetness down to her toes.
    It ended as quickly as it had started. The arms that had brought her close still held her, but away from him. She felt so weak that if he’d let go altogether, she would have melted at his feet. Her eyes lifted slowly in the manner of someone coming out of a drugged stupor. Her mind was no quicker on the draw, so that although she was grappling with the notion that something wasn’t to her liking, she couldn’t make out what.
    Nothing like this had ever happened to her before. It had been a wonderful trip of discovery, a dazzling experience, a surprise, a delight. But for him?
    The expression on his face wiped the ecstasy from hers. Why wasn’t he looking as dazed as she felt? She had expected him to look different, softer, more human. Whatever had happened to her, the experience had done nothing to knock his mantle of arrogance and mocking cynicism. In fact, he looked more complacent than ever.
    She could have kicked herself for going under the spell of his dangerously handsome looks and lovemaking expertise. She had fallen for the routine finesse of a practiced charmer. He hadn’t grabbed her on tender impulse or even to sate an uncontrollable urge. If passion had motivated him, she might have found it in herself to forgive him. But no! He’d done it to show her that no one could hold out against him when he wished otherwise. He could congratulate himself on scoring a double victory, because as well as proving his point, he’d had a bit of fun into the bargain. She hadn’t just let him; she’d bent over backward to make it extra tasty for him. She would be a long time in forgetting this humiliation—stroking his shoulders, twining her fingers into his hair, yielding her mouth to him in passionate longing, straining closer and ever closer to him. It was a wonder he’d managed to keep from laughing. How could she have been so stupid? She had sensed there was danger, but not the extent of it, and in her ignorance she had thought she could handle it.
    â€˜Why did you have to go and do a silly thing like that for?’ she demanded, her anger vented as much at herself as against him.
    â€˜Didn’t you enjoy it?’
    â€˜A snake bite would have been preferable.’
    â€˜What’s smarting you?’
    â€˜As if you didn’t know.’
    â€˜I think you’re being slightly absurd. It wasn’t as if I didn’t warn you beforehand. You got exactly what you asked for.’
    â€˜Is that so? Well, let me tell you something. Whatever else you think you’ve accomplished, you’ve just made it impossible for me to stay here with you.’
    â€˜Grow up, Rusty. Fool me for thinking that you already had,’ he jeered. ‘You’re only a woman on the outside. Inside you’re still a cringing child. What’s more, you haven’t the spunk you had when you were a child. The child you were wouldn’t have run away from any situation, no matter how fraught. She would have faced up to it. Even if she was frightened, she’d have died rather than show it.’
    â€˜I hope you’re not suggesting that I’m frightened of you.’
    â€˜Actually, I wasn’t.’
    â€˜That’s as well. I don’t trust you, but I’m not frightened of you.’
    â€˜Lies make poor weapons, especially when one lies to oneself. I think it’s fairly obvious, without my having to labor the point, that I’ve never needed to take a woman against her will. And I’m not about to start now. It’s not me you don’t trust, Rusty. You don’t trust yourself with me, and there is the subtle difference. How is it when a woman feels unsure of herself, she lashes out at some poor guy? All