Free Dream's End by Diana Palmer

was wearing a cream silk shirt that was partially unbuttoned, and since he never bothered with an undershirt, it lefta wide expanse of bronzed chest and curling dark hair uncovered. He looked unbearably adult and masculine, and the sensuality that clung to him like the exotic cologne he wore made her feel like running.
    â€œDon’t start tensing up on me,” he said roughly, darting a quick glance at her rigid profile. “I’ve learned my lesson, and I don’t have the patience to initiate terrified little virgins into the intricacies of lovemaking. You’re perfectly safe, so you can lean back and stop looking like a fawn in the hunter’s sights. I won’t rape you.”
    She went red as a beet and sipped at her drink, hating him now as she’d loved him before, wishing she had the sophistication to fight back.
    He studied her quietly and a heavy, bitter sigh left him. His lean hand brushed away a thick swathe of hair from her cheek with a tenderness that puzzled her.
    â€œI’m in a hell of a temper. I didn’tmean to say that, little girl.” He set his drink down and lit a cigarette. “I feel like I’ve had the floor cut out from under my feet tonight.”
    She studied her drink, aching with conflicting emotions. “Do you want to talk about it?”
    He took a long draw from the cigarette and exhaled a cloud of silvery smoke that almost matched his eyes. “Amanda wants to live in Houston,” he said simply.
    â€œShe’s a top model, Mr. Matherson, her job…”
    â€œDon’t call me that!” he said curtly, his eyes pinning her.
    â€œYou…you are my boss, what else should I call you?”
    â€œMy name is Curry.”
    She turned her head away from that penetrating gaze, but his hand caught her under the chin and turned her right back to face him.
    â€œMy name,” he repeated in a low, deep tone, “is Curry.”
    She swallowed nervously and bit at her lower lip. “All right.”
    â€œWell, say it!”
    â€œCurry,” she said in a hesitant, frightened tone. She didn’t recognize him in this strange mood.
    â€œThat’s better.” He let go and leaned back again, flicking ashes into the ashtray he’d set on the other side of him on the sofa.
    â€œAnyway,” she persisted, “you know how much her job means, she’s worked very hard to make it as far as she has.”
    His eyes narrowed, glittered, as they met Eleanor’s. “I want a son,” he said stubbornly. “At least one, maybe two or three. I want a woman who’s here when I need her, who puts me first. I don’t want a glossy photograph, Jadebud, I want a flesh and blood woman who’ll burn like hellfire in my arms when I make love to her, who’ll make sons with me!”
    She turned every color of red in the spectrum, feeling herself charred with embarrassment.
    â€œI’m sorry,” he said curtly. “I forget sometimes how unworldly you really are, for all that you’ve spent the past three years in an earthy environment. I’ve spent my whole life here, and I don’t find anything embarrassing or shocking about procreation. It’s a natural, beautiful part of living. But you wouldn’t know about that, would you, not with a mother as icy as yours was.”
    â€œLeave my mother out of this! You don’t have the right to sit in judgment on her; no one does.”
    â€œAfter what she did to you?” he demanded, meeting her hot gaze levelly. “My God, it was like kissing a rock, Eleanor!”
    She turned her face away from him, remembering with clarity those few painful seconds in his arms when she felt his mouth demanding impossible things of hers. “I’d like to forget that ever happened,” she whispered unsteadily.
    â€œDo you freeze up on Black like that?” he asked quietly.
    â€œHe doesn’t kiss me,” she said before she thought