“Why the hell would I be angry?” He leaned close, reached out, and planted his wide palms on the door behind her, effectively caging her. “I've got no right to be angry, do I?”
“No, you certainly do not.” Out of the corner of her eye she could not help but notice the sinewy strength of his wrists. Stark was no doubt capable of being dangerous under the right circumstances. She was a little surprised to discover that he did not inspire any genuine fear in her, merely a thrilling feminine wariness. “If anyone has a right to be annoyed, it's me.”
“You've got no call to be mad, either. I'm offering you a chance to do some business.”
“Business is just fine for me these days.”
“Getting better all the time, isn't it? Thanks to me.”
“I've never asked you to do me any favors,” Desdemona said.
“If you attend this thing on Thursday with me, we'll be doing each other a favor. Let's call it an even trade.”
“A trade?”
“Yeah. How about it?” His mouth curved coldly. “If you're
free
, that is?”
Desdemona felt goaded beyond endurance. “All right.” She lifted her chin. “If I'm free.”
“Anybody ever tell you that you drive a hell of a bargain, lady?”
“As a matter of fact—”
His mouth came down on hers with the impact of lava on snow. She went utterly still for the space of three lilting heartbeats. The world stopped while her senses frantically struggled to cope with the overpowering sensation of being kissed by Stark.
He kissed her as though she were the only living woman on earth. It was a sensually devastating experience.
While the rational side of Desdemona's brain scrambled to formulate an appropriate response, Wainwright intuition took over. Somewhere inside her a switch was turned on. Her feminine emergency backup system kicked in.
She wrapped her arms around Stark's neck and kissed him back.
He groaned, folded his arms around her, and clamped her against his chest. Desdemona felt as though she were being swallowed alive.
Stark shoved his fingers into the coil of her hair and tugged the black velvet band free. Then he gripped the back of her head and held her still while he deepened the kiss.
Desdemona clung to him, her senses reeling. Kissing Stark was everything she had known that it would be, a searing, mind-altering, earthshaking experience.
It struck her in a flash of insight that this glorious, indescribable thrill was similar to what three generations of Wainwrights must have felt every time they went on stage. Being the only one in the family who could not act, she had never experienced it until this moment.
Stark's hands moved down her back to cup her buttocks. He lifted her up against him.
Desdemona could hardly breathe. He was hard, solid, strong. Deliciously masculine. She moaned softly and inhaled his indescribable scent. No after-shave or cologne. Just Stark and the soap he used. Everything that was female in her responded to it.
She was vaguely aware of the room shifting around her. She realized that Stark was carrying her somewhere. Perhaps to the couch in the living room.
Or perhaps to his bedroom, a dark, mysterious place she had not yet seen.
Too soon
, she thought.
Too soon
. He was not ready for this. He needed time.
Desdemona knew she had to do something before they both got too carried away by the seething passion.
Stark came to an abrupt halt. Desdemona felt the jolt that went through both of them. She realized that he had backed into the wooden work island positioned in the center of the kitchen.
“Damn,” Stark muttered.
The interruption was timely if not particularly welcome. Desdemona sighed and reluctantly lifted her lashes. She felt bemused and disoriented.
“Maybe it's just as well,” she whispered.
“You're right. This'll do.”
“What on earth?” Before she realized his intention, he turned around and sat her down on the edge of the work island.
He parted her legs and moved between them. With quick, deft movements he unzipped her dress. The bodice fell to her waist. An instant later his hand closed gently around one soft breast. Desdemona was shocked to the core by the desire that lanced through her.
“
Stark
.” She clung to him as he kissed her throat. “This isn't what I meant.”
“It's okay. It's clean. I saw that new guy on your staff wipe it off earlier.”
“Yes, I know, but—” She broke off when he put his hands on her upper thighs. Her skin burned beneath the fine fabric of her dress. “Oh, my God.”
He bit her ear with exquisite care. Desdemona shivered. Then his hand was under the edge of her dress, moving higher. He cupped her for a few seconds. She tightened her legs around him. His thighs were as hard as stone.
“I like that,” he said. He seized a fistful of her hair and buried his face in it. “And I like this, too. You smell good.”
The raw sensuality in his voice did strange and dangerous things to Desdemona. She heard something clatter on the kitchen floor. One of her black shoes had come off.
He pushed her backward until she was lying on top of the island, her legs dangling over the edge.
He leaned over her, pinning her to the wooden surface. His mouth sought the curve of her throat once more. His heavily aroused body was pressed against her. She could feel the hard, unyielding shape of his manhood. He stroked the crotch of her panties.
“You're soaking wet.” He sounded dazed with wonder.
She was excruciatingly aware that he was right. For some reason the evidence of her own arousal brought back a measure of reality. “Stark, please. This has gone far enough.”
He raised his head and looked down at her with glittering eyes. “What?”
“This is—” She levered herself up on one elbow and pushed hair out of her eyes. “This is all happening much too fast.”
“Sorry,” he said hoarsely. “I'll slow down if that's what you want. We've got all night.”
“Wait.” She braced one hand against his massive shoulder. “I mean we're really going too fast. For heaven's sake, Stark, one month ago you were on the verge of marrying another woman.”
Confusion flared in his intent gaze. “But I didn't marry anyone else. There's nothing to stop me from making love to you tonight.”
