Always - Iris Johansen [21]
There was a hint of desperation in her laugh. “There’s something a little macabre about feeling safer as a helpless prisoner.”
“You’re not the helpless one,” Clancy said quietly. “I am. I’ve never been so damn vulnerable in my entire life.”
Her smile faded. He was doing it to her again. Pain, sadness, a yearning to comfort, and the sexual riptide that embroiled them in a whirlpool. “I don’t want you to feel helpless,” she said with a fierceness that shocked even herself. “I don’t want you to feel anything at all for me.”
He stood looking at her without answering.
Her hands clenched into fists at her sides. “I won’t let you make me feel guilty about something over which I have no control. You’re not going to complicate my life. I like it fine just the way it is.”
“Do you? Somehow I received the impression that you could use a little help in straightening out one or two aspects.” He shrugged. “At any rate, you’re going to get it whether you like it or not.”
“Clancy, I won’t have you marching in and taking me over. Your men might be intimidated enough to put up with that bull, but I won’t.”
“We’ll see. Now you’d better go to your room and rest. I’ve put you through something of an emotional marathon, haven’t I? Just go to bed and sleep on it. Here’s the way I think we should handle it. First courtship, then sex, and finally marriage.” He grinned. “If you want to rearrange that order, I’m open for suggestions. I definitely can be had.”
The inarticulate sound she made was charged with both frustration and exasperation. She turned on her heel and strode toward the door.
“Lisa.”
She stopped as she reached for the doorknob.
“We both know we’re going to end up in bed together. In another couple of minutes we’d have been making love on that carpet.”
Her hand tightened on the knob.
“I just wanted to tell you that I’ll try to let you get accustomed to me before we—” He broke off and then continued with rough awkwardness, “Oh, hell, I mean I’ll try to be your friend before I become your lover.”
She opened the door. “You’re not going to be either one. You’re just my jailer, Clancy.” The door closed firmly behind her.
Clancy uttered a brief but explicit curse. Lord, he certainly had a way with words. It was a wonder she hadn’t reacted more strongly to his clumsiness. He had wanted to tell her that he’d be gentle, charming, and considerate. The way it had come out, it had sounded as if he were doing her a favor by not throwing her in bed and jumping her bones. He had thought he’d learned a little diplomacy working for Alex, but evidently it had vanished completely the moment he’d first seen Lisa. All his confidence had disappeared, and he’d felt like a big clumsy oaf of an Irishman with his first woman.
He strode to the cellarette and poured himself a stiff drink. It would probably knock him on his backside as tired as he was, but that might not be a bad thing. At least he would forget what a colossal ass he had made of himself. He drank the brandy down in three swallows and started to reach for the bottle again, then stopped. No, he didn’t want to get plastered tonight. Tomorrow he would try to repair the damage his clumsiness had wrought, and he didn’t need a hangover to cloud his senses.
Courtship. It was an old-fashioned concept, but one that was very appealing to him. A woman like Lisa deserved not only courtship, but the most careful gentleness and cherishing. Despite her strength and spirit, she gave the impression of being infinitely fragile and fine drawn. When she wasn’t smiling there was a somberness about her that filled him with a fierce protectiveness. Pain. There was so much pain behind that tranquil façade. Sometimes he could almost feel it beneath the rigid control she exerted. God, he wanted to share that pain. He wanted to share everything she felt, everything she was.
He turned away from the cellarette and moved toward the door. It was going