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He had never wanted her more. But he couldn't have her and that only fueled his anger. She was his, dammit, but he couldn't claim her. He needed her just as much as she needed him, but circumstance was keeping them apart. He was paying dearly for that one night of heaven. Desire to possess her again was making his life hell on earth.
Wanting to hurt her as much as he was hurting, he lashed out. "All right, Miss Fletcher. You want to know what he said? He said that I was keeping it in the family this time."
She clamped her top teeth over her bottom lip to keep from screaming in outrage. Indignation boiled up inside her, seeking an outlet. Cage was the only one to vent it against.
"Do you see what you've done?" she cried. "You announced to Roxy Clemmons, whom everybody knows is one of your sluts, that I'm pregnant. Now you've brought me to a motel where you regularly bring other women. It'll be all over town tomorrow that I was here with you. Well, I don't want to be dragged from lair to lair like a prize. I don't want anybody to mistake me for one of your lovers, Cage."
"Why? Because I'm so rotten? You don't want to be associated with the 'bad boy,' that wild preacher's kid that no one can control, the one who's always in trouble, always in a scrape, always involved with the wrong woman?"
He had advanced toward her with a predatory gait. She tried to back away from him, but was trapped by the dresser. "I didn't mean it that way."
"The hell you didn't," he snarled. "Well, you've got every right to be cautious where I'm concerned. I am bad. I must be. Damn bad." One hand shot out and cupped the back of her head. The strong fingers knotted in her hair and pulled her head back. "Because I have brought a lot of women to this room, but I never wanted one as much as I want you."
He encircled her wrist with his other hand and dragged her hand down. "No!" she cried when she realized his intent. She pulled on her hand, but he wouldn't release it. He shoved it past his waist and forced it flat against his body, pressing, making sure she felt the steely evidence of his arousal behind the fly of his jeans.
"That's how much I want you. I've wanted you for a long time and I'm tired of hiding the fact. Now, does that make you scared? Sick? Disgusted? Does it make you want to cringe? To scream? Or skulk back to the safety of the parsonage?" He ground himself into her palm. "Well, that's just tough. Jenny, because this is the way it is."
He kissed her with barely controlled savagery. Unleashing all his emotions, he twisted his mouth against hers, tilting his head first to one side then to the other. His tongue plunged deep, withdrew, sank again more slowly and thoroughly into her mouth, evocative of coupling.
Then just as furiously as he had possessed her, he released her. He stormed out of the door and pulled it closed behind him with a resounding slam.
Jenny staggered to the bed and collapsed. She tried to deny that she was disappointed he hadn't finished what he had started. But she was. Her body was weak and fluttery with longing. Garnering what little strength was left her, she stumbled into the bathroom and peeled off her clothes. She avoided the mirror, not wanting to see the flags of color in her cheeks or the rosy readiness of her breasts.
The shower was hot and punishing, jus
t the ticket for the self-flagellation she deserved. The jetting spray stung her skin like driving needles. It was still tingling when she took a night-gown from her suitcase and pulled it on. She climbed into bed and squeezed her eyes shut, hoping that would close off her mind as well.
But the kiss was too recent to be banished from her memory. She could still taste him on her lips, still feel the rigid proof of his sex against her hand, still recall the cadence of his kiss as his tongue thrust against hers.
When the telephone rang near her ear, she jumped as though lightning had struck her. "Hello."
"I'm sorry."
Neither of them said anything for ponderous moments. Jenny's breasts trembled with emotion beneath her batiste nightie. She cradled the receiver between her cheek and shoulder as though inclining her head toward Cage. "It's all right."
"I lost my temper."
"I provoked you."
"We've been through an ordeal today."
"We were both touchy."
"Did I hurt you?"
"No, of course you didn't hurt me."
"I was rough." His voice dropped significantly. "And crude."
She looked down at her hand as though to see an imprint there. She swallowed. "I survived."
"Jenny?"
"What?"
A long pause. "I'm not sorry I kissed you. I'm only sorry for the way I kissed you." He let that sink in, then added, "And if you were ever in any doubt about how I feel about you, it's no secret now."
Touched by the gentle, but imperative, tone of his voice, her throat ached with the need to cry. "I'm not ready to think about that, Cage. So much has happened."