“Yes, I know, but that's not quite the point I'm trying to make. Let's look at the motivation for this, uh, incident.”
“Incident?”
“We have to try to understand what's really happening here. Now, then, you were recently traumatized by the rejection you received at the hands of your fiancée.”
“
Ex
-fiancée,” he said grimly.
“Whatever. I suspect you were also very angry, too. Perfectly natural.”
“You think so?” His voice turned unnaturally soft.
“Of course.” Desdemona struggled to a sitting position. Stark did not move from between her splayed thighs. “That sort of thing is very hard on the ego.”
“Are you going to turn this into a counseling session?” he demanded in disbelief.
“I told you, I think we should take a close look at your motivations here.”
“Forget it. There is nothing complicated about my motivations.”
She ignored that. “I'm afraid that what actually made you want to kiss me tonight was a need to prove that you can still make a woman respond to you.”
He eyed her with a brooding stare. “You do want me, don't you? I didn't get that part wrong, did I?”
“That's got nothing to do with this,” she assured him.
“My mistake,” he said roughly. “I thought maybe the fact that your panties are soaking wet had something to do with this
incident
.”
She felt herself turn scarlet. “Stark, for goodness' sake.”
“You think I'm making love to you on a countertop here in the kitchen because I'm trying to prove to myself that I'm not completely washed up as a man?”
“I never implied that you were washed up or that you had to prove anything. I'm just not sure that you're doing this for the right reasons.”
“I don't believe this. You want me and I want you. We're mature, consenting adults. Neither of us is involved with anyone else. What better reasons could there be?”
Desdemona reached the end of her tether. “Never mind. If you can't figure that out for yourself, I'm not going to waste my time explaining it to you. Will you kindly let me off this table?”
“Damn it, I really hate that,” Stark said.
“Hate what?”
“I hate it when a woman avoids a direct answer to a simple, straightforward question and then gets mad about the question.”
“Tough. If you don't like the way I answer your questions, you can stop asking them. Move. It's very difficult trying to conduct a rational conversation with a man who is standing between my legs.”
“What's rational about this conversation?” Stark asked.
“Nothing. I said
move
.”
He looked down at her splayed thighs and then slowly, reluctantly stepped back a pace. Desdemona clamped her legs together smartly and jumped down off the island.
She promptly lost her balance when her shoeless foot touched the floor.
Her knees, still unsteady from the effects of Stark's love-making, gave way. She staggered and grabbed for the edge of the island.
Stark caught her easily. “I've got you.” He steadied her. “Are you okay?”
Desdemona wanted to scream. She managed to hold on to her self-control with a great effort of will. “Of course, I'm okay. I just stumbled, that's all.”
“Right.” He released her as if she were too hot to hold.
Desdemona hurriedly fumbled with her zipper. Stark leaned back against the island, folded his arms, and watched her. He did not offer to assist her.
When she was finished, Desdemona looked up and met his eyes. “I'm sorry.”
“So am I.”
“I just don't think you're ready for another relationship yet.”
“Thank you for sharing your views on the subject with me,” Stark said in a dangerously even tone. “When and if you ever do consider me ready for another relationship, would you be amenable to having one with me?”
Longing welled up within her. “When you think about it logically, we're really not a very good match, you know.”
“I know,” he said quite casually. “I've already considered that problem.”
She blinked. “You have?”
“Sure. You're from a theatrical family. That means you're inclined to be temperamental and emotional. Volatile, even. What happened just now proves it.”
“I see,” she said acidly. “A person such as myself would no doubt introduce an element of
chaos
into your life. We certainly wouldn't want that, would we? Chaos theory is all well and good when you're working with it on a computer, but who wants the real thing.”
“My work is in the field of complex structures, not chaos.” His gaze sharpened. “I usually don't get involved with women like you. They tend to be difficult.”
“Is that so? Well, let me tell you something. I generally don't get involved with cold-blooded, cynical, overly logical males such as yourself. They tend to be boring.”
“The fact that your panties are still damp doesn't impact your thinking on the matter?”
“Will you stop harping on the condition of my underwear?” she said through her teeth. “It's rude.”
“Sorry. It's all I've got to cling to at the moment. So to speak.”
“That's it. I've had it.” Desdemona whirled around and started toward the door that led to the living room. “I quit. You can find yourself another caterer.”
“You can't quit.” Stark strode after her. “You're on retainer. We signed a contract.”
“So what?” She opened the door of the hall closet and found her purse on one of the beautifully well-organized shelves. “You may put a lot of faith in contracts, Stark, but I've got news for you. Contracts were made to be broken.”
“You sure as hell didn't take that attitude a month ago when you insisted that I pay you for my cancelled wedding reception.”
A pang of guilt shot through her. “That's got nothing to do with this.”
“A contract is a contract.” He caught up with her at the front door. “Damn it, I swear I won't ever mention your panties again.”
She glowered at him. “You are very possibly the most socially inept man that I have ever met.”
“But I'm also one of the smartest men you've ever met. That means I'm educable. Give me a chance, Desdemona.”
She groaned in sheer frustration. “This is insane.”
“Look, I'll admit I'm not good at relationships,” Stark said. “All of mine seem to end with me standing alone at an altar. Obviously I've been doing something wrong in the past. I've done some thinking about the problem, and I believe I know what I'm doing wrong.”
“I don't think I want to hear this,” Desdemona said.