Give Me Tonight(80)

Addie smiled and bit playfully at his shoulder through his shirt. She did understand. He would be manageable. "You always like to have your own way," she accused.

He bent his head to hers and growled near her ear. "You're getting to know my faults, Miss Adeline."

"I'm trying," she said, turning her mouth to his and offering him a feather-soft kiss. He took it without hesitation, ending it with a smack. "Where on earth did you get such an attitude about women?" she asked when their lips parted. "I'm surprised at how liberal you are. It's because of someone in your past, isn't it. Did you mother teach you to be so open-minded, or was it some other woman?"

He hesitated, his gaze almost predatory as he looked for something in her face. Whatever it was, he didn't seem to find it. "Maybe I'll tell you someday." The combination of his careless tone and piercing eyes made her uneasy.

"You could tell me now if you wanted. You can trust me with anything. Everything."

"Just like you trust me, hmmn?"

Addie's smile faded as she heard the light, jeering lash in his voice. "What do you mean? I do trust you. "

He didn't answer for a second. Then to her relief, he changed with bewildering swiftness, picking up the guitar and strumming in an exaggerated cowboy style that made her laugh. The twangy tune reminded Addie of the western pictures she had seen at the movie house, pictures that had featured slickly handsome cowboys in ten-gallon hats.

"What are you playing? It sounds familiar."

"Something we sing on the trail."

The tune was "My Bonnie Lies Over the Ocean." As she recognized it, she fixed him with an accusatory look. "I know that, and it isn't a cowboy song at all."

"Yes it is."

"It's a song for sailors. I even know the words," she said, and demonstrated a line or two in a tuneless voice that made him wince: "' . . . bring back, bring back my Bonnie to me, to me—' "

"That's the part when we sing 'Roll on little dog­gies, roll on.'"

"Couldn't you have bothered to make up your own song instead of stealing one?"

"It wasn't stolen, just improved. Texas-style." He was so unrepentant that Addie giggled.

"You're shameless. And you need reforming." She smoothed her palm over his shoulder and glanced in the direction of the main house. "But I guess it'll have to wait. I have to leave, slicker."

The mischief left his eyes, and he put the guitar aside. His hand came to rest at her waist, staying her attempt to get up. She almost jumped at the unex­pected tightness of his grip. "Why did you call me that?''

"Slicker? Why, it's just an expression." It had been a casual endearment she'd used for Bernie and some of the veterans at the hospital. "I've said it to you before and you never—"

"Where the hell did you get it from?" There were things about her, odd expressions included, that struck him wrong. He didn't like the inner awareness that she guarded part of herself from him, even now when she was in his arms. Sometimes he could sense the edge of fear in her, but it was impossible to know who or what she was afraid of. Was it him?

"I h-heard it in Virginia," she stuttered, damning herself for being a clumsy liar. "I won't call you that anymore if you don't like it."

"I don't."

She looked at him, confused by the faint sneer that had touched his lips. "I'm sorry," she muttered and made a move to leave. He jerked her back down on the step, his arm hooked around her waist. Their eyes met in an electrically charged glance. Addie was aware of his tension but couldn't understand it. "What's the matter?"

He looked exasperated enough to shake her. Wrap­ping his hand behind her neck, he forced her head back with a hard kiss. Addie wriggled in protest at his roughness, bracing her arms against him and trying to push him away. His chest was as hard as a brick wall, defeating her efforts to dislodge him. The strong hand gripping the back of her neck rendered her helpless, and Ben tightened his hold on her until she submitted with a small, angry sound. The kiss amounted to noth­ing more than a contest of physical strength. There was no use in fighting him.

His tongue demanded access to the inside of her mouth, and Addie clenched her hands into fists, her body rigid in his arms. Brutal, arrogant creatures­—men thought force was the way to solve every thing­ and how dare he do this to her after all they had talked about earlier! Long after the hurtful kiss should have ended, he raised his head and glared at her, angry and aroused, and unsatisfied.

"What are you trying to do?" Addie asked coldly, touching her tongue to her puffy lips in cautious ex­ploration. "You . . . you . . . " She tried to think of a word Russell would have. used. ". . . son-of-a-bitch! You hurt me."

He showed not one bit of regret for the pain he'd caused her. "Then we're even."

"The hell we are! What have I said or done to hurt you?"

"It's what you haven't said, Addie. It's what you haven't done." And before she had any time to mull that over, he kissed her again. Bristling, she reached up and tangled her fingers in the hair at the back of his head, pulling hard until he stopped. "Damn you," he muttered, his eyes blazing. "I didn't want to love you. I knew you'd drive me crazy. Try to keep me at a distance. I'll be damned if I'll let you. I'll hammer away until I get inside you, and hang on no matter how hard you try to shake me off."